buttercandy16

[buttercandy16]

God I just loveeee your dark fics 😩 Dark Agatha could probably murder me, and I'd want more. I just know you'd write it so tenderly and so terrifyingly beautiful. I'm excited for all your other dark fics to come 😩😭🙌🏽

Also, do you have a masterlist? I don't see one, and it'd be really handy, in order to find all your amazing works 💜💜💜

Thank you so much! Still drafting the masterlist. I'll post it as soon as I can 💜

[buttercandy16]

A Taste of her Masterpiece

PAIRING(s): DarkChef!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Celebrity chef Agatha Harkness hides a dark secret behind her fame. When a young fan joins her kitchen, obsession takes a twisted turn, blurring the lines between love and danger.

WARNING(s): Dub-con, Cannibalism, Blood, Murder, Manipulation, and other Dark Themes.

A/N: This is sick, and I love it. Don't read if you can't handle it.

The name Agatha Harkness was synonymous with culinary perfection. She wasn’t just a chef; she was an artist. Her restaurants, scattered in the most elite corners of the world, weren’t just places to dine but experiences to be revered. There was something about her food that entranced people. Some described it as divine. Others said it evoked emotions they couldn’t quite explain—comfort and terror, ecstasy and unease, all in one bite.

You had followed her career for as long as you could remember. Watching her TV specials, reading her cookbooks, religiously recreating her recipes—it was a passion, maybe even a mild obsession. She was captivating, her confidence magnetic, and her talent undeniable. When an opportunity came up to apply for a position at her flagship restaurant, Memento, you didn’t hesitate. Landing a job there wasn’t just a career move—it was a dream.

What you didn’t know was that it would also become your nightmare.

Walking into Memento for the first time was surreal. The ambiance was intoxicating, luxurious, and yet strangely eerie. The staff moved like ghosts in their pristine uniforms, their faces stern and obedient. There was no sound of clattering dishes or shouted orders—only silence, broken occasionally by Agatha’s voice drifting from the kitchen like a symphony conductor’s commands.

You didn’t expect to meet her right away, but there she was: elegant, poised, and powerful. Her sharp features were framed by soft waves of dark hair, and her piercing eyes seemed to look right through you.

“So, you want to learn?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk but carrying an undercurrent of something sharp.

“Yes, Chef. I—I’ve admired your work for years,” you stammered, suddenly aware of how small you felt in her presence.

Her smile was faint but genuine. “We’ll see if you’re worthy of my kitchen. Follow me.”

You didn’t realize then that stepping into her kitchen would mean stepping into her world, a world where culinary brilliance masked a much darker truth.

The first few days working in Memento were grueling yet exhilarating. Agatha Harkness was a perfectionist, as ruthless as she was captivating. She demanded excellence and punished failure with sharp words, but she rewarded brilliance with smiles that made your stomach flip.

From the beginning, she singled you out. When your fellow apprentices were scrambling to keep up with her instructions, she pulled you aside to demonstrate techniques herself. Her hands would brush yours as she corrected your grip on a knife. Her whispers, low and intimate, felt like secrets meant only for you.

“Don’t let the others distract you,” she said one evening, as the rest of the staff cleaned the kitchen. You had stayed behind, eager to please her. “They don’t see what I see in you. But I do, darling. You’ve got potential. If you trust me, I can make you extraordinary.”

She poured you a glass of wine, her fingers lingering on yours as she handed it over. The way she looked at you made your pulse race. There was something disarming about her, something that made you want to confide in her. You started telling her things—about your ambitions, your struggles, even your insecurities.

She listened intently, nodding and offering words of comfort. But Agatha had a way of twisting the knife.

“You give too much of yourself to people who don’t deserve it,” she’d say, her tone dripping with venom. “The people you love—do they really love you back? Or do they take and take, leaving nothing for you?”

It stung because part of you believed her. Soon, you found yourself drifting away from old friends, even family, making excuses not to call or visit. Agatha was always there, always ready to fill the void.

“You don’t need them,” she told you one night after a particularly long service. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll teach you everything. You’ll be my masterpiece.”

Her words were addictive, and you found yourself craving more of it, more of her. She was always near, her presence wrapping around you like a fog. But there were cracks in the veneer of perfection. Little things—a peculiar smell wafting from the back freezer, missing staff members who were never spoken of again, whispers from the other cooks that stopped abruptly when you entered the room.

She handed you a plate of food to taste. It was exquisite, the flavors rich and unfamiliar, yet they lingered uncomfortably on your tongue. “What do you think?” she asked, watching you intently.

“It’s... amazing,” you said, though something about it unsettled you. Her smile widened, and for a moment, you swore there was something predatory in her gaze.

“You’re learning,” she murmured, placing her hand on your shoulder.

As the weeks went on, Agatha tightened her grip. She insisted you take more shifts, pulling you away from your life outside the restaurant. Your coworkers began to whisper, their jealousy evident, but Agatha made it clear you were above them.

“Don’t let them drag you down,” she hissed after you mentioned the cold glares the others had been throwing your way. “Mediocrity despises brilliance, and you, my dear, are destined for so much more.”

But there was always an undercurrent of cruelty beneath her praise. If you made a mistake in the kitchen, her disappointment was palpable, her words cutting.

“I expected more from you,” she said once, after a dish you’d prepared fell short of her expectations. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

Her disappointment was unbearable, a gnawing ache that kept you awake at night. The only way to earn her approval was to work harder, to give her more of yourself.

One night, as you sat together in her office, Agatha poured another glass of wine and leaned closer to you. “Do you know why I’m so hard on you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Because I have potential?” you replied hesitantly.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I love you,” she said.

The words hit you like a thunderbolt, rendering you speechless.

“I see you, truly see you,” she continued. “And I’ve given you everything. My time, my knowledge, my devotion. No one else will ever care for you like I do.”

Her hand rested on your thigh, her thumb tracing slow circles. “And you love me too. Don’t you?”

Your heart raced. It wasn’t true—was it? But the way she looked at you, the way her presence filled every corner of your life, made you question everything.

“Yes,” you whispered, though the word felt like surrender.

Her smile turned triumphant, her fingers tightening on your leg. “Good. Because I’ll never let you go.”

Then came the night when she revealed her “true art.”

She led you into the backroom after service, a place the other staff seemed to avoid. The air was cold, the metallic scent of blood hanging heavy. In the center of the room was a table, and on it lay what could only be described as a macabre masterpiece—a carved human leg, meticulously prepared, the skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

You stumbled back, bile rising in your throat, but Agatha caught you, her hands firm on your shoulders.

“Do you see now?” she whispered, her voice soothing yet terrifying. “The secret ingredient. The reason my food touches people’s souls. It’s because they taste life itself.”

“You’re insane,” you choked out, but even as you said it, you couldn’t pull away from her.

“No, my darling. I’m an artist,” she said, her eyes alight with passion. “And you... you’ve already tasted it. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you can’t leave.”

Your stomach churned as you realized the truth. She’d been feeding it to you all along, seducing you not just with her words but with her food.

Whether out of fear, fascination, or something darker, you stayed. She lavished you with attention, pulling you deeper into her twisted world. She claimed it was love—that her obsession with you was pure and consuming, and she began to whisper her ultimate truth:

“When you truly love someone, you must consume them. Body, mind, soul.”

You didn’t fight as hard as you should have. Maybe you were too far gone, too ensnared by her charisma, her manipulation. When the night came, you let her guide you to the table, let her touch you with tenderness as she prepared to take what she believed was hers.

The room was dimly lit, candlelight flickering across the table where Agatha had arranged an array of her finest culinary tools. The knife she held glinted as she tilted it, running a finger along the blade with the care of a maestro tuning their instrument. Her expression was serene, as though preparing for something sacred.

You sat in the chair, wrists trembling against the restraints she’d insisted were “necessary.” Her eyes met yours—intense, full of adoration and madness. “I would never hurt you,” she purred. “This is love, my darling. This is how we become one.”

Your chest tightened. “Agatha, please…” you whispered, though it wasn’t entirely fear driving your plea. Deep down, a horrifying part of you craved her touch, her obsession. The thought sickened you, but her words and actions had eroded your sense of self. You didn’t know where your revulsion ended and your strange desire began.

She knelt before you, taking your trembling hands in hers. Her touch was tender, her thumb stroking your palm as though to calm you. “You’re exquisite,” she murmured. “Every piece of you is a masterpiece. And when I consume you, it won’t be to destroy you. It will be to preserve you. Forever.”

Agatha pressed her lips against your wrist, the warmth of her mouth a cruel contrast to the sharp chill of the knife resting on your skin. The blade kissed the delicate flesh of your forearm, slicing with precision. A slow bead of crimson welled up, and Agatha’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating as though she were beholding the most precious wine.

She licked the blood, her tongue darting out to taste the coppery warmth. Her eyes closed, and a shiver ran through her, a sound of pleasure slipping from her lips. “You’re perfect,” she whispered.

Terror gripped you, but so did something else—a morbid fascination as she pressed a square of white cloth to the wound, pausing only to meet your gaze. “This is trust,” she said softly. “And trust is love.”

You wanted to scream at her, to fight the straps that bound you, but her presence overwhelmed you, her obsession having carved itself into your psyche over weeks of whispered devotion and manipulation. You were hers now. You didn’t even remember what it felt like to belong to yourself.

Agatha turned away briefly, her movements deliberate and graceful as she arranged small bowls on the table: herbs, spices, drizzles of amber-hued oils. She hummed softly, the melody haunting and strangely comforting.

She cut a small piece from you. Your mind blanked, panic giving way to numb disbelief. She handled the slice of your flesh delicately, as though it were a rare delicacy. Blood still oozed from the cut, staining the pristine white of her apron, but she paid no mind.

“I’ll make this beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed in reverence. “Because you’re beautiful, and you deserve only the finest presentation.”

You were shaking now, tears streaming down your face as she seared the flesh on a small cast-iron pan. The smell wafted upward, rich and intoxicating, and it sent a new kind of horror rushing through you. Her movements were confident, almost graceful, as she added butter and herbs, basting the slice of you in its juices.

When she plated it—garnished with an artful smear of sauce and a sprig of thyme—it looked like something out of one of her shows. Perfect.

Agatha returned to you with the plate, her face alight with a mixture of pride and something darker. She cut a bite-sized piece, her hand trembling slightly as she brought the fork to your lips. “Open, my love,” she whispered.

You pressed your lips tightly together, refusing, but her gaze sharpened, her tone turning firm. “You’ll taste it,” she demanded, her obsession igniting into something commanding. “You have to. You’ll understand everything when you do.”

Reluctantly—out of fear, out of exhaustion—you parted your lips. The morsel slipped past your tongue, and the flavors exploded in your mouth: rich, savory, decadent. A groan escaped your throat before you could stop it, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hated yourself for the pleasure that coursed through you.

“There,” she said, smiling as though you had just declared your undying love for her. “You feel it now, don’t you? You feel how special you are.”

Your voice cracked. “You’re insane, Agatha…”

“I’m in love,” she corrected sharply, cupping your face. Her thumb wiped a tear from your cheek before brushing across your lips. “And you will love me the way I love you. We’ll be inseparable.”

Her mouth hovered over yours, and before you could recoil, she kissed you—deeply, possessively. You tasted your own essence on her lips, and something shattered inside you, replaced by a grim acceptance.

Then she pulled away, and before you could think to protest, she took a knife and made a shallow cut across her palm. Blood trickled down her wrist, and she let it drip onto the plate. She cut a thin strip of skin from herself and prepared it the same way, searing it with precision.

“This,” she said, handing you the fork, “is how you love someone. By letting them become part of you. Eat.”

Your body betrayed you. Your trembling hands reached for the fork, and you brought the slice to your lips. The flavor was different—darker, heavier—but no less intoxicating. Agatha’s smile widened as she watched you chew.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, leaning close, her breath hot against your ear. “Completely. And I am yours.”

In the weeks that followed, the world outside faded into nothingness. Your life became Agatha—her kitchen, her obsession, her love. She continued to take pieces of you, small parts each time, weaving them into her dishes and savoring them with a reverence that frightened and thrilled you.

You didn’t recognize yourself anymore. You weren’t just her apprentice—you were her masterpiece. And as she fed you pieces of herself, you realized the horrifying truth: Agatha’s obsession with you seemed boundless.

 The way she looked at you—hungry and adoring—was equal parts unnerving and intoxicating. But you noticed a shift after she began feeding you pieces of herself and consuming you in return. Her affection deepened, but so did her control.

“You’re ready,” she told you one night, her tone reverent, like a priestess before a sacred ritual.

“For what?” you asked, still raw from the evening’s events—both in body and soul.

“For the next step,” she said, cupping your face with hands that were simultaneously tender and unyielding. “You’ve trusted me enough to taste and be tasted. Now, it’s time you create.”

She didn’t elaborate, but her words lingered in your mind. The next evening, when service ended, she led you into her private quarters. Unlike the rest of the restaurant, which gleamed with sterility and perfection, her personal space was dark and opulent, with velvet-draped furniture and walls lined with bookshelves.

She handed you a glass of wine and sat beside you, unnervingly close. “When I first began my journey,” she began, her voice soft and hypnotic, “I was lost, like you. Then I discovered the art of it all—the power of taking life and transforming it into something divine.”

You felt your blood run cold, but you didn’t interrupt.

“Every great artist begins with an apprentice,” she continued. “And you’re mine. To understand true creativity, true mastery, you must do more than taste. You must take. I’ll guide you, my darling. I’ll teach you how to savor every moment.”

You should have refused, but her words wove themselves around you like a spell. Agatha made it seem so... inevitable.

The next evening, Agatha brought you into the backroom again, but this time, a man was bound to the same steel table where you’d first learned the truth. He was unconscious, his face bruised but breathing steadily.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you looked at her. “Who... who is this?”

“No one of importance,” she said dismissively, brushing her fingers over the man’s temple. “He made mistakes. Crossed lines. But his life doesn’t matter now. What matters is what he will become.”

Agatha handed you a knife—your knife, she said, one she’d chosen specifically for you. The handle was cool and smooth in your hand, the blade shining under the stark light.

“Don’t look at him as a person,” she said, her voice low and coaxing. “He’s an ingredient. A canvas. And with my guidance, you’ll make something beautiful.”

Your hands trembled, bile rising in your throat. “I can’t,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, standing behind you. Her arms wrapped around you, her hands guiding yours as she brought the knife closer to the man’s bare arm. “Do you trust me?”

“I—” Your voice cracked.

“Do you love me?” she whispered into your ear, her lips brushing your skin.

“Yes,” you croaked, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Then trust me,” she said, pressing your hands forward.

The blade sank into flesh, and the man stirred, his groan muffled by the gag in his mouth. You flinched, pulling back, but Agatha held you steady. “Good,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “You’re learning.”

It was agony and ecstasy at once, your body rebelling against the horror of what you were doing even as her praise lit something deep within you.

Agatha breathed, her voice thick with approval. "Now, don't stop."

Obediently, you continued to cut, each slice of the knife sending a jolt of dark pleasure through you. Agatha watched, her eyes glinting with pride and something else—something hungrier, more primal.

When you finally stepped back, covered in blood and trembling, she pulled you into her arms. Her lips found yours in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. You moaned, tasting the coppery tang of blood on her lips.

"You're amazing," she purred, breaking the kiss to trail her fingers down your neck. "I knew you had it in you."

She pushed you back against the table, her hand sliding under your shirt. Her touch was rough, possessive, igniting a fire low in your belly. You arched into her, craving more.

Agatha seemed to sense your need. She tugged your shirt off, tossing it aside carelessly. Her mouth latched onto your breast, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh until you cried out. All the while, her hand worked between your legs, pushing your skirt up and rubbing your clit through your soaked panties.

"Please," you gasped, grinding against her hand. "I need you."

She chuckled darkly, tearing your panties off with one swift tug. "Patience, my darling. I'm going to take care of you."

She plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt without preamble, making you scream. Her thumb circled your clit as she pumped in and out, building a rhythm that had you writhing on the table.

"That's it," she growled, her eyes dark with lust. "Take what you need."

You did, fucking yourself on her fingers as she drove them deeper. Your orgasm built quickly, coiling tight in your belly. Just as you teetered on the edge, Agatha pulled her fingers out.

"No coming until I say so," she commanded, smacking your clit hard enough to make you yelp.

"Please," you whimpered, "I can't take it anymore. I need to come."

She smiled cruelly, pressing the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. "Suck," she ordered.

You did, moaning at the taste of yourself on her skin. Agatha watched, her expression intense and consuming. "That's my girl," she purred.

She pushed you to your knees, opened her pants and took out her fake cock."Now, put that pretty mouth to work."

You obeyed, taking her into your mouth without hesitation. Agatha groaned, thrusting her hips forward. "Fuck yes, just like that."

She set a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon. Tears leaked from your eyes as you gagged and choked around her cock, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. Not with the way she was looking at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Come here," she growled when she finally pulled out. She lifted you onto the table, kissing you deeply as she shed her clothes.

The head of her cock pressed against your entrance, and you braced yourself for the invasion. But when she pushed inside, it was different. gentler. She filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Mine," she whispered against your lips, starting to move. "All mine."

You clung to her, your nails digging into her back as she rode you hard and deep. The table creaked beneath you with each thrust, the scent of blood and sex mingling in the air.

Agatha reached between your bodies, finding your clit. She rubbed it in rough circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me," she commanded, her voice rough with need. "Let go."

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your cunt clamping down around her cock. Agatha followed shortly after, burying herself deep as she came with a hoarse cry.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. You looked over to the lifeless body, the reality of the horror of what you've done finally sets in. Agatha cradled you in her arms, her fingers stroking your hair as you sobbed. “You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “You’ve taken your first step into becoming truly extraordinary.”

From then on, Agatha began involving you in her process. She taught you how to choose victims—how to find the “undeserving,” those who wouldn’t be missed.

“You’re not taking life; you’re elevating it,” she explained one evening as you watched her methodically butcher a new victim. “Without us, they’d vanish into nothing. But we make them immortal, unforgettable.”

Her justification worked its way into your mind, twisting your guilt into something almost noble. You began accompanying her on hunts, watching as she charmed her targets with her beauty and wit. When the time came, she’d make the kill swift, then turn to you with a smile of triumph.

“You’ll do the next one,” she told you after a particularly successful hunt. Her tone was light, as though she were offering you a new recipe to try.

And when the moment came, you did. Your hands trembled as you held the blade, but Agatha was there, her voice soothing and encouraging. “That’s my girl,” she whispered as the life drained from your victim’s eyes.

You felt sick afterward, but she kissed your forehead, wiping the blood from your face with a tenderness that only deepened your confusion. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “You’re mine now, completely. And together, we’ll create something the world will never forget.”

The more you killed, the more natural it felt. Agatha’s voice became the only thing grounding you, her touch the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“You’re perfect,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “You’ve surpassed even my greatest expectations.”

Her lips met yours, the kiss passionate and consuming. You melted into her, unable to tell where you ended and she began.

“You and I,” she whispered against your lips, “we’re gods in the kitchen. Together, there’s nothing we can’t create. And nothing we won’t destroy. You’re everything I ever dreamed of—my equal, my masterpiece.”

And yet, no matter how deeply entangled you were in her world, you couldn’t quite banish the small voice of doubt within you—the part of you that still longed for freedom, for the version of yourself that existed before Agatha.

But Agatha knew. She always knew.

“You’re wondering if you can leave,” she said one evening as the two of you stood side by side in the kitchen, preparing the next course. Her tone was calm, but her eyes glinted with something dangerous. “You can’t. You’re mine. And if you ever try to escape, you’ll realize just how far my love for you truly goes.”

The blade in her hand gleamed as she worked, the casual threat lingering in the air between you like smoke. “Love isn’t something you can abandon,” she continued softly, slicing into the meat before her with precision. “It’s something you surrender to. Completely. Just as I’ve surrendered to you.”

Her words left you paralyzed, your mind a storm of fear and dark infatuation. Escape was no longer a possibility. You were trapped, not by the physical confines of her world, but by the chains she’d woven around your heart and mind.

And as Agatha stood behind you, her arms draped possessively over your shoulders, she whispered the words that sealed your fate:

“We are one now, my love. And nothing—not life, nor death—will ever change that.”

In that moment, you knew there was no going back. You were hers, just as she was yours, bound by blood, obsession, and an unholy art that would forever define you both.

Her love was a cage, but it was warm. And you couldn’t imagine life without her.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, comment, and follow 💚

[buttercandy16]

I just came here to say I love your dark mind….. your writing is just 😏

-🐦‍⬛

Thank you, Birdie 😘

Always glad to hear someone appreciates my deranged mind 🤭

[buttercandy16]

Possessed

PAIRING(s): DarkGhost!AgathaHarkness x Female!OC

WARNING(s): Non-con, Paranormal Activity, Death, and other Dark Themes.

A/N: Requested by my dear friend Sammy. A very short story. No summaries because my brain ain't working right tonight.

The house on Wisteria Lane always had an eerie aura, a dark energy that seemed to seep from its very walls. When Samantha and her husband Tom moved in, they thought they could tame the old place, make it their own. How wrong they were.

From the very first night, strange things began to happen. Footsteps echoing down empty halls, whispers in the dark, the faint scent of honeysuckle permeating every room. Samantha brushed it off as stress, the adjustment of settling into a new home. But Tom knew better. He had heard the stories, the whispers of a witch who once lived there, a woman named Agatha Harkness.

As the nights wore on, the incidents became more brazen. Sheets would be ripped from the bed in the middle of the night, only to reappear hours later, tangled and damp. The temperature would plummet, leaving goosebumps on Samantha's skin. And always, always, the feeling of being watched, touched by unseen hands.

Samantha tried to ignore it, to focus on her new life with Tom. But as the weeks passed, she found herself increasingly exhausted, her mind foggy and her body heavy with unexplained aches. She would wake in the morning to find herself naked, her skin bearing the marks of fingers and lips. Bruises bloomed on her thighs, her breasts, her neck - dark imprints of possessive hands.

It was happening while she slept, Samantha realized with dawning horror. The ghost was molesting her in the darkness, using her body for its own twisted pleasure. She locked the bedroom door, but it didn't matter. The specter passed through wood and metal like a whisper, slipping into the room to claim what it wanted.

One night, Samantha awoke to the feeling of cold breath on her neck. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her. Fingers raked down her side, leaving red welts in their wake. Tears streamed down Samantha's face as the ghost pinned her down, ripping away her nightgown to expose her trembling flesh.

"Mine," a voice hissed in her ear, the words slithering down Samantha's spine like ice. "You're mine now."

The ghost forced Samantha's legs apart, ghostly fingers delving into slick heat. Samantha thrashed and bucked beneath the spectral weight, but it was useless. The ghost rode her hard and fast, grunting in satisfaction as Samantha shuddered and wept.

When it was over, Samantha curled into a ball, shaking uncontrollably. The ghost's laughter echoed through the room, chilling and mocking. "So responsive," it purred. "I knew you'd be perfect for me."

As the days turned into weeks, the ghost's obsession only grew. It would possess Samantha's body while she slept, forcing her to touch herself, to pleasure the ghost with her own fingers. It would make Samantha do dark, twisted things to Tom - fondling him while he slept, whispering filthy words in his ear until he woke with a start.

Samantha's mind began to fray at the edges, her grip on reality slipping. She stopped going to work, stopped leaving the house altogether. Tom tried to help, but Samantha pushed him away, too ashamed to admit what was happening.

One night, as Samantha lay in bed staring at the ceiling, she felt the ghost slip into her body once more. But this time, it didn't stop at touching. The ghost spoke through Samantha's lips, its voice honeyed and seductive.

"I've been waiting so long for you," it whispered. "I need you with me, forever. You have to make this choice, Samantha."

Cold fingers wrapped around Samantha's throat, squeezing gently. Samantha gasped for breath, her heart pounding in her chest.

"I...I don't want to," she managed to choke out. "Please...let me go."

The ghost's laughter was bitter and cruel. "Let you go? Oh no, my dear. You belong to me now. And I won't let you leave...not even in death."

With a final squeeze, the ghost snapped Samantha's neck. As her lifeless body crumpled to the bed, the ghost smiled in satisfaction. Its work was done.

Samantha's soul drifted in the darkness, lost and confused. But she soon found herself drawn back to the house on Wisteria Lane - back to Agatha Harkness's waiting arms.

Together, they would haunt the house for eternity, the darkest of desires consummated in death. Agatha had won in the end - Samantha was hers forever.

_-_-_

Don't forget to vote, reblog, comment, and follow 💜

[buttercandy16]

What She Deserves...

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: In a world devoid of omegas, Agatha Harkness becomes fixated on her beta neighbor, willing to do whatever it takes to claim her.

WARNING(s): Omegaverse, Dub-con, Obsession, Cheating, Forced Transformation and other Dark Themes.

A/N: Two fics in one day? I'm on a roll, lol! Time for some Alpha Agatha to claim me... I meant you... or us?

The night was moonless, the perfect backdrop to Agatha Harkness’s restless prowling. Salem was quiet these days, much quieter than Agatha preferred. The world had changed; omegas, once sought after and cherished, were no more. The natural order had shifted, leaving only alphas and betas to navigate the complexities of their desires.

Agatha wanted more—needed more. For centuries, she had used her power to survive and thrive, but loneliness gnawed at her now. She longed for the soft yielding nature of an omega, for the irresistible pull of a bond. No beta could match the primal fire in her, no matter how desperately they tried. Then, fate intervened.

When the moving truck pulled up next door, Agatha leaned against her window, watching with detached interest. A couple, newly married from the looks of it, stepped out, smiling and holding hands. Two betas, utterly unremarkable. Her gaze lingered, however, as the wife’s laugh carried through the air, melodic and warm, laced with something that sent a spark down Agatha’s spine.

Interesting.

Her new neighbor—you—was the epitome of charm. Your kind smile and bright eyes captured the attention of everyone who came to welcome you to the neighborhood, but it was the way you walked, moved, and carried yourself that made Agatha’s heart twist. There was something beneath your beta exterior, something she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t long before her curiosity became obsession.

Over the weeks, Agatha ingratiated herself into your life. She’d drop by with welcome gifts, offer to help with the garden, and invite you over for tea when your husband was at work. You couldn’t understand why you were drawn to her company so fiercely, but there was a magnetic quality to her presence that you couldn’t resist.

“Do you ever feel like you’re meant for something… different?” Agatha asked one evening as the two of you sat by her fire. Her voice was low and smooth, curling around your thoughts like a whisper of temptation.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, staring into the flames. “Sometimes I feel out of place. Like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what.”

Agatha smiled, the kind of smile that would have warned anyone wiser to tread carefully. “Perhaps you just haven’t discovered who you truly are.”

It wasn’t coincidence that you began feeling odd a few days later. Your emotions grew unpredictable, your body feverish, and your senses heightened in ways you’d never experienced. Agatha, always conveniently close, reassured you.

“Your husband’s not a doctor,” she chided when you insisted you were fine. “Let me take care of you. Trust me.”

You did.

She concocted teas with herbs you’d never heard of and whispered strange words into the air when you were too tired to question. She stayed close, too close perhaps, but you were too distracted by your own turmoil to see her true intentions.

Her plan was working.

She had found an ancient spell buried in forbidden texts, a ritual designed to awaken dormant omega traits in betas. It wasn’t supposed to exist in this world, but Agatha was nothing if not resourceful. You, her beautiful and unsuspecting neighbor, would be her masterpiece.

The night you fell into Agatha’s grasp felt like falling into a storm—a force far greater than yourself, impossible to fight. It started as a faint haze of discomfort in your veins, a whisper in your body that turned into a scream. You couldn’t control it, couldn’t understand it, but Agatha… oh, she understood it perfectly.

Her knocking on your door that evening was no coincidence. You had spent the entire day spiraling, feverish and restless, aching in ways that frightened you. Your husband had tried to comfort you, his hands fumbling as he touched your sweat-slick skin, his concern obvious, but his presence was unbearable. He smelled wrong, his voice grated against your senses, and the thought of him even looking at you during your vulnerability made your stomach churn.

Agatha had known. She always knew.

“Darling,” she cooed as you opened the door, her violet eyes sharp with concern—and something darker. Her touch, deceptively light, found your trembling hand, grounding you instantly. Her scent was intoxicating, calming the chaos inside you just enough to make you forget the warning alarm in your brain. “You look terrible. Let me help you.”

You hesitated, clinging to a last shred of caution. "I... I don’t understand what’s happening. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Agatha stepped closer, her voice soft, hypnotic. "It’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Your body is finally awakening to its true nature. Let me take care of you. I can make this better."

Desperation clouded your judgment, and before you knew it, you were in her home, her hands guiding you to a comfortable chair by the fire. Her touch was everywhere—gentle on your shoulders, soothing on your back, each caress unraveling your defenses. She offered you tea laced with faintly glowing herbs that smelled of earth and magic. When you drank, the liquid burned in your veins, igniting something so primal you gasped.

Agatha’s smile widened as she crouched before you, one hand resting on your knee, the other cradling your chin. "Feel that?" she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "That’s you transforming. Your body knows exactly what it needs now."

Your skin burned under her touch, your pulse roaring in your ears. Something about her proximity set your senses ablaze. Her scent filled every breath you took—lavender, dark spices, and something raw, something Alpha.

"I need—" you started to say, but your words faltered, your voice caught between a whimper and a growl.

Agatha tilted her head, feigning innocence though her eyes betrayed her cunning. "Need what, darling? Tell me."

You couldn’t. You didn’t know how. Your instincts were at war with logic, and the only thing grounding you was Agatha. Her smirk deepened as she leaned closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Say it," she purred, her voice molten and commanding. "Say what you need."

You shuddered, torn apart by the intensity of her presence. Every rational thought drowned in the tidal wave of heat coursing through you. Her touch dragged you down further, and then she whispered the word that sealed your fate.

"Me."

You trembled under Agatha's intense gaze, her words echoing in your mind like a siren's call. Me. The thought both terrified and thrilled you. Your body cried out for her touch, for her dominance, and the force of that need scared you. You weren't supposed to want this—want her—like this.

Agatha seemed to sense your hesitation, and she pulled back slightly, her hand still resting on your knee. "It's alright," she murmured, her voice soothing even as her eyes glittered with dark promise. "You don't have to be afraid. I can help you through this."

Help. The word was a lifeline in the storm of your new sensations. You needed help, needed something to ground you in the chaos of your awakening omega instincts. And Agatha offered that, along with the temptation of her touch, her scent, the magnetic pull of her alpha energy.

Slowly, you nodded, surrendering to the inevitable. Agatha's smile widened, victorious and hungry. She leaned in closer, her hand sliding from your knee to your thigh, her touch burning through the fabric of your pants.

"Good girl," she purred, her breath ghosting over your lips. "Now, let's get you out of these clothes. We need to see what's happening to you."

Your breath hitched as Agatha stood, her hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. You watched, mesmerized, as she pushed the fabric off your shoulders, exposing the smooth expanse of your skin to the warmth of the fire. Her eyes raked over you, filled with approval and something else—something dark and possessive.

"Beautiful," she breathed, her fingers trailing down your collarbone, over the swell of your breasts. "So perfect."

You shivered at her touch, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your bra. Agatha's lips curved into a wicked smile as she leaned down, her mouth hovering just above the valley between your breasts.

"Can you feel it, darling?" she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. "The heat in your blood, the ache between your legs? That's your omega nature rising to the surface."

You could feel it—the raw, primal need that pulsed through your veins, demanding attention. Your body felt like a livewire, every nerve ending screaming for stimulation. And Agatha seemed to know exactly how to touch you, how to stoke the fire within you.

She straightened up, her hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants. "Let's get these off you," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "I want to see all of you."

With a quick movement, she tugged your pants down your legs, leaving you bare before her except for your bra and panties. The cool air of the room hit your skin, making you gasp, but Agatha's eyes were like a physical caress, warm and approving.

"Look at you," she breathed, circling you slowly, drinking in every inch of your exposed flesh. "So beautiful, so ripe with potential. You're going to be a stunning omega."

The word sounded foreign on her lips, but somehow right. Omega. It explained the ache in your body, the restlessness in your soul. It explained the inexplicable draw you felt towards Agatha, the alpha who stood before you now, her eyes dark with desire.

Agatha stepped closer, her hands cupping your face, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. "I'm going to take care of you," she promised, her voice low and firm. "I'm going to show you what it means to be an omega, to submit to your alpha. And you're going to love every second of it."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation mixed with a hint of fear. You knew you should be scared, should fight against the pull of her dominance. But your body craved her touch, craved the relief only she could provide.

As if reading your thoughts, Agatha's hands slid down your body, one cupping your breast through your bra, the other dipping between your legs, pressing against your aching core through the damp fabric of your panties.

"Can you feel how wet you are?" she murmured, her fingers rubbing slow circles over your clothed sex. "That's your omega essence, darling. It's nature's way of preparing you for mating."

The word made your head spin, but it was the pressure of Agatha's fingers that made you gasp, made your hips buck forward involuntarily. Agatha chuckled darkly, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your panties, caressing your slick folds directly.

"So responsive," she purred, her touch gentle but firm. "I can't wait to break you in properly."

Break you in. The words should have terrified you, but they only served to heighten your arousal. Your body craved submission, craved the dominant touch of an alpha. And Agatha was more than willing to provide that.

She continued her slow exploration of your body, her fingers gliding over your sensitive flesh, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra, dipping between your legs to gather your slick essence. All the while, she whispered words of praise and possession, telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect, how utterly hers.

You could feel yourself losing control, your omega instincts taking over as the alpha's touch consumed you. Your hands clutched at Agatha's shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt as she brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Please, Agatha..."

She smiled against your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone. "Please what, darling?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr. "Tell me what you need."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you could voice your deepest desires. But the fire in your veins demanded satisfaction, demanded release.

"I... I need you," you gasped out finally, the words raw and honest. "I need you to make me yours."

Agatha's eyes flashed with triumph and hunger. "Oh, I will," she promised darkly. "I'm going to claim you in every way imaginable. I'm going to fill you with my seed and make you scream my name until everyone knows you belong to me."

The dirty words sent a shiver of excitement through you, even as a small part of you knew this was wrong, knew you were betraying your husband. But your body didn't care about right or wrong—it only cared about the alpha who held it in her thrall.

With a low growl, Agatha captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of you. At the same time, her fingers found your aching clit, rubbing hard and fast until you were writhing against her, desperate for more.

"Come for me," she commanded against your lips, her fingers never ceasing their relentless pace. "Show me how much you need this."

Her words pushed you over the edge, and with a cry of release, you came hard, your body convulsing as pleasure crashed through you. Agatha held you through it all, her touch steady and dominant, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy until you collapsed against her, boneless and sated.

But even as you caught your breath, you could feel the need building again, could feel the omega inside you demanding more than just a quick orgasm. She demanded completion, demanded an alpha's knot and seed.

As if sensing your thoughts, Agatha picked you up easily, cradling you in her strong arms as she carried you towards the bedroom. "Don't worry, darling," she murmured, her voice low and reassuring. "I'm going to give you everything you need."

And as she laid you down on the soft bed, her body covering yours, you knew she was right. This was only the beginning.

Agatha hovered above you, her eyes dark with desire as she gazed down at your naked form. She took a moment to drink in the sight of you, laid out before her like a feast. Her hands trailed over your skin, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples until they hardened under her touch. You gasped at the sensation, arching into her hands, craving more.

With a wicked smile, Agatha leaned down, her tongue swirling around one hardened peak. Electricity shot through you at the contact, your back arching off the bed as you cried out in pleasure. Agatha chuckled against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of sensation through you.

"Your body is so responsive," she purred, her fingers continuing their exploration of your curves. "I can't wait to feel it spasming around my knot as I fill you with my seed."

The dirty words made your core clench, your arousal growing with each passing second. You could feel your omega nature taking over, your instincts screaming at you to submit, to let the alpha claim you completely.

Agatha seemed to sense your desperation, and she moved down your body with purpose, her hands and mouth leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When she reached the apex of your thighs, she paused, her breath hot against your slick folds.

"Look at you," she murmured, her fingers brushing against your entrance. "So wet and ready for me already. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be an alpha's mate."

She didn't give you a chance to respond, her mouth latching onto your clit instead. The sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. Agatha's tongue worked magic on you, flicking and circling and sucking until you were writhing against her face, your hips bucking shamelessly as you sought more of that exquisite pleasure.

But Agatha controlled the pace, her hands holding your hips down as she lapped at your essence, savoring every drop of your arousal. She brought you to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last second, leaving you gasping and aching for release.

"Please," you whimpered, desperation clawing at your throat. "Please, Agatha, I need—"

She cut off your plea with another swipe of her tongue, her fingers dipping inside you as she finally allowed you to find your climax. You shattered with a scream of her name, your body convulsing as ecstasy tore through you.

But even as the waves of pleasure crested and began to ebb, you could feel the need building again, stronger than before. Your omega instincts demanded satisfaction, demanded an alpha's knot stretching you open and filling you up.

As if reading your thoughts, Agatha moved up your body, her clothed form pressing against your naked skin. You could feel the hard ridge of her arousal through her pants, and it made your mouth water with desire.

"Can you feel what you do to me?" Agatha murmured, her hips grinding against yours in a slow, sensual motion. "Can you feel how hard I am for you? How much I need to be inside you?"

You nodded frantically, your hands reaching for the buttons of her shirt. You needed to feel her skin against yours, needed to explore the curves of her body just as she had explored yours.

Agatha allowed you to undress her, watching with a satisfied smirk as you marveled at the sight of her. She was lean and toned, her breasts full and her abs defined. And between her legs, her cock stood at attention, thick and heavy and glistening at the tip.

"Such a beautiful sight," Agatha purred, her eyes devouring you as you gazed at her in awe. "I'm going to enjoy wrecking this pretty little body of yours."

She didn't give you a chance to respond, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as she settled between your thighs. You could feel the heat of her cock pressing against your slick folds, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

"Tell me you want this," Agatha demanded, her voice low and commanding against your lips. "Tell me you want me to claim you, to make you mine."

"I want it," you gasped out, unable to deny the need coursing through your veins. "Please, Agatha. I need you to fill me up. I need your knot."

Her eyes flashed with primal hunger at your words, and with a growl of satisfaction, she thrust into you in one smooth motion. The sensation of being stretched and filled was overwhelming, your inner walls clenching around her thick length as she bottomed out inside you.

"Fuck," Agatha hissed, her hips stilling for a moment as she savored the feeling of being inside you. "You're so tight. So perfect."

She didn't give you time to adjust, pulling out slowly before slamming back into you, setting a hard and fast pace that had you crying out in ecstasy. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure through you, the head of her cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

You clung to Agatha's shoulders, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure and Agatha's grunts of exertion.

"Mine," she growled, one hand fisting in your hair as she angled your head back, exposing your neck to her teeth. "You're mine now, little omega. I'm going to mark you, claim you, fill you with my seed until everyone knows you belong to me."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your omega nature rejoicing at the thought of being claimed so thoroughly by an alpha. You felt wild, free, as if all the constraints of your old life had fallen away and all that mattered was this moment, this primal act of mating.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips meeting Agatha's thrusts eagerly. "Please, mark me. Claim me. I'm yours."

Your words seemed to spur Agatha on, and she picked up the pace, fucking into you with a ferocity that bordered on violence. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as she took you harder and faster than you ever thought possible.

And then, without warning, she was there, her knot swelling inside you, locking her in place as she finally found his release. You felt her cock pulsing inside you, felt the warm rush of her seed filling you up as she came with a roar of triumph.

The sensation of being claimed so completely sent you over the edge, and you came with a scream of ecstasy, your body milking Agatha's cock for every last drop of her essence.

You collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, both of you panting and sated as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded. Agatha stayed buried inside you, her knot keeping her in place as she nuzzled into your neck, inhaling your scent with a contented sigh.

"That was incredible," she murmured, her lips brushing against your skin. "But don't think we're done yet, my little omega. I've got a lot more to show you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through you at her words, even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. You knew this was just the beginning, knew that Agatha would demand your submission over and over again until you were thoroughly claimed and mated.

But for now, all you could do was bask in the afterglow of your first true mating, knowing that your life would never be the same again.

From that night, your transformation was complete, irreversible. You woke in Agatha's arms, marked in ways you couldn't yet understand. The ache that had consumed you was gone, replaced by something deeper—a connection that bound you to her. You were hers, every part of you attuned to the alpha who had made you this way.

Your husband came looking for you days later, frantic and confused. Agatha welcomed him with a cool smile, standing tall and unyielding at her doorway as she blocked his frantic attempts to push past her.

“She doesn’t belong to you anymore,” she said, her voice smooth, her words cutting like a blade. “You couldn’t handle what she’s become. Let her go.”

The scent of your omega status wafted through the air, reaching him like a slap to the face. His eyes filled with despair as realization struck. He couldn’t argue. There was no fighting the primal laws of biology.

From the shadows, you watched, torn between guilt and the overwhelming relief of having Agatha’s arms around you. She caught your gaze over her shoulder, her smirk cold, victorious.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she murmured, shutting the door in your husband’s face with a finality that sent shivers down your spine. “I’ll take care of you now. No one else ever could.”

Agatha didn’t just claim you; she consumed you. Every part of your life, every piece of who you had been, was now wrapped around her. And as much as a part of you still resisted, another part—darker, hungrier—craved her attention, her dominance, her endless power.

She molded you into her perfect vision of an omega, lavishing you with touches and whispers that lingered long after they ended. Your world shrank to her presence, her approval, her praise. Each moment of submission felt intoxicating, as though her dominance filled an empty space you’d never known existed.

And though her methods were dark, her spell forbidden, Agatha would argue it was a fair exchange.

After all, wasn’t it her right, as an Alpha, to finally have what she deserved?

_-_-_

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

[buttercandy16]

The Landlady

PAIRING(s): Landlady!AgathaHarkness x Tennant!Reader

SUMMARY: New place, new beginning, and strange nights.

WARNING(s): Non-Con, Dub-Con, Stockholm Syndrome, Somnophilia, Manipulation, Breastfeeding Kink, and other Dark Themes

A/N: Just exploring some kinks that I find interesting.

The room was small but cozy, bathed in warm hues from a Persian rug and a few old-fashioned lamps that gave off a golden glow. The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim, their spines worn from years of use. It felt inviting, charmingly cluttered, and smelled faintly of lavender and something richer—something earthy and intoxicating.

"This is the space," Agatha said, gesturing toward the spare bedroom as she turned to face you, her smile like a velvet trap. Her dark hair was swept casually over one shoulder, and her blouse clung in all the right ways, accentuating her confidence and an air of playful mystery.

You felt impossibly out of place, standing in her perfectly curated home with your battered suitcase and freshly broken heart. Your ex’s harsh words still echoed in your mind, but you pushed the memories aside, forcing a small smile. “It’s perfect.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned against the doorframe, a spark of amusement in her piercing blue eyes. “Perfect, hmm? High praise. I’ll take it.”

Her flirtation was subtle, but it didn’t escape your notice. Since you’d replied to her ad, she had been effortlessly charming, her wit sharp but never cruel. At first, you’d been nervous about moving in with someone so... magnetic. She was older, sophisticated, confident in a way that left you fumbling for words. But when Agatha leaned into that confidence—throwing in a wink or letting her hand linger on yours during mundane moments—it left your chest tight and your cheeks warm.

You blamed the tiny crush forming in the back of your mind on the turbulence of your breakup. Agatha couldn’t possibly see you that way—her endless flirting was surely harmless.

Wasn’t it?

For the first few weeks, things felt easy. Agatha proved to be an ideal roommate. She shared her carefully prepared meals with you, the kind that were always spiced just right. She kept the kitchen spotless, offered advice when you sheepishly confided about your ex, and filled the silence with laughter when the weight of your heartbreak threatened to pull you under.

The only odd thing, you’d noticed, were the nights.

You began waking up feeling... strange. As if you were buzzing, every nerve in your body unusually sensitive. Your dreams grew more vivid and peculiar, filled with a phantom warmth you couldn’t quite explain. Fingers tracing your skin, soft breaths grazing your neck, whispers you couldn’t make out. And every time you woke, you felt flushed, your heart racing, the sensation too tangible for a mere dream.

At first, you shrugged it off as residual stress. The breakup. The move. It was a lot to process, after all. But then, strange details started to pile up. You’d wake with your blankets slightly askew or your shirt riding up your stomach. Once, you swore you smelled Agatha’s perfume on your pillow—the same lavender and musky hint you could only associate with her.

It was easy to dismiss at first. Coincidence. Sleepwalking. Overthinking.

But the feelings lingered—tingling warmth along your neck, an ache in your chest you couldn’t place, as if you were missing something you didn’t understand.

What you didn’t realize was that your dreams weren’t dreams at all.

Agatha sat perched at your bedside every night, thankful to the drug she slipped in your evening tea, ensuring you stayed in a deep, pliant sleep. Her fingers trailed softly over your cheek as she watched you, her expression caught between tender admiration and raw hunger.

“You’re so sweet when you sleep,” she murmured one night, her voice a low whisper meant only for your unconscious ears. Her hand brushed the strands of hair from your face, and she let herself indulge, pressing her lips to your forehead in a possessive kiss.

Each night, her touches grew bolder. Her fingertips ghosted down your arms, tracing invisible lines along your skin as though she could draw you closer to her even in sleep. Sometimes, she let her hand linger at your waist, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breath as you laid helpless beneath her gaze.

“You don’t even know how much I’ve longed for this,” Agatha whispered another night, her hand curling into a fist briefly before relaxing again. “Every sigh, every smile—it’s all mine now.”

Her lips found your neck one night, brushing the sensitive skin just below your jaw. Her teeth grazed the spot lightly, her body trembling with the restraint it took not to leave a mark—a sign of her claim that only she would know was there.

“I’ll have all of you soon,” she promised, pressing a kiss to your ear. “And when I do, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without me.”

Agatha didn’t just visit you out of obsession—she believed this was her way of grooming you, breaking down your resistance bit by bit. She’d made sure you found her ad, planned every detail of your arrival, and watched with satisfaction as you settled into the life she’d so carefully orchestrated for you.

Her nights of devotion were her reward.

Every brush of her fingers, every whispered promise, was a secret she kept just for the two of you—a bond you weren’t even aware existed.

Unaware of what happened after you closed your eyes each night, you started noticing subtle shifts during the day.

Agatha’s glances lingered longer, her touches more frequent—a brush of her fingers against your wrist as she handed you a mug of tea, the way she smoothed your hair absentmindedly as you passed on the couch. Her presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, but part of you began questioning the growing pull between you two.

You told yourself it was just her confidence, her charm—nothing more. But the strange feelings, the dreams, and her piercing gaze lingered, leaving you flustered, confused, and vulnerable in a way you couldn’t quite name.

You had no idea just how completely Agatha already owned you.

Life with Agatha grew more perplexing as the weeks passed. Your days blurred together in a haze of shared laughter, casual touches that lingered too long, and the peculiar warmth that bubbled beneath the surface every time she looked at you.

Yet, the nights still held the strangest weight.

The dreams persisted, each one more vivid than the last. You felt her hands—a phantom presence sliding over your skin, stroking your hair, tracing patterns along your exposed arms or stomach. Whispers filled the spaces between sleep and waking, soft murmurs that sent shivers racing down your spine even as your mind clung stubbornly to its unconscious state.

More and more, you awoke tangled in your sheets, your heart pounding as if you’d run a marathon. And every time, you felt her presence—Agatha’s scent lingering on your pillow, the faint impression of a figure beside you that vanished when your eyes opened.

One morning, as you sat across from her at breakfast, picking at the edge of your toast, you caught her watching you again. There was something almost predatory in her gaze, as though she were savoring a secret you weren’t yet privy to.

“Sleep okay, darling?” she asked, sipping from her mug.

You froze for a moment, your hand stilling midair as you reached for your coffee. “I—I guess,” you stammered, your cheeks heating under her scrutiny. “I keep having these... weird dreams.”

Agatha tilted her head, curiosity feigned but expertly calculated. “Weird how?”

You shrugged, unsure of how much to share. “They just feel... real. Like someone’s in the room with me.”

Her lips quirked upward in a knowing smile, the corners of her mouth curling like a cat playing with its food. “Do they, now?”

You nodded, unsure if you imagined the flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“Well,” she said after a pause, “maybe it’s just your mind adjusting to a new space. Moving in with someone new can bring out all sorts of feelings. Don’t worry about it too much, sweet thing.”

Her words were meant to reassure, but something about her tone only made you more uneasy.

That night, as you lay curled beneath your blanket, exhaustion threatened to pull you under, but your nerves kept you teetering on the edge of wakefulness. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—something you couldn’t escape.

It wasn’t long before you fell into a deep, fitful sleep, lulled into submission by a strange comfort you couldn’t explain.

The dreams came swiftly, vivid and disorienting. But this time, the touch wasn’t as ghostly, as faint. This time, it was clear—unmistakable.

The room was thick with the scent of lavender and something darker, something primal. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bed where you lay, your body limp and pliant under the weight of Agatha’s doing. She sat perched on the edge of the mattress, her fingers trailing lazily over your exposed skin, her touch feather-light but deliberate. You were deep in the throes of drugged sleep, your breathing slow and even, completely unaware of the violation unfolding around you.

Agatha’s lips curled into a wicked smile as she leaned over you, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a curtain. “Such a sweet little thing,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr that sent a shiver through the room. Her hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. “So innocent. So perfect.”

You stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping your lips as her touch grew bolder. Agatha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched your body respond to her, even in sleep. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. “Shh, darling,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “Mommy’s here. Just let me take care of you.”

Her hand moved higher, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. She squeezed gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to hardness. You moaned softly in your sleep, your body arching into her touch, betraying the pleasure you couldn’t consciously acknowledge. Agatha chuckled darkly, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to tease your bare skin. “That’s it,” she cooed, her voice dripping with possessive affection. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? My sweet, helpless little thing.”

Her other hand slid down your body, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You gasped in your sleep, your legs parting instinctively as her fingers found the warmth of your core. Agatha’s smile widened, her touch growing more insistent as she explored you, her fingers slick with your arousal. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “So wet for me already. You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? But your body knows. It knows who it belongs to.”

She leaned down, her lips brushing against your neck as her fingers worked you, slow and deliberate. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her teeth grazing your skin. “Every part of you. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Her fingers curled inside you, drawing a soft cry from your lips as your body clenched around her. Agatha’s breath hitched, her own desire flaring as she watched you writhe beneath her touch. “That’s it,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Let go for me, darling. Let mommy make you feel good.”

You moaned again, your hips rocking against her hand as the pleasure built, your body responding to her even in the depths of sleep. Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss deep and possessive as she claimed you, her tongue sliding into your mouth. She swallowed your cries, her fingers moving faster, pushing you closer to the edge.

When you came, it was with a shuddering gasp, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Agatha held you through it, her lips never leaving yours, her fingers drawing out every last drop of your release. When you finally stilled, she pulled back, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she gazed down at you.

“Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft and adoring. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Agatha’s lips lingered on your forehead, her breath warm and heavy as she pulled back just enough to admire your flushed, trembling form. Your body was still twitching faintly from the aftershocks of your forced release, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes as she shifted her weight, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. One by one, she undid them, revealing the pale swell of her breasts beneath. Her nipples were already hard, pebbled with arousal, and she let out a soft, satisfied sigh as the cool air brushed against her skin.

“You’re so perfect like this,” she murmured, her voice low and honeyed, dripping with a sickening sweetness. “So soft. So pliant. Just the way I like you.” Her fingers trailed down your cheek, her touch almost tender if not for the possessive hunger burning in her gaze. “You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? Poor thing. But that’s okay. Mommy’s here to take care of you.”

She leaned down, her breasts brushing against your face as she guided your head to her chest. “Open up, darling,” she cooed, her fingers slipping into your mouth to part your lips. You stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping you as she pressed her nipple against your mouth. “That’s it. Just like that. Take what mommy’s giving you.”

You resisted at first, your body instinctively recoiling from the intrusion, but Agatha held you firmly in place, her will overriding your own. She tutted softly, her fingers tightening in your hair as she forced you to latch onto her. “Don’t be difficult,” she chided, her voice sharp but still laced with that sickening sweetness. “You need this. You need me.”

The moment your lips closed around her nipple, a shudder ran through her, her breath hitching as she felt the pull of your mouth. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back as she rocked her hips against the bed. “Just like that. Such a good girl for mommy.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she ground herself against the mattress, her own arousal building with every suckle.

You whimpered around her, the taste of her flooding your mouth. It was too much, overwhelming, but Agatha didn’t care. She only moaned louder, her free hand slipping between her thighs as she worked herself to the rhythm of your suckling. “That’s it,” she panted, her voice trembling with need. “Take it all. Drink up, darling. Mommy’s got so much to give you.”

Her fingers moved faster, her hips jerking as she chased her own release, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “You’re mine,” she hissed, her voice breaking as she came, her body shuddering violently. “Mine. Every part of you. You’ll never escape me.”

When she finally pulled away, her chest heaving, she looked down at you with a satisfied smile, her fingers brushing over your lips. “Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft and adoring. “Mommy’s so proud of you.” She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, her arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. “Sleep now, darling. Mommy’s got you.”

“I’ll protect you. Love you. No one else will ever know you like I do. No one else deserves you.”

“I’ll make you understand,” Agatha promised, pressing her lips to your temple.

When you finally woke hours later, the room felt heavier, the air clinging to you like a second skin. Your hands trembled as you pulled back the blanket, noticing how it seemed to cling to the faintest remnants of warmth that didn’t belong to you.

You sat up, your heart hammering in your chest. Something was wrong.

Dreams didn’t leave bruises.

As you pulled your shirt down to get dressed, you caught sight of something in the mirror—a faint, purplish mark high on your neck, near the hollow of your throat. Your breath hitched, panic surging through your veins as you stared at the spot.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

You clutched at the mark, your mind racing to explain it. Maybe you scratched yourself in your sleep. Maybe you leaned against something. Maybe—

“Morning,” Agatha’s voice called from the hall, making you jump.

You quickly yanked your shirt higher, covering the mark as she entered the room with her usual confident air, carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed one to you, her fingers brushing against yours in that deliberate way that made your stomach flip.

“You look flustered,” she noted, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they lingered on your throat for a moment too long.

“I’m fine,” you lied quickly, your voice shaky as you avoided her gaze.

Agatha’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m sure you are, sweetheart,” she said, her tone dripping with knowing. “I bet you slept like a dream.”

The weight of her words sent a chill down your spine.

She knew.

The tension between you and Agatha was palpable, but it wasn’t just in the way she looked at you. It was in every gesture, every word. Every moment she seemed to linger just a bit too long, or touch you just a bit too much.

You tried to push the thoughts away—tried to focus on your work, to put the strange sensations and the feeling of being watched out of your mind. But it was impossible.

You found yourself growing increasingly disoriented, as if the boundaries between dream and reality were starting to blur. The nights were the worst—especially since waking up feeling flushed and disheveled had become an unsettling routine. Sometimes, it was only the sound of Agatha’s low, comforting voice that pulled you from the fog, telling you everything was fine. “You’re just adjusting,” she’d say with a knowing smile. “New place. New rhythm. It’ll settle.”

But it didn’t settle. The weight of the mark on your neck, the growing feeling of being watched, gnawed at you. The marks started to appear more often, always just out of view—hidden beneath your hair or the collar of your shirt—but you could feel them. It was as if Agatha had claimed you, and no matter how much you tried to fight the idea, your body betrayed you.

You could feel her eyes on you constantly, even when she wasn’t in the room. And sometimes, when she was there, it was like the air itself thickened, charged with something you couldn’t understand. The room seemed smaller with her in it, her presence overwhelming, magnetic, like the pull of gravity itself.

It was a Thursday night, and you didn’t take your evening tea. This time, the restless energy felt different—it was as if your skin was too tight, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t escape. You tossed and turned for hours, but it wasn’t until the soft sound of footsteps in the hallway that you knew.

She was coming.

Your pulse quickened, and you swore you could feel your heart beating in your throat. Agatha’s presence was undeniable.

The door creaked open, and her silhouette appeared in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze trained on you with such intensity that it made your breath hitch in your chest.

“Agatha…” you whispered, the sound thick with a mixture of dread and something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

She stepped inside without a word, her soft shoes making no noise on the floor. She didn’t need to speak; her mere presence was enough to still the room, to still your mind.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she said softly, her voice the perfect balance of sweetness and something far more dangerous. Her fingers brushed against your hair, a touch so tender it almost made you lean into it. “You know what’s happening. You know what I’m doing.”

Your throat tightened. “What are you talking about?” you tried to ask, but it came out like a plea.

Agatha smirked, moving closer, her body language predatory, her movements slow and deliberate. She gently cupped your face in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Don’t play coy with me, darling. I’ve given you everything. I’ve been here, every night, for so long...”

You couldn’t pull away from her touch, and though you wanted to shout, to run, your body didn’t listen. You felt caught in her web, helpless to escape. The mark on your neck still burned faintly, a constant reminder of her claim.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her thumb ran over your lower lip, the touch so soft, it made your head spin. “But now… now I think you’re finally starting to understand.”

Her lips parted, and before you could react, she closed the distance between you two. Her kiss was slow, methodical, and almost unbearably tender. You should have pulled away. You should have screamed. But instead, you melted into it, the heat of her body overwhelming, pulling you deeper into the spell she’d been weaving.

Agatha broke the kiss with a soft chuckle, her lips hovering just over yours. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Completely mine.”

The weight of her words settled in your chest like a stone, and as she smiled, a cold shiver ran down your spine. There was no escaping this—no way out. Agatha had been preparing you for this moment, molding you with every touch, every whisper, every night. And now, in this quiet, shadowed room, the truth was undeniable.

She leaned in again, this time her breath hot against your ear. “You’re going to beg me for more soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

You woke the next morning with your head pounding and your body aching in ways you couldn’t explain. Your skin felt too sensitive, like every nerve was firing at once. You blinked a few times, your vision blurry, trying to make sense of the hazy memories that danced at the edges of your mind.

Your neck throbbed where the mark had been—had it always been there? You glanced into the mirror, but the spot was gone. Still, the lingering sensation remained. The faintest trace of her lips, her hands, as though she’d marked you in a way that no physical mark could explain.

You pulled your shirt down quickly, but it wasn’t enough to hide the feeling that something had changed. Something fundamental. You were different now—changed. And it wasn’t just because Agatha’s kiss had stolen all your breath, or because her words still echoed in your ears.

It was because you wanted it.

You wanted her.

The days after that night were nothing short of a blur. The haziness of sleep deprivation and the strangeness of your own body’s responses left you walking around in a fog. But the fog wasn’t just in your head—it was in every room, in every corner. Agatha’s presence lingered everywhere, like a scent you couldn’t wash away, no matter how hard you tried.

The subtle touches were still there—her fingers brushing your wrist when handing you a mug, her breath too close to your ear when passing by. But it wasn’t just her touch that affected you now. It was her gaze. Her eyes followed you, studied you with an intensity that felt like you were being stripped bare, analyzed, and claimed in ways that made your stomach churn and your heart race.

You couldn’t escape it. You didn’t want to.

It was late afternoon when Agatha cornered you in the kitchen. You were drying dishes, your hands still trembling slightly from the events of the previous night, when she casually leaned against the doorframe, watching you.

"You seem distant today," she said, her voice lilting with a mix of concern and amusement. "You haven't been yourself lately."

You glanced up quickly, feeling an electric charge run through you as her eyes met yours. "I’m just tired," you said, but even to your own ears, the excuse sounded hollow, forced.

She smiled softly, a quiet understanding settling in her expression. "I think it’s more than that, darling." Her eyes flicked down to your hands, where you gripped the dish towel a bit too tightly. "You’ve been... distracted. Like something’s on your mind."

You opened your mouth to protest, to deny it, but her gaze held you captive. Her voice dropped lower, smooth and seductive. “I think you know exactly what’s been on your mind. Don’t you?”

Your heart fluttered, an irrational warmth spreading across your chest as her words sank in. “I—” You froze. You couldn’t lie to her anymore. She knew.

“You’re thinking about last night,” she continued, stepping closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor with each step. “About what we did. What I did to you.” Her breath brushed your ear, sending an involuntary shiver through your body. “And you want more, don’t you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. The truth—however uncomfortable it was—was right there in the air between you. You did want more. You did. And you hated yourself for it.

“Just say it,” Agatha purred, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of your ear. “Say it, and I’ll make it all go away. Or rather, I’ll make it all come true.”

“I—” You shuddered, a desperate gasp escaping your lips. “I want you.” The admission was soft, but in that quiet kitchen, it felt like a bombshell.

Agatha smiled then, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. “I knew it.” She stepped even closer, her hand brushing your cheek, her thumb stroking over your lips in a slow, deliberate motion. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

Her lips were on yours before you could react, soft and insistent, and for a moment, all the noise in your head vanished. All the doubts, all the fears—they were gone, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of her mouth on yours, her hand on your waist, pulling you closer.

It wasn’t like the soft, tentative kiss from the night before. This was something deeper—more consuming. Agatha’s kiss was possessive, hungry, her tongue sliding into your mouth with a certain urgency that sent a jolt through your body. You kissed her back, unable to stop yourself, your hands grasping at her shirt, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric.

Her hands roamed, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. You moaned softly into her mouth when she cupped your breast, squeezing gently. It was enough to make your knees feel weak, to make your chest tighten with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” Agatha whispered against your lips, her voice raw and thick with need. “I’ve wanted you for so long. And now, you’re mine. All of you.”

From that moment on, there was no turning back.

The nights grew more intense, more charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you could resist. Agatha took full control—no longer subtle with her touches or her words. No more drugging you. Every night, she came to you, claiming you piece by piece, until your very bones felt like they belonged to her.

But it wasn’t just in the darkness of the night. During the day, her presence haunted you, her eyes never leaving you, her touch always just a second away. She was always there, in every quiet moment, in every shared glance, in every brush of her fingers across your skin.

She’d been patient, waiting for you to surrender, waiting for you to come to her on your own. And now that you had, she was determined to make sure you never left her side.

One night, as you lay in bed, tangled in the sheets after another heated, desperate kiss, Agatha gazed down at you, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget who you belong to,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your collarbone. “I won’t let anyone else have you. Not after everything I’ve done.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, and though part of you wanted to run, another part—one you couldn’t quite control—felt a twisted sense of relief. You wanted this. You needed this.

And in the quiet of the night, with Agatha above you, holding you with a possessiveness that almost scared you, you knew deep down you weren’t the same person anymore.

You had become hers.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, comment, and follow. Send in requests!

[buttercandy16]

Hii, can you please do Villain Agatha Harkness x Shield Agent reader? 

Agatha kidnaps Reader when Reader was on a reconnaissance mission and all her teammates can hear over the radio is how Reader struggles to avoid being captured. Villain Agatha wants to have Reader's full attention

Love over Duty

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x ShieldAgent!Reader

SUMMARY: Thrown in a mission to stop an evil witch with a supposedly redeemed evil witch, what could go wrong?

WARNING(s): Dark Themes

A/N: I don't think this is what anon was really asking for and i'll probably write a new one that fits with anons request, but for now, the reader being a shield agent inspired me to write this. So, thank you muchly!

The Quinjet hummed low, the vibration a constant backdrop to the murmur of your team’s preparations. Sitting across the cramped cabin, Agatha Harkness leaned back in her seat like she belonged there, a sly, knowing smile curling her lips. She was out of place among you and your team, her cool composure and midnight gaze contrasting sharply with your tight-knit unit’s precision and control. Fury had sworn that she was your best weapon against the dark witch wreaking havoc across the globe, but trusting her didn’t come easily.

Not to you.

Her lavender eyes followed you constantly, every movement observed with a smugness that crawled under your skin. You were the team’s second-in-command, always focused, always sharp. But the way she looked at you, like she’d peeled back every layer you kept hidden from the world—it made you feel exposed in a way you hated.

“Keep staring, darling,” she said finally, breaking the silence, her voice cutting through the dull murmur like silk over steel. “I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you shot back flatly, tightening the straps of your tactical vest.

“Sure you weren’t.” She crossed her legs, the fabric of her black coat falling away to reveal the sleek boots beneath. “It’s cute how you try so hard to ignore me. But I can feel it, you know.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, jaw clenching. “Feel what?”

Her smirk deepened. “How much you already want me.”

“Focus,” your captain growled from across the cabin, breaking the tension. You felt your face heat as Agatha’s throaty laugh followed you to your station.

The mission hadn’t even started yet, and she was already making it unbearable.

The dark witch’s magic spread like a sickness across the globe, destabilizing entire governments and reducing cities to rubble. No one had yet survived an encounter with her to tell the story, and all magical traces only left more questions—odd pulses of energy, erratic weather, nightmares rippling across entire regions.

When Fury brought Agatha in, he’d admitted it was desperate. She was one of the few people powerful enough to even begin to understand the dark witch's methods. Agatha’s "redemption," as she called it, was still murky territory. No one was sure what compelled her to switch sides—or if she truly had.

Days into the mission, the weight of Agatha’s presence became inescapable. She seemed to slide effortlessly into the gaps in your team. She always had the answers—spotting hidden traps, deciphering magical signatures, dismissing your concerns with that infuriating smirk.

But she was particularly persistent with you.

“You’re tense,” she said one evening, watching you clean your weapon. You were alone at camp; the others had retired, leaving you on watch.

“Don’t start,” you warned without looking up.

“You should let me help with that,” she said, ignoring your tone. She crouched beside you, her hand brushing yours as she picked up a spare magazine. The warmth of her skin sent a spark up your arm, and you jerked away.

“I don’t need your help.”

“But you do.” Her voice softened, the playfulness slipping away to reveal something heavier, darker. She leaned in, her lips almost brushing your ear as she murmured, “You’re wound so tight, darling. It must be exhausting to fight me every second of the day.”

Your breath hitched, but you kept your focus on the rifle in your lap. “I’m not fighting anything.”

Her chuckle was low and dark. “If you say so. But I’ll wait. I’m very patient when it comes to things I want.”

The following weeks were chaos.

Your team fell apart piece by piece, and though there was no concrete evidence to tie her to it, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that Agatha was at the center of it. Disagreements turned into fights. Perfectly calibrated tech malfunctioned at the worst moments. Some of your teammates grew paranoid, plagued by vivid nightmares they swore weren’t natural.

When you woke from a dream of your family—burning alive while you were forced to watch—the sound of your screams sent your team rushing into your tent. Agatha followed them in, moving as if she had no reason to be alarmed.

“Nightmare?” she asked softly, her voice strangely gentle as she knelt beside you.

Your skin felt clammy, and your hands shook as you grabbed the edge of the cot. “I’m fine.”

She tilted her head, dark curls framing her face. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”

Her hand brushed against yours as she stood, and for once, you didn’t flinch.

You’d never wanted to believe it, but she was undeniable. A cold night by the campfire became the turning point. Agatha sat beside you, uninvited, as the others slept. She spoke little that night, her gaze flicking between the fire and you. The usual teasing remarks were absent, replaced by a thoughtful quietness you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t believe in second chances,” you muttered, surprising even yourself. The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I know.” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. “That’s what I like about you. You have your rules, your righteousness. And you’d burn yourself alive to keep them.”

“You don’t know me.”

“But I do.” She looked at you then, her lavender eyes almost mournful. “That’s why you terrify me. And why I adore you.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Adore me? You don’t even—”

“I do.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing the curve of your jaw as she whispered, “I know every stubborn inch of you. Every layer you try to hide. And I love every single one.”

Heat shot through you, your resolve fraying with every word. When she finally pulled back, her eyes boring into yours, you were left breathless.

You couldn’t deny it anymore: she’d wormed her way into your heart. The mission had become more about surviving Agatha than surviving the dark witch. You should have known how dangerous it was to let your guard down around her, but it was too late.

It all came crashing down in that cursed castle.

When the dark witch stepped from the shadows and her hood fell, your knees almost gave out.

“Agatha?”

She tilted her head, smiling—not with warmth but with something predatory. “Surprise, darling.”

The truth hit you like a truck. Every strange event, every bit of chaos that ripped through your team—it had been her all along.

“No.” You staggered back, disbelief clouding your senses. “You…you lied to us. To me.”

Her laugh echoed in the hall, sharp and mocking. “Lied? No, darling. Everything I said was true. My feelings for you? Completely real. But I did say I’d win this war by any means necessary.”

Her magic surged, disarming your team, binding them in glowing tendrils of energy. When she turned back to you, her gaze softened, that false tenderness piercing through the chaos.

“But you, my love,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You’re different. You’ll see why this is right. Why we’re right.”

Your heart shattered. Her words felt like poison, weaving through the love you still couldn’t destroy.

“Agatha…” Your voice cracked as you aimed your weapon at her.

She didn’t flinch. “You won’t hurt me.” She cupped your cheek with one gloved hand. “Because you love me. Even if you won’t admit it yet.”

Her lips ghosted over yours, and when the tears began to fall, they burned like fire.

Your finger hovered over the trigger, trembling as her face stayed inches from yours. The rest of your team struggled against their bindings, shouting your name, pleading for you to come to your senses, but their voices sounded distant—muffled by the rapid pounding of your heart.

“You lied to me,” you said again, your voice breaking as the truth choked the words.

“Maybe,” she admitted softly, tilting her head as if weighing her confession. “But I wasn’t lying when I said you’re the only thing I truly desire.” Her hand slid along the barrel of your gun until her fingers gently circled your wrist, coaxing your aim away. “You don’t belong with them, darling. You belong with me.”

Her touch sent a jolt through you, a mix of rage and longing that left you breathless. Every instinct told you to pull away, to fight, to resist—but your body betrayed you. Your weapon slipped from your hand, clattering to the cold stone floor.

A wicked grin tugged at her lips as she leaned in closer, her magic swirling like a storm behind her. “I knew you couldn’t hurt me,” she purred, her thumb brushing away the tear streaking down your cheek. “Even after everything. That’s what makes you so precious.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

“Am I?” Her free hand settled against your waist, pulling you closer, and her lips hovered just over yours, agonizingly close. “You were made for this—made for me. You’ve been fighting it, fighting me, but it’s pointless now, isn’t it?”

She kissed you then.

It wasn’t soft or tender; it was a claiming, a searing collision of lips that left you drowning in her. Heat and darkness curled around you like chains, and you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice screamed at you to fight, to push her away, to remember everything she’d done—but her kiss silenced that voice, snuffing it out like a dying flame.

When she finally pulled back, her lips curled into a satisfied smile as you stood there, dazed and trembling.

“See?” she murmured. “I was right all along.”

Your legs buckled, but she caught you effortlessly, cradling you against her chest as if you were fragile, as if she hadn’t just shattered you in ways you didn’t think possible. Her magic swirled around the two of you, cutting you off from everything else—your team, the mission, the world.

“Let’s leave them behind,” she whispered into your ear. “They never really understood you, not like I do. They’d betray you the moment you slipped up. But me?” Her fingers tilted your chin up to meet her gaze, her lavender eyes burning with an intensity that both terrified and enthralled you. “I would burn the world down for you.”

The days that followed were a haze.

She whisked you away to some hidden realm—a dark, sprawling fortress carved from stone and shadow. There were no windows, no clocks, no sense of time. You couldn’t even tell if it was day or night, only that every moment was hers.

Agatha didn’t need chains to keep you; her magic made sure of that. The castle itself obeyed her commands, the walls shifting to keep you from finding a way out. She didn’t keep you locked in a cell, though—no, she wanted you to feel at home.

You hated her for it. And yet, her care was insidious. She’d appear at odd hours, bringing warm food, soft blankets, or whispered reassurances that you couldn’t help but latch onto in your confusion. Her magic was everywhere, dulling your mind and wrapping you in a sense of safety so false it made your skin crawl.

Still, there were moments when her cruelty slipped through, sharp and cutting like shards of glass.

“You’re thinking of them again, aren’t you?” she’d ask one evening, her voice as calm as ever while you stared out at nothing, lost in thought.

You stiffened. “I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are.” She appeared behind you, her hands sliding around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. Her touch sent shivers down your spine, and you hated how easily your body responded to her. “Your little team. The ones you think will come save you.”

“They will.”

Her laugh was dark, amused. “I’d like to see them try. Do you really think they care? After you hesitated back there? After they saw you drop the weapon?”

Her words dug into you like claws, pulling apart the fabric of your resolve. She turned you to face her, and the way she looked at you—possessive, hungry, almost reverent—made your chest tighten.

“You’re mine now,” she said, her voice low and final. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll see how much better it is here with me.”

Her lips found yours again, and this time you didn’t resist.

She wanted to break you. That much was clear.

But in some twisted, horrifying way, she loved you. Not just as a prize or a possession, but with a depth that bordered on obsession. It was in the way she touched you—her hands lingering as if memorizing every inch of your skin. In the way her eyes softened when you finally let yourself cry, her fingers carding through your hair as she murmured, “There, there, my love. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She knew exactly when to push and when to pull, when to smother you with love and when to strip you bare with her words.

“You’re the only thing that matters,” she told you one night, lying beside you in the massive, canopied bed she’d conjured for you both. Her fingers traced lazy circles along your arm, her magic humming faintly against your skin. “The world can burn for all I care, as long as I have you.”

And as the days turned to weeks, your resistance crumbled piece by piece.

You hated yourself for it.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

When the time came to fully join her—to stand by her side as she unveiled her plans to the world—you didn’t hesitate.

Agatha’s smile when you took her hand was brighter than the sun. “You’ve made me so happy, my love.”

Your heart clenched, the shadows of your betrayal pressing down on you, but you pushed them away. You couldn’t go back now. Not after everything.

Not when her hand felt so warm in yours.

Agatha finally had what she wanted: you. And with you at her side, the world would bow—or burn.

The air in the throne room crackled with energy as Agatha stood at its center, her presence commanding and undeniable. You were at her side, the shadows dancing across her face and casting her sharp features in a sinister, ethereal light. Around the room, magical constructs—nightmarish creations of her design—moved like sentinels, guarding the space where she intended to enact the final phase of her plan.

"Are you ready?" she asked, turning to you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. Her voice was soft, but it carried an edge that demanded loyalty.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flitting to the towering window where the sky churned unnaturally, her power distorting the very fabric of the world. You weren’t sure if you’d ever truly feel ready, but your heart and mind were no longer your own. You nodded.

"Good," she purred, her hand caressing your cheek. The touch sent a flood of warmth through your body, but it only deepened the void inside you where guilt and doubt festered. "With you at my side, there's nothing I can't accomplish."

Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up so your eyes met hers. That look of devotion, almost manic in its intensity, was impossible to break away from. "You’ve chosen wisely, darling," she said, her lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch. "This world will kneel before us. No more war, no more suffering. It’ll be perfect. Don’t you want that?"

Her words stirred something in you—hope, twisted and malformed, warped by her manipulations. You wanted to believe her, to cling to her promises of a better world. But deep down, something fragile and human still screamed against the suffocating darkness.

"I do," you whispered, though your voice felt like it belonged to someone else. "I want to believe you."

Agatha’s smile widened, radiant and terrifying. She kissed you again, this time with a ferocity that left you breathless. "And you will, my love. Soon, you’ll see I’ve done all of this for you."

The day of reckoning began at sunrise—or what should have been sunrise. The sky was an unnatural shade of deep purple, fissures of light and shadow splitting the horizon as Agatha summoned her magic into a pulsating sphere high above her fortress. It crackled with dark energy, absorbing the power from every corner of the globe as her control expanded.

You stood beside her, dressed in darkened tactical armor that she had crafted for you, a blend of your old life and her domain. Your team’s absence hung like a heavy weight on your soul, but you hadn’t seen or heard from them since the castle’s takeover weeks ago.

As you watched Agatha weave her spells, you couldn’t shake the growing unease gnawing at you. The world was breaking apart under her power, and even though she looked at you with such overwhelming love, her madness was undeniable.

"Tell me something," you said softly, your voice barely cutting through the din of energy surging around the room. "Why me? Why go through all this trouble?"

Agatha froze mid-motion, her hands glowing faintly as she lowered them. Her head tilted, and for a moment, you thought she might lash out at you. Instead, she stepped closer, her expression softening with something close to vulnerability.

"You’re the only light I’ve ever known," she said simply. Her hands cupped your face, her thumb tracing your jawline as she spoke. "The world is ugly and cruel. No one can be trusted. But you… you were different. You burned so brightly, so purely. Even when you hated me, I could see the goodness in you. And I couldn’t let it go."

Her words hit something raw inside you, but they carried a disturbing undercurrent of possession. You weren’t sure if she loved you or if she simply couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. Maybe it was both.

When your team finally arrived, you felt their presence before you saw them. The tension shifted, a familiar, sharp energy cutting through Agatha’s magic. Her attention snapped to the entrance as the sound of boots echoed down the long corridor.

"You called them here," she hissed, rounding on you, suspicion flashing in her eyes.

"I didn’t!" you insisted, hands raised defensively.

She didn’t look convinced, but before she could press further, the double doors at the far end of the room burst open. Your captain stormed in first, weapon raised, followed by the rest of your battered but determined team. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes blazing with fury as they took in the sight of you standing by Agatha’s side.

"Stand down!" your captain shouted, his voice ringing through the chamber. "We’re here to bring you home. This isn’t who you are!"

Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering to Agatha, whose sneer deepened as she raised a hand to conjure a barrier between them and her.

"They don’t understand you like I do," she whispered, her tone dripping with venom. "They’d throw you away in a heartbeat. They don’t deserve you, my love."

"You’re wrong," you said, though your voice faltered.

"Am I?" she pressed, her hand gripping yours tightly. Her magic rippled through you, intoxicating and numbing all at once. "Tell me, darling. Who’s been by your side this entire time? Who understands the depths of who you are? They abandoned you. I saved you."

The weight of her words crushed down on you, but your captain’s voice cut through the haze. "You don’t have to do this. Whatever she’s done to you, we’ll undo it. You can come back to us. Please."

For a split second, you hesitated.

Agatha noticed.

Her grip on your hand tightened painfully, and her magic surged, coiling around you like chains. "Don’t listen to them!" she snarled, her voice sharper now, desperate. "You’re mine. You belong to me. And if I have to tear this world apart to prove it, I will."

The choice was suffocating, unbearable. You could feel the pull of your old life, the camaraderie, the trust you once had with your team. But then there was Agatha, her presence a blazing inferno of passion, possessiveness, and twisted love.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words that came out weren’t your own:

"I choose her."

The devastation on your team’s faces would haunt you forever. But as Agatha pulled you into her arms, her triumphant laughter echoing through the chamber, you knew there was no turning back.

You belonged to her now—utterly, irrevocably. And the world would kneel before you both.

The world did kneel.

Agatha’s conquest unfolded with a relentless, merciless precision. With you at her side, she unleashed her magic across nations, bending governments and armies to her will. The fissures she created in reality itself carved through cities, marking the end of resistance. Darkness swept the planet, but to her, it was a new dawn—your dawn.

And you were her beloved crown jewel.

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment you stopped struggling. Maybe it was during the endless nights spent at her side, wrapped in her arms as she whispered dreams of your eternal reign. Maybe it was the way she smiled so sweetly at you, like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. Or maybe it was her power, subtle and insidious, weaving its way into your very soul until it became impossible to know where she ended and you began.

Your team tried one last desperate attack against her empire.

It was brutal, swift, and inevitable.

You saw them fall, one by one, as Agatha watched with a calm, satisfied smile. She let you witness the devastation, ensuring you were there to deliver the final blow that shattered their hope entirely. When the captain, battered and broken, looked up at you with disbelief and betrayal in his eyes, his final words carved into you like a brand.

"We were your family."

You hesitated for a fleeting moment—but then Agatha’s hand brushed yours, and the doubt faded like smoke on the wind. You struck the blow that ended him, the silence that followed so deafening you thought the earth had swallowed you whole.

Agatha pulled you into her arms as your knees gave way, cradling you like a child. "Hush now, my love," she cooed, her fingers threading through your hair as tears slipped silently down your face. "It had to be this way. They would never have let us be together."

You couldn’t speak.

Her lips ghosted over your ear, her voice soothing, almost tender. "This is the world I promised you—a world where we can be free. No one will ever stand between us again."

Years passed, though time in the world she’d created seemed to move differently. Her kingdom stretched far and wide, a dark utopia shaped by her vision and your unwavering place at her side. The sun rarely broke through the constant storm-churned skies, but Agatha insisted it was beautiful—a reflection of her power and devotion.

You’d become a myth among her people: the warrior who stood beside the dark queen, her chosen beloved, as much a god in their eyes as she was.

Still, late at night, when the castle was quiet, and her magic draped around you like a suffocating shroud, you couldn’t stop the ghostly echoes of the life you’d left behind from haunting you.

"What are you thinking about, darling?" Agatha’s voice would break the stillness, soft but edged with a hint of suspicion.

"Nothing," you’d reply, your voice hollow.

Her hand would tilt your face toward hers, her expression unreadable as her lavender eyes searched your own. There was always an edge to her affection, a warning that you belonged to her and her alone.

She kissed you then, as if sealing that ownership—a kiss that left you drowning in the storm of her power, drowning in her love.

It didn’t matter that a part of you still whispered of regret, still longed for something lost.

She had won.

And in the end, so had you.

A dark queen and her devoted consort, ruling a broken world, eternally bound by love, obsession, and betrayal.

_-_-_

Don't forget to vote, follow, reblog, and comment 💜

[buttercandy16]

dickssportinggoods: Go behind the scenes on our latest shoot with Kathryn Hahn!

[buttercandy16]

[buttercandy16]

Shadows from the Past

Sequel to "The Bully"

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.

WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.

Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.

High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.

But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.

Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”

Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.

You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.

Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.

Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.

It felt personal. Too personal.

That’s when the email arrived.

The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.

The message was brief but chilling:

*Dearest [Your Name],

I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.

Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*

The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.

You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.

But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.

Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Agatha.

She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.

You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”

Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.

“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.

The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.

You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”

“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”

Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”

The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.

The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.

She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.

One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.

“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.

Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.

“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”

Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”

Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”

Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.

“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”

Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”

Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.

“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”

Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.

“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.

Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.

One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”

Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”

Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”

Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.

And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.

What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.

When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”

It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.

Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.

One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”

When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.

“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.

“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.

“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.

Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”

You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.

One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.

But you didn’t get far.

A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.

“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”

Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.

“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.

“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.

“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.

But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.

“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”

That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.

The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.

One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.

And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.

You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.

You were hers.

And she knew it.

Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”

The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.

Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.

And that was what terrified you the most.

Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.

She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”

She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.

Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.

“I belong to you.”

Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.

She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”

It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.

One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”

And in that moment, you knew she was right.

Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.

She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.

Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.

“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.

“I’m yours.”

But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.

And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?

Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.

Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.

[buttercandy16]

Kathryn's glambot for the Golden Globes

[buttercandy16]

The Bully

PAIRING(s): DarkStudent!Agatha Harkness x Student!Reader

SUMMARY: Agatha Harkness, a senior, takes pleasure in tormenting you, her shy junior. As the bullying escalates, you can’t shake the feeling that there's more to her cruelty than just power.

WARNING(s): Non-Con, Bullying, Obsession, Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Violence, Harassment, Power Dynamics, Dark Themes.

A/N: Gotta admit this is twisted. Better not proceed if this is not your cup of tea.

The first day of junior year was supposed to be a fresh start. It was supposed to be a time for you to blend in with the crowd, get through the year unnoticed, and maybe—just maybe—feel like you belonged somewhere.

But that dream was shattered the moment Agatha Harkness laid her eyes on you.

Agatha was not the typical queen bee of the school—she didn’t just command attention; she demanded it. Beautiful in a way that made you feel invisible by comparison, her striking blue eyes had a chilling coldness to them, as if they could see right through you. She moved through the halls like a predator stalking its prey, her every step deliberate, her smile a weapon that made even the strongest students quake in their boots.

You? You were nothing special. You were shy, quiet, the kind of person who tried to stay out of the spotlight. But Agatha, in her twisted mind, saw you. From that moment, you became her target.

And Agatha was relentless.

At first, Agatha’s bullying was subtle. A misplaced book here, a whispered insult there. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just part of the high school experience. But the problem was, Agatha didn’t stop. She enjoyed it.

You’d be walking down the hallway, and Agatha’s friends would bump into you on purpose, sending your books scattering across the floor. The laughter that followed was always louder than necessary. Her voice would ring out from behind you, sharp and mocking, “Watch where you’re going, loser.”

She’d whisper just loud enough for the people around you to hear during group assignments: “She doesn’t even belong here. Do you know how pathetic you look?” The others would laugh, and you would shrink in your seat, staring at your half-eaten meal, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole. The words stung, but the sneers from the others—the agreement in their faces—cut deeper.

On one memorable occasion, she ensured your diary ended up projected on the screen in homeroom. Every scribbled insecurity, every desperate wish for normalcy, displayed to the class as Agatha read from it aloud, her voice dripping with mockery.

"Oh, look! 'I hope someone notices me.' How sweet! Everyone's noticing you now."

You begged her to stop, choking back sobs as laughter roared around you. Agatha didn’t relent. She wasn’t just enjoying your misery; she was feeding on it.

But Agatha was only getting started.

By the time the second month of school rolled around, Agatha’s cruel games had become a daily torture. Every corner you turned, there she was—either waiting for you or making sure you felt her presence.

One day in the cafeteria, you sat with your tray, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach. As you picked up your fork, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Before you could react, Agatha’s voice pierced through the noise of the cafeteria. “Hey, loser, don’t forget your real place.”

Suddenly, her drink—what had to be an entire cup of soda—was poured over your head. The sticky liquid dripped down your face, soaking your hair and clothes, as the entire cafeteria erupted in laughter.

“Smile for me, sweetheart,” she purred as you cried, leaning in close enough for you to smell her faint lavender perfume. “You look so pretty when you break.”

Your throat burned with the urge to scream, but you couldn’t make a sound. The laughter of your classmates filled your ears, drowning out everything else.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, frozen, drenched in humiliation. All you could do was stare at your hands, your fingers trembling while you silently cried.

But what terrified you most wasn’t the public bullying or even the physical taunts. It was how she stared when no one was looking.

Agatha watched you.

Her blue eyes followed you down corridors, across the cafeteria, and into the deepest parts of your nightmares. Sometimes you’d catch her in the distance, leaning against a wall, smirking as you tripped under her latest setup. But sometimes, you’d find her lurking nearby, standing too close, leaning too near, the edge of her voice dropping into something soft and intimate.

“You’ll thank me one day,” she murmured once, brushing an invisible strand of hair from your shoulder as you flinched back. “When you realize I’m the only one who cares enough to notice you.”

Over the next few weeks, the bullying turned sadistic. It wasn’t just about humiliating you anymore; Agatha wanted to break you. She wanted to make you feel like you didn’t belong. She wanted you to feel the weight of her presence crushing you every single day.

Your clothes were slashed—deliberately, carefully, the marks too precise to be an accident.

Your locker was spray-painted with cruel words. “Ugly” was the least of them. “Slut,” “Worthless,” “No one will ever love you,” the words taunted as you opened it.

Every time you tried to stand up for yourself, Agatha was there, sneering. “What? You think you have any power here? Look around you. No one cares about you. You’re nothing.”

You felt broken. Every day you woke up, dreading the thought of facing her. But you couldn’t escape. You couldn’t run.

By mid-semester, you were unraveling. Your grades slipped, and you stopped attending events. The weight of constant ridicule hung over you like a storm cloud.

You stopped eating, stopped sleeping. You stared at the ceiling at night, wondering if it was worth getting up in the morning.

She had you exactly where she wanted you

When Clara transferred to your school, you thought you’d found salvation. Clara wasn’t afraid to sit with you, to stand between you and the others who Agatha had rallied to her side. For the first time, you felt seen in a way that didn’t break you.

But the price of Clara’s kindness was high. Agatha hated her with a fervor you’d never seen before.

Agatha was watching, always watching. The moment she saw you with Clara, a new kind of fire ignited in her cold eyes. She was jealous. Jealous of Clara’s ability to make you smile, to make you forget for just a second the hell you lived in.

Clara’s presence only intensified Agatha’s cruelty. She started targeting Clara, too, making her life as miserable as she made yours. 

And Agatha enjoyed every second of it.

It started with petty taunts. Clara’s appearance, her laugh—nothing was off-limits. But Agatha’s rage simmered just under the surface.

Then Clara’s locker was defaced. “Homewrecker” was scrawled across it in angry red paint.

When Clara found her gym bag shredded and her phone destroyed in the cafeteria, Agatha’s smug grin was all you needed to see.

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Clara finally snapped one afternoon, shoving past Agatha in the hallway. You’d never seen her stand up to Agatha like that.

But that was the mistake.

Agatha didn’t respond. She simply stared, a storm brewing in her eyes.

The day it all shattered was an ordinary one—or so you thought. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual noise, students laughing, trading whispers, and tossing food across tables. You sat with Clara, your head low, desperate to avoid Agatha’s gaze.

But the room stilled the moment she walked in.

Agatha’s steps were slow, deliberate, every student shrinking back as she passed. You could feel the heat of her stare long before she reached your table.

“Move,” she snapped at Clara, her voice like steel.

Clara squared her shoulders, her hand trembling on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”

What happened next was a blur. Agatha grabbed Clara by the hair, yanking her from her seat and dragging her to the center of the cafeteria. The screams echoed in your ears.

The students gathered in a horrified semi-circle as Agatha pulled out a blade. She pressed it to Clara’s neck, her voice eerily calm.

“She’s mine,” Agatha said, her eyes finding yours as she tightened her grip on Clara’s hair. “You’re mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to love you.”

“Stop it!” you screamed, rushing to pull Agatha away.

There was no cruelty in her gaze—only desperation.

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I had to make you see me.”

Her confession twisted something inside you—a sick, horrifying realization that the torment, the humiliation, all of it, had been her twisted way of keeping you close.

You choked on a sob, unable to respond, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before you.

Then, with a deliberate motion, Agatha sliced a thin line across Clara’s cheek—not deep enough to do permanent damage but enough to draw blood. Clara screamed, struggling against her hold.

“Do you see now?” Agatha’s voice broke, her obsessive rage bleeding into desperation. “No one can have you but me!”

She threw Clara to the floor, letting the crowd scatter like flies as she advanced toward you. Blood smeared across her hand as she reached out, grabbing your wrist in a viselike grip.

“You don’t need anyone else,” she whispered, her eyes wild and glistening with something raw and unhinged. “Say it.”

The room seemed to spin as her breath brushed your ear. “Say you’re mine.”

Tears streamed down your face as the truth—her obsession—finally clicked into place. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even hate. It was something darker, more consuming, and far more terrifying.

When you didn’t answer, Agatha’s grip tightened, her nails biting into your skin.

“You don’t have a choice,” she hissed. “You’ve always been mine.”

The cafeteria ringing with the chaotic noise around you, the violent energy from Agatha and the blood that painted the scene still pulsating in your veins. The sight of Clara’s blood streaking down her face mingled with the stares of students who had no idea whether to intervene or stare in utter terror. Some stared, captivated by the violent outburst, while others simply backed away, knowing better than to involve themselves.

Agatha’s pupils dilated in sheer madness, her smirk was full of an almost palpable hunger that gnawed at you, making you feel nauseous. Her fingers were still stained with Clara’s blood. "That was your fault, you know," she purred. "If you hadn’t pulled Clara into this, you would still be mine alone.”

The air felt thick with dread and something darker—a possessive heat, almost sexual in its intensity. Agatha's voice was lower now, dripping with an edge that made every word feel like a knife twisting into your heart.

“Isn’t that right?” she whispered.Her body pressed up against yours, no longer the cruel manipulator, but the woman possessed, desperate, and incapable of understanding love beyond her twisted perception of ownership.

You couldn’t breathe. Your throat felt like it was closing up as Agatha continued, undeterred, making the space between you feel suffocating.

“You think you can escape me?” Agatha’s hand caressed your cheek—deliberate, slow—and then, before you had a chance to react, she forced her lips onto yours in a searing, aggressive kiss. The cold edge of the blade still gleamed in her fingers, pressing against the soft, trembling skin of your neck. She was testing your limits, consuming you.

“You belong to me. You’ll always belong to me,” she whispered against your lips as you tried to pull back, your body repulsing the contact, but Agatha wasn’t giving you an escape. She was insistent. Every inch of her energy radiated possessiveness and torment. It was unbearable—her grip tightened on you, suffocating all sense of resistance you had.

The pain inside you deepened, like your very identity was being ripped apart.

Her teeth scraped against your bottom lip, drawing a whimper from you that only seemed to fuel her hunger. The blade pressed harder, a silent threat that kept you frozen in place as her other hand slid down your body, rough and possessive. She didn’t care that the entire cafeteria was watching, that Clara was bleeding on the floor, that you were trembling in her grasp. All that mattered was her need to dominate, to own you completely.

Her fingers found the hem of your shirt, yanking it up with a force that made you gasp. The cold air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her touch as she groped your chest, her nails digging into your flesh. “You think you can hide from me?” she sneered, her breath hot against your ear. “You think anyone else can touch you like this?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to push her away, but she was too strong. Her hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Agatha, don’t—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, her fingers pressing against you, rough and unyielding. “You don’t get to say no to me. You’re mine, and I’ll take what’s mine whenever I want.”

Her touch was cruel, deliberate, designed to hurt as much as it was to claim. You bit your lip to stifle a cry, but she didn’t miss the way your body shuddered under her hand. “That’s it,” she purred, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “You can’t hide how much you want this. How much you need me.”

You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the blade at your throat kept you still, your body betraying you as she worked you with ruthless precision. The room spun around you, the sounds of the cafeteria fading into a distant hum as Agatha’s touch consumed you. Her breath was hot against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she whispered, “You’ll never escape me. Never.”

Her fingers moved faster, harder, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, a sound that only seemed to fuel her frenzy. “That’s it,” she growled, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let them all see how much you belong to me.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, but it was impossible. The feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice—it was everywhere, consuming you, breaking you. And when she finally pulled her hand away, leaving you trembling and exposed, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “This is just the beginning. I’m not done with you yet.”

The blade disappeared from your neck, but the threat lingered, heavy and unspoken. Agatha stepped back, her eyes blazing with a dark, possessive hunger.

The weight of her command rolling off her tongue with the kind of authority that made the room shrink.

"All of you. Leave," she said, her voice low but biting. The onlookers flinched, uncertainty flickering in their wide eyes as they shifted nervously. "And let me make this clear—what you saw here today? You saw nothing. Speak of it, and I'll remind you why that blade was mine to wield."

The tension was suffocating. One by one, the witnesses filed out, not daring to meet her gaze. Some stumbled in their haste to flee, boots clattering against the stone floor, even Clara followed along but Agatha didn’t seem to care. Her focus remained fixed entirely on you.

When the last of them had gone and the room was swallowed by silence, she turned her full attention back to you. Her lips curled into something too satisfied to be called a smile, yet not quite sinister enough to be a smirk. It was the look of someone who had just claimed exactly what they wanted—someone who knew the gravity of what they’d done and reveled in it.

Her presence was all-consuming. She didn’t move closer, didn’t speak, but the air between you still bristled with the weight of unspoken things. The blade was gone, yet its absence almost felt worse—like the void it left was filled with something sharper, heavier.

Agatha tilted her head, studying you, as if relishing how small and cornered she’d made you feel. Then, finally, she broke the silence.

"You're mine now," she murmured, her voice silky and unyielding. "And you’ll come to understand—I always get what I want."

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, searing into yours, before she turned away, leaving the room heavy with the remnants of her presence.

_-_-_

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

[buttercandy16]

Consequences to your Actions

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader, Rio Vidal x Reader

SUMMARY: A woman, betrayed by her wife, embarks on an affair with her boss, Agatha Harkness. Agatha's control leads to a divorce, but when the truth emerges, it’s too late—Agatha will do anything to keep her.

WARNING(s): Infidelity, Manipulation, Obsession, Implied Stalking, Betrayal, Deception, Abuse, Control, Gaslighting, Dub-Con, SMUT, and other Dark themes I forgot to mention.

A/N: The itching need to add Rio even if I'm only writing her as a minor character. Enjoy!

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Rio started coming home late. At first, she had excuses—work meetings that ran over, urgent deadlines at her law firm, impromptu drinks with colleagues. You didn’t think much of it at first; your own work at Harkness Industries was demanding enough, and you weren’t about to begrudge her the same kind of schedule.

But as the weeks went by, the excuses started to feel hollow. She became distant, absent even when she was physically there. When she kissed you, it was fleeting. When she held you, it felt like her arms were a cage keeping something unspoken inside.

And then there was her phone.

It started buzzing at odd hours—late at night, early in the morning. She was quick to silence it, brushing off your questions with tight-lipped explanations. “It’s just work,” she’d say, or, “You know how chaotic things get this time of year.”

You wanted to believe her. God, you needed to believe her. But the unease festered.

Your life began unraveling on a quiet Tuesday evening. You hadn’t expected it—betrayal rarely came with a warning. As you walked into the apartment, exhausted from work, Rio stood in the kitchen, fiddling with her phone. At first, it seemed innocent, just another moment of routine. But when you greeted her, she flinched, quickly locking the device and shoving it into her pocket.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing.” She gave you a nervous smile, brushing past to put the kettle on. “How was work?”

Her attempt to divert the conversation only made you more suspicious. It wasn’t like her to be evasive. Still, you brushed it off. Maybe you were overthinking things.

But the unease didn’t go away. In fact, it worsened as the days passed.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you saw Rio’s phone buzzing on the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen—"Unknown"—was strange enough. Stranger still was the message preview: “Can’t stop thinking about you. Last night…”

You froze, nausea twisting your stomach. Before you could react, Rio stirred, taking the phone in her hand and quickly silencing it.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, clearly trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“Who is this?” you demanded.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “That’s—she’s just a friend. It’s not like that.”

“A friend?” You couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped you. “Who texts their friends last night was amazing?”

She tried to defend herself, but the damage was done. You didn’t believe her. How could you? A message like that wasn’t innocent. Not when it left a dull ache pounding in your chest every time her phone buzzed. That pain, the uncertainty, stuck with you. It hung in the back of your mind at work, bled into your daily routines, and stole your ability to focus on anything else. You stopped going to bed with her. Stopped sharing your dreams or your fears because you weren’t sure if she deserved them anymore.

The seeds of doubt had taken root, and no amount of reassurance could pull them out.

At work, you found no reprieve. If anything, your performance began to suffer. Tasks that once came easily felt impossible to focus on. Meetings dragged on, your mind wandering to the phone calls and late nights that awaited you at home.

And that’s when Agatha Harkness began to notice you.

You’d always admired her from a distance—the way she commanded attention in every room she entered, the sharp confidence in her stride, the cool authority in her voice. As the CEO of Harkness Industries, she was untouchable, her presence as formidable as the empire she’d built.

The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor broke your spiral of thoughts.

“[Your Last Name],” Agatha said, her smooth, smoky voice cutting through the hum of the nearly empty office. You jumped slightly, not expecting her presence this late. Looking up, you saw her—impeccably dressed, her charcoal-gray suit tailored to fit her tall, sharp frame. Her silver jewelry gleamed in the pale fluorescent lighting. Her presence dominated the room, her piercing blue eyes narrowed on you.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her true intentions. Agatha didn’t ask questions unless she already knew the answers.

“Yes, Ms. Harkness,” you replied stiffly, quickly closing your laptop. “Just catching up on some work.”

She leaned against your desk, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been… off lately,” she said, her voice softening ever so slightly, though her usual smirk stayed in place. “If something’s wrong, you can always come to me, you know.”

You hesitated. There was something unnervingly genuine in her tone, but that wasn’t what threw you off. What unsettled you was the realization that her gaze wasn’t just observing you—it was studying you, drinking in every little tell, every weakness.

“Thanks, but it’s personal,” you muttered, reaching for your bag.

She raised an eyebrow, giving you an indulgent smile. “Personal, huh? Let me guess—relationship trouble?”

You froze, your hands stiffening on the strap of your bag. She tilted her head, and for a moment, her smirk softened into something like sympathy. But even then, her eyes glinted with a hunger you didn’t fully understand.

The question caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, leaning against your desk with an air of casual confidence. “Call it intuition. But if there’s something you want to talk about…” She let the sentence trail off, her piercing blue eyes holding yours for a moment too long.

You shook your head, brushing her off with a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

But Agatha wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

It started innocently enough. After that conversation, Agatha began to invite you out. Sometimes it was coffee before a morning meeting, other times drinks after hours in her office. At first, you felt awkward accepting her invitations. She was your boss, after all. But you were desperate for a distraction from the storm at home—and she always had a way of drawing you in, her words dripping with charisma.

She began offering casual advice or anecdotes from her life. Before you knew it, she wasn’t just a boss—she was a confidante.

You never meant to open up to her about Rio. It happened one particularly draining night when you were both finishing late meetings. Agatha poured you a drink, her glass already half-empty as she leaned back in her leather office chair.

“Darling, what’s eating at you?” she asked casually, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “You look… burdened.”

It was her words—so precise and unnervingly accurate—that broke something in you. “It’s my wife,” you admitted, staring into your glass. “I think she’s cheating on me.”

Agatha didn’t react immediately. She studied you, her expression unreadable. “Cheating?” she repeated, her tone deliberate. “Or do you know it for a fact?”

You hesitated, recounting the texts, the lies, the evasive behavior. Agatha nodded slowly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Sounds like you already know the truth,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. And though you tried to shake it off, Agatha had a way of making the impossible seem logical. She fed into your doubts, her every comment precise and calculated. “She doesn’t deserve you. Not if she could betray you like that.”

Weeks passed, and Agatha grew bolder. She started showing up by your desk during breaks, brushing her hand across yours under the guise of sharing paperwork. She leaned a little too close when she whispered in your ear during meetings, and her compliments shifted from professional to deeply personal.

One night, she invited you to her penthouse.

The space was breathtaking: high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and an unobstructed view of the city skyline. You felt out of place amidst the luxury, but Agatha made you feel welcome. She poured you wine, teasing you gently about your stiff posture.

“Relax, darling,” she said, her voice low. “This isn’t work. Consider it a treat for all your hard efforts.”

You tried to keep your guard up, but the wine and her proximity eroded your resolve. She was magnetic, her every gesture deliberate and sensual. When she leaned in to brush a strand of hair from your face, you didn’t pull back.

“You know,” Agatha whispered, her lips so close to yours that her breath brushed against your skin, while swirling a glass of Merlot in her other hand, “someone who cheats isn’t worth your time.”

The comment was blunt, almost cruel. You stiffened, staring into your own wineglass. “She says she didn’t cheat,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced. “She’s been trying to prove herself, but…”

Agatha clicked her tongue, setting down her glass. Her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “But she broke your trust,” she said firmly. “That’s not something you can just fix. Trust isn’t some toy you can glue back together once it’s shattered.”

Her words stung because they echoed the feelings you’d been trying to ignore. And yet, there was a strange comfort in her conviction—in the way she made everything sound so clear-cut when your own thoughts were muddied.

Weeks turned into months, and Agatha grew bolder. She started calling you “darling” in private. Her hand lingered on your lower back when she guided you into her office. She’d brush your hair out of your face under the pretense of being “helpful,” though the look in her eyes told a different story.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice. She was beautiful—undeniably so—with an effortless allure that seemed to cloak her every movement. And more than that, she understood you. Agatha didn’t sugarcoat things the way Rio did; she told you what you needed to hear, even if it wasn’t pretty.

The first time it happened, you blamed the wine.

You’d stayed late again in her penthouse. She’d convinced you to let her cook dinner—a surprisingly simple but delicious pasta dish that you ate together at her marble-topped kitchen island. The wine flowed freely, and by the time you were sitting beside her on the couch, your head was spinning.

“You deserve better, you know,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and intimate.

You turned to her, your heart pounding as you realized how close she’d leaned in. “Agatha—”

She cut you off with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against yours. You froze, your mind racing with a thousand reasons why this was wrong. But when she cupped your face, her thumb brushing against your jaw, reason melted away.

The world seemed to pause in that moment, her lips soft but firm against yours, her hand cradling the back of your neck with possessive ease.

Her kiss deepened, her hand sliding into your hair as she guided you closer. It was overwhelming—the heat of her body against yours, the hunger in her touch, the way she seemed to pour all her intensity into that single act.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, she studied you with a small, satisfied smile. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You didn’t.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” she murmured, her voice husky. Guilt churned in your chest, but as she pulled you closer, kissing you again, it melted into a warmth you hadn’t felt in months.

The affair began in earnest after that night. Agatha was relentless, her touch searing and possessive every time you were alone together. She made you feel things you hadn’t felt in years—desire, adoration, worship.

You knew it was wrong. Every time you returned to Rio, guilt clawed at you, threatening to choke you. But you couldn’t stop. Agatha was a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.

Her hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if memorizing every inch of you. Agatha consumed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, her touch igniting a fire that left you breathless and desperate for more. Her hands were everywhere—pinning you against the cool walls of her penthouse with an intensity that bordered on possessive. Her lips left trails of fire on your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone as she pulled moans from your throat. She made you feel wanted, consumed, and for the first time in months, alive.

She whispered things in your ear that made your heart race and your cheeks burn, things you’d never heard from Rio.

“You’re mine,” she murmured one night, her voice rough with need as she pinned you against the wall of her penthouse. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else deserves you.”

For weeks, you lived a double life.

But the guilt never went away.

“Agatha, I can’t keep doing this,” you said one night, pulling away from her lips with more effort than you thought you could muster. “I feel like I’m drowning in this lie.”

She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “Then come up for air,” she murmured, her voice dripping with reassurance. “You know what you need to do, darling.”

When you still hesitated, her tone sharpened ever so slightly. “She doesn’t love you—not really. If she did, she wouldn’t hurt you like this. She wouldn’t make you feel this… empty.”

Her words were surgical, cutting away your last shreds of resistance. Before you could stop yourself, you found solace in her arms again.

When you tried to end it a second time, Agatha didn’t take it lightly.

“You think you can just walk away?” she said, her voice eerily calm as she cornered you in her office after hours. “After everything?”

Her eyes burned into yours, her intensity both terrifying and magnetic. “I know you feel guilty, but what you have with me? It’s real. It’s worth the risk.”

She leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “And you want it, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. She was right. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t stay away.

Eventually, she began to push harder.

“You need to leave her,” Agatha said one night, lying beside you in bed. Her fingertips ghosted along your arm, her lips brushing against your shoulder as she spoke. “She doesn’t deserve you, and we both know it.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

She cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Yes, you can. I’ll be here, darling. You don’t need her.”

Her words echoed in your head long after you left her apartment. The divorce papers sat on the kitchen table for weeks before you finally signed them. Rio cried when she found out.

“You’re making a mistake,” she pleaded, clutching your hands. “I didn’t cheat. I swear to you.”

But Agatha’s voice drowned hers out: “She’s lying. She’ll only hurt you again.”

After the divorce, your relationship with Agatha became official. The media marveled at her whirlwind romance with a “mystery employee,” and you found yourself thrust into the public eye —lavish dinners, expensive gifts, and a wedding straight out of a magazine spread. And yet, something felt… off.

Rio didn’t disappear. She called, sent emails, even showed up at your doorstep one day, begging you to listen.

“She’s manipulating you,” Rio said, her voice trembling with desperation. “She planned this. She’s dangerous, and you can’t see it because she’s in your head.”

You slammed the door in her face, brushing away the small seed of doubt her words planted. Agatha loved you—didn’t she? She couldn’t have orchestrated everything.

It was a rainy night when you found the folder. Agatha had left for a business meeting, and in a moment of idle curiosity, you opened the drawer of her desk. Photos of you—some from months ago, others dating back to years before you’d even started working for her. Copies of emails supposedly from Rio, doctored to look incriminating. 

Your stomach dropped as realization dawned.

She’d planned this. All of it. Agatha had orchestrated everything, from planting those damning messages to pulling you closer into her orbit.

“You’ve been busy,” Agatha’s voice startled you. She stood in the doorway of her home office, her eyes unreadable.

“How could you?” you demanded, clutching the folder. “You lied. You manipulated me. You destroyed my life—my marriage—all because you’re obsessed with me?”

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, she looked amused. “I didn’t destroy your life,” she said calmly, stepping closer. “I saved you.”

“You ruined everything,” you spat, backing away.

She closed the distance between you in an instant, her hand grabbing your wrist in a vice grip. “I gave you everything,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Everything you have is because of me.”

Panic surged through you. “Agatha, you’re scaring me—”

She softened instantly, her hand loosening but not releasing you. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. “You don’t need to be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

Her smile turned sharp. “But if you ever try to leave me, I can’t promise things won’t get… messy.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened, her nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince. Her lips curled into a predatory smile, her eyes dark with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. “You think you can just walk away from me?” she purred, her voice low and dangerous. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve given you?”

You tried to pull away, but she was stronger than she looked. Her other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against her body. You could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her blouse, the hard press of her breasts against yours. “Agatha, let me go,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made your stomach twist. “Oh, darling, you don’t really want me to let you go, do you?” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve always been mine. You just needed a little… persuasion.”

Her hand slid down your back, cupping your ass and squeezing hard. You gasped, your body betraying you as a jolt of heat shot through you. “Stop,” you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction.

Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss fierce and demanding. She didn’t ask for permission; she took what she wanted, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moaned despite yourself, your body responding to her touch even as your mind screamed at you to push her away.

She broke the kiss, her breath hot against your lips. “You’re mine,” she growled, her hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

You tried to protest, but she silenced you with another kiss, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons and pushing the fabric off your shoulders. Her hands roamed over your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her hands found your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden instantly. You gasped, your body arching into her touch. “Agatha,” you moaned, your resolve crumbling.

She smirked, her hands moving to the waistband of your skirt. “That’s it, darling,” she purred, pushing the fabric down your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

You stepped out of your skirt, your body trembling with anticipation. Agatha’s eyes raked over you, her gaze hungry and possessive. “Perfect,” she whispered, her hands sliding down your thighs. “You’re perfect.”

She dropped to her knees, her hands spreading your legs apart. You gasped as her tongue flicked against your clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Agatha,” you moaned, your hands tangling in her hair.

She didn’t respond, her tongue working its magic as she devoured you. You could feel the heat building inside you, your body responding to her every touch. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against her mouth.

Agatha’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she continued to pleasure you. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. “Come for me, darling,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your skin.

You cried out as the orgasm hit you, your body convulsing with pleasure. Agatha didn’t stop, her tongue lapping at you until you were trembling and weak. She stood up, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “That’s my girl,” she purred, pulling you into a kiss.

You could taste yourself on her lips, the taste of your own arousal on Agatha's lips sent a thrill through you, even as a small part of you recoiled at the intensity of the situation. But Agatha didn't give you time to overthink it. Her hands were on your body again, caressing and claiming every inch of skin as she backed you towards the bed.

You fell onto the plush comforter, Agatha's weight pinning you down a moment later. She straddled your hips, her eyes dark with lust as she looked down at you. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice rough with desire. "Say it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and excitement warring within you. But as Agatha ground her hips against yours, you felt yourself giving in. "I'm yours," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Agatha smiled, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Louder," she demanded, her hand wrapping around your throat. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you feel owned, possessed.

"I'm yours," you repeated, louder this time.

"I'm yours, Agatha."

Her grip tightened for a brief moment before she released you, her hand trailing down your body to your breasts. She cupped them roughly, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. "Good girl," she purred, leaning down to take one into her mouth.

You arched into her touch, moaning as her tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. Her other hand moved between your legs, fingers teasing your still-sensitive clit. "You're so wet for me," she murmured against your skin. "So responsive."

She continued her ministrations, alternating between your breasts and your core. Your body was on fire, every touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You were panting, writhing beneath her, desperate for more.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. Agatha seemed to understand, though. She withdrew her hand, leaving you bereft for a moment before she shifted her hips.

You felt the head of her strap on press against your entrance, and you gasped.

Agatha was large, larger than anyone you'd been with before. She paused, giving you a moment to adjust. "Breathe," she instructed, her voice calm and soothing despite the hunger in her eyes.

You did as she said, taking a deep breath as she slowly pushed inside you. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but it wasn't long before your body relaxed, accommodating her size. She filled you completely, her hips pressed flush against yours.

"Fuck," Agatha groaned, her head falling forward. "You feel incredible."

She gave you a moment to adjust before she began to move. Slowly at first, her hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. But as your moans filled the room, she grew bolder, her thrusts becoming harder, faster.

Your hands clawed at her back, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you. The pleasure was overwhelming, every stroke of her cock sending shockwaves through your body. You could feel another orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Come for me," Agatha growled, her hips snapping against yours. "Come on my cock like the good little slut you are."

Her filthy words pushed you over the edge. You came with a scream, your body convulsing beneath hers. Agatha followed shortly after, watching you come undone was enough for her to find her own release.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. For a moment, you lay there in silence, the only sound your ragged breaths filling the room.

But as the haze of pleasure began to dissipate, reality started to set in. Agatha had manipulated you, planned everything from the beginning. She had destroyed your marriage, ruined your life—all for her own twisted desires.

A lump formed in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Agatha must have sensed the change in you, because she pulled back, her gaze searching your face.

"Talk to me," she urged, her voice soft but insistent. "What's wrong?"

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You pushed at her chest, trying to make her release you. "Let me go," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha's expression hardened. She didn't move, her body still pinning you to the bed. "No," she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're mine now. I won't let you go."

Panic surged through you. You struggled against her, your heart pounding in your chest. "Please," you begged, your voice rising in pitch. "I can't do this. I can't be with you."

Agatha's grip tightened on your wrists, her face inches from yours. "You don't have a choice," she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're mine, and I always get what I want."

You felt the tears spill over, running down your cheeks and into your hair. You were trapped—trapped by Agatha's obsession, trapped by your own weakness. You had let yourself fall for her manipulations, for the thrill of being wanted so desperately.

Now, there was no escape.

Weeks turned into months, and you fell deeper into Agatha's grasp.

She isolated you from everyone—your friends, your family. If anyone tried to contact you, she intercepted their calls, their messages. She told them you were busy, that you needed space to focus on your new life with her.

And you let her.

Because what choice did you have? Agatha had all the power. She controlled every aspect of your life—where you went, what you did, who you saw. And if you tried to resist, she punished you.

At first, the punishments were subtle—a sharp look, a harsh word. But as time passed, they grew more severe. She would leave you locked in a room for hours, ignoring your pleas and sobs. She would confiscate your phone, your laptop—anything that could connect you to the outside world.

Once, when you tried to sneak out to meet Rio, Agatha found out. She dragged you back home by your hair, slamming you against the wall hard enough to leave bruises.

"You belong to me," she snarled, her face inches from yours. "I won't let you leave me."

That was the day you knew there was no escape. Not really. You were trapped in this gilded cage, a prisoner to Agatha's twisted desires.

And still, part of you craved her touch, her attention. Even as she hurt you, she made you feel alive. She made you believe that everything she did was out of love—that she needed you as much as you needed her.

It was a sick, twisted cycle—one that left you feeling lost, broken, and hopelessly addicted to the woman who had shattered your life.

You knew then that you were trapped. Rio had tried to warn you, but it was too late. Agatha had you in her web, and there was no escaping now.

The city lights glittered below as you stared out the window of her penthouse, feeling more like a prisoner than a partner. Somewhere deep down, you resolved to find a way out. But one look at Agatha’s cold, calculating smile told you that escape would come at a cost you weren’t sure you could pay.

_-_-_

Please don't forger to vote, reblog, and comment.

Happy New Year my Twisted Darlings!

[buttercandy16]

Watchful Eyes

PAIRING(s): Professor!Agatha Harkness x Student!Reader

SUMMARY: A student’s admiration for their enigmatic professor spirals into obsession—but the deeper they delve, the more they uncover a dark game they may never escape.

WARNING(s): Dub-Con. Obsession. Manipulation. Possession. Stalking. Toxicity. Power. Control. Age-Gap. SMUT

A/N: More smut! Happy Holidays!

The lecture hall was always quiet before she entered. It was like the air itself held its breath, waiting for her to walk through the door. Professor Agatha Harkness was more than just your teacher. She was an enigma, a force that seemed to exist outside of time, out of reach, untouchable. She moved with an effortless grace that left you breathless every time you saw her. Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating, would briefly flick over you as she began the lecture, and in those moments, you’d feel as if your very soul was being studied.

But it wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just fascination. You were obsessed with her. You had been for months. Every moment you spent in class, every fleeting interaction, every look from her—it consumed you. You couldn’t focus on anything else. No other professor, no other student, not even the rest of the world existed for you anymore. Just Agatha.

You would find yourself following her, stalking her every move after class. At first, it was innocent enough. You simply wanted to know where she went after her lectures. What kind of person was she when she wasn’t standing at the front of the classroom, speaking with that confident, almost distant air? It started with casual observations, standing on the fringes of the campus, watching her walk alone through the park after class, her figure framed by the golden light of dusk. But soon, it became an obsession. You would take longer routes home, just to watch her, just to see where she went, who she talked to.

You began leaving her notes—anonymous, of course. Written in the darkest corners of your mind, each word you penned carried the weight of your obsession, but none of it ever gave away the depth of your feelings. You’d slip them under her office door, or leave them tucked into the margins of her books in the library.

At first, you thought it would be enough for her to notice. For her to see you, to understand the quiet adoration that pulsed through you every moment you were in her presence. But as the weeks went by, you began to feel something darker, something sharper. You craved more than her acknowledgment. You craved her. You wanted her, needed her.

You didn’t realize it at first, but she had begun to notice you too. There were glances, lingering just a moment too long. A raised eyebrow when you hesitated during office hours, as if she was waiting for you to say something more. The soft, knowing smile she gave you in the hallway, her eyes flicking to the note you’d slipped under her door only hours earlier. It was subtle, but you could feel it. She was paying attention.

And then, one fateful afternoon, you found yourself standing outside her office once again. This time, your heart was pounding louder than ever before, your mind racing with fantasies of what would happen if you were to step inside and confess everything. The door was ajar, just enough for you to see the soft, warm light spilling into the hallway.

You knocked, breath caught in your throat, and waited. For what, you weren’t sure. But you could already feel the heat of anticipation, your mind filled with a thousand scenarios of what might happen once she let you in.

“Come in,” came her voice, soft, almost reluctant, but unmistakably hers.

You pushed the door open slowly, the heavy wood creaking under your touch. The sight of her standing behind her desk made your pulse race. She looked so much like a goddess in this dim, golden light, her dark eyes watching you with a strange, unreadable intensity.

“Miss [Your Last Name],” Agatha greeted you, her tone calm but strangely tense. “What brings you to my office today?”

You swallowed, stepping into the room. “I—I needed to talk about the last lecture,” you began, your voice shaking slightly. It felt like an excuse, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit the real reason you were here.

She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something about her posture, something about the way she shifted uneasily in her chair, that made you pause. She wasn’t looking at you with the same cool, detached air she usually did. There was… wariness in her gaze.

“Is everything alright, Miss [Your Last Name]?” she asked, her voice smooth but strained.

You frowned, not sure how to respond. The way she was watching you felt different now. She was standing a little straighter, her back stiff, as if she were on alert. Had she… noticed your obsession?

“I just—I wanted to talk about the material,” you said, your words faltering as you saw the flicker of something strange pass through her eyes.

She took a small step back, pressing her palms flat on the desk as if bracing herself. “You’ve been coming around a lot lately,” she remarked, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “I’ve noticed. More than usual. You’ve been… lingering outside my office, following me after class. I—” She faltered, her eyes flicking to the door, as though considering whether or not to close it. “Are you… alright, Miss [Your Last Name]?”

For a moment, you were confused. What was she saying? She sounded—scared.

“Of course I’m alright,” you said, your voice growing louder, more insistent. “I just—” You stopped yourself, unable to say the words out loud. You wanted her. But she seemed distant, afraid of you. Why? Had she realized your obsession? Was she… repulsed?

Agatha took another slow step back, her eyes darting toward the door. She seemed to be calculating something. “I’ve… been meaning to speak to you about your behavior,” she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “I’ve noticed how you watch me, how you follow me. It’s not… normal, Miss [Your Last Name]. I’m afraid I have to report this.” Her words were like a slap in the face.

You froze. You had never imagined she would say something like that. The words cut deeper than you could have ever expected.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You stepped back, as though she were about to send you away. The reality of the situation was sinking in, and it hurt. She had noticed, and now she was scared of you.

Agatha’s expression softened for a brief second. Then, like a switch being flipped, her features hardened. She straightened, eyes narrowing, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

“No,” she whispered, her voice dark now, the calm exterior gone, replaced by something that felt far more dangerous. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Miss [Your Last Name]. You enthralled me. All this time, I’ve been watching you too.”

You blinked, confusion clouding your mind. What? What was she talking about?

Agatha’s smile widened, an almost predatory gleam in her eyes. “I’ve been watching you just as much as you’ve been watching me. You thought you were the one in control, didn’t you? But I was always the one in control.” Her voice dripped with something darker, something seductive, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath caught in your throat. “W-what do you mean?”

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing your ear. “I let you play your little game, Miss [Your Last Name]. I let you think you were the one pulling the strings. But the truth is, you were just a piece of my game all along.”

You could feel your heart thundering in your chest. Was this some sort of twisted joke? Agatha seemed so distant, so terrified of you just moments ago. But now, her presence was overwhelming, suffocating. It was clear now that she had been playing a far darker game than you could ever comprehend.

She cupped your chin in her hand, tilting your face toward hers. “You thought you were the predator. You thought you were the one stalking me. But in reality, you were always mine.” Her lips pressed lightly against your ear, her voice dropping lower. “And now… now I think it’s time to finish what we started.”

The twist of her hand as she pulled you closer left you breathless, unable to move, entirely under her control. Her obsession with you had been simmering beneath the surface this entire time, and you were just too blind to see it.

As you were pulled into her grasp, the realization hit you like a shockwave—You had never been the one in control.

Agatha’s hand lingered at the edge of your jaw, firm but teasing. Her smile widened as you trembled, her gray eyes locked onto yours like a hawk sizing up its prey. It was as though the world had collapsed inward, leaving just the two of you in the oppressive, stifling silence of her office.

“I’ve been patient with you, darling,” she murmured, her tone syrupy but laced with a razor’s edge. “Watching you unravel, watching you think you had the upper hand… it was delicious. But now I think it’s time I stopped playing along.”

Her confession pierced your chest like a dagger. Your knees felt weak, and you stumbled back, only to find yourself trapped between the door and her looming presence.

���You knew?” The words slipped out in a whisper, small and broken.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she laughed softly, the sound rich and velvety, dripping with dark amusement. “Of course I knew. Did you really think you could follow me, linger around my office, and flood my desk with your little letters without me noticing? You were never subtle. But that’s what made it fun.”

Fun? Her words were mocking, taunting. Your obsession, the thing that consumed you for months, the thing you thought was hidden deep beneath layers of careful secrecy—she had known all along and had let you indulge in your madness.

“But you…” you stuttered, your mind struggling to piece together the fragmented truths unfolding before you. “You acted like you were scared—like I was…”

Her head tilted, that soft smirk never wavering. “Oh, I played the victim beautifully, didn’t I? Just enough fear, just enough hesitation to make you think you had the upper hand. People like you—people so desperate, so reckless—fall apart when they think they’re in control.” She leaned closer, her voice soft and sinister. “And you fell apart perfectly.”

Your breath hitched. She wasn’t just acknowledging your obsession—she was savoring it, as if every twisted act of devotion you’d shown her had been part of some elaborate game.

“Why?” The question escaped your lips before you could stop it. You hated how weak it sounded, how small you felt under her intense, unrelenting gaze.

She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against your cheek, her touch both chilling and electrifying. “Because I wanted you,” she said simply, as though it was the most natural answer in the world. “From the moment I saw you in class, sitting there with that mix of fear and fascination in your eyes, I knew. I could feel the weight of your thoughts every time you looked at me. It was intoxicating.”

Your stomach twisted, the realization slowly dawning. She hadn’t just been aware of your obsession—she had wanted it. Encouraged it.

“You thought you were the one losing control,” she continued, her voice growing darker, “but really, I’ve been guiding you the entire time. Feeding your obsession, letting you think you were pulling me into your web, when it was my web all along.”

You shook your head, your mind screaming at you to push her away, to run, but your body was frozen. Every muscle, every nerve seemed to betray you under the weight of her presence.

“I could’ve stopped you at any moment,” she purred, her hand sliding to your throat, resting there lightly. “But where’s the fun in that? Watching you spiral deeper, watching you stumble closer to me—it was addictive.” Her grip tightened, just slightly, enough to make your breath catch. “You’re addictive.”

You tried to speak, tried to protest, but the words were caught in your throat. She was too close now, her breath hot against your skin, her body pressing against yours.

“And now, my darling,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous low, “you’ve given yourself to me completely. Your secrets, your devotion, your obsession—I own all of it. I own you.”

Her lips brushed your ear, and your stomach flipped. You could feel the power she held over you, the suffocating control she exerted without effort.

“And the best part?” she continued, her tone turning almost gleeful. “You never even saw it coming. You really thought I was afraid of you? Poor, naïve little thing. I’ve had you wrapped around my finger from the very beginning.”

A sudden wave of anger surged through you, a last-ditch effort to break free of her hold. “You’re sick,” you spat, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and defiance.

Her laugh was low and chilling, her fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she cooed, “you’re just as sick as I am. Maybe worse. After all, you started this game. I’m just making sure I win.”

Her grip loosened suddenly, and you stumbled back against the door, your head spinning. The room felt smaller, darker, as if her presence had consumed every bit of air.

“But don’t worry,” she said, her voice soft again, almost soothing, as she stepped closer. “You don’t need to run, my darling. There’s nowhere to go. You’re mine now. Completely.”

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with a strange, terrifying mix of affection and possession. “And I’m yours,” she added, her voice a whisper. “You just don’t realize yet how much you’ve always been in control.”

Her hand cupped your chin again, pulling you toward her until her lips were almost touching yours. “The question is,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “how far are you willing to let this go?”

Agatha’s hand on your chin held firm as she tilted your head up to meet her gaze. Her gray eyes were unreadable now, vast and stormy, but with an intensity that made your stomach churn. You opened your mouth to speak—to do something, anything—but no sound escaped.

“Speechless already?” she teased, her lips curving upward as her thumb grazed your jawline. “I thought you liked this game. Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

“I—” you stammered, your voice catching in your throat. For the first time since this obsession began, you felt the sharp sting of vulnerability. Your skin prickled as a realization crawled through your mind. She wasn’t just obsessed with you. This wasn’t a harmless game of attraction. This was something darker.

You stepped back, pressing yourself against the door as you tried to create some distance. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the way she was looking at you—as though you were hers to take, to claim, to keep.

“Scared, my darling?” she asked, her voice soft but taunting, almost pitying. “I don’t blame you. It must be jarring to realize the one you’ve been chasing all this time has been chasing you right back.”

“Stop,” you croaked, your voice weak as your heart pounded against your ribcage. “This isn’t—this isn’t what I wanted.”

She laughed softly, the sound like velvet brushing against glass, sharp and smooth. “Oh, but it is,” she countered, her voice laced with something cruelly sweet. “You wanted me—needed me—so desperately. Don’t deny it now that I’m giving you exactly what you craved.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. Your breathing was shallow, panicked. The reality of her presence, of her predatory gaze, pressed against you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

Her expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, you thought she might actually let you go. But then she stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking a cornered prey.

“I see it in your eyes,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her touch was gentle, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine. “That fear. That uncertainty. Do you know what I find most fascinating about fear?”

You tried to push her away, but her hand caught your wrist in an iron grip. The softness in her eyes disappeared, replaced by something dark and unrelenting.

“It’s addictive,” she said, her voice low, almost intimate. “It makes you vulnerable, exposes all your deepest, darkest secrets. And you? You’ve already bared everything to me. You belong to me, body and soul.”

Your pulse raced as her words wrapped around you like chains. There was no denying it anymore—she wasn’t just indulging your obsession. She was feeding on it, twisting it into something you couldn’t control.

“Please,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Agatha tilted her head, studying you like an artist admiring her masterpiece. “Oh, darling,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You don’t need to beg. I’ve already decided you’re mine. Forever.”

Her grip on your wrist tightened as she leaned closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “You thought you were stalking me,” she whispered, her breath warm and chilling all at once. “But all this time, I’ve been waiting for you to come closer. To fall right into my arms. And now, my sweet, there’s no escape.”

You tried to pull away, your movements frantic, but she was relentless. Her hand slid down your wrist, pinning it against the door as she loomed over you.

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, your voice trembling.

Her eyes softened for a brief moment, and she smiled—not the sharp, taunting smirk from before, but something gentler, almost tender. “Because I love you,” she said simply. “More than you’ll ever understand.”

The words sent a wave of terror crashing over you. This wasn’t love. This was obsession—pure, unrelenting, and suffocating.

“But you can’t leave, you know that,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact now, as if your fate had already been sealed. “I’ve spent too long waiting for you, nurturing this… connection we share. And now that I have you, I’m never letting you go.”

Her lips brushed your temple, her breath ghosting against your skin. “You thought you were in control, but I’ve been ten steps ahead all along. Every glance, every note, every word—it was all leading to this moment.”

“I’ll go to the police,” you spat, the fear in your voice betrayed by the sheer desperation of the words.

She pulled back slightly, and for the first time, her smirk faltered. But it wasn’t fear you saw in her eyes. It was amusement.

“Oh, darling,” she said, chuckling softly. “And tell them what? That you stalked me? Left me unhinged notes? Or that you followed me home and watched me from the shadows like a ghost? No one will believe you. And even if they did—” She paused, her smile turning cruel. “Do you really think I’ll let them take you away from me?”

Tears stung your eyes as the weight of her words sank in. She had thought of everything, planned for every possibility. There was no way out, no escape from her carefully constructed web.

Agatha stepped back slightly, her hand lingering on your wrist as she studied your face. “Don’t cry, my darling,” she said softly, her voice almost soothing. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s a gift. You wanted me, and now you have me. Completely. Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

You shook your head, your chest tightening as her words wrapped around you like a noose.

Agatha sighed, releasing your wrist but staying close enough that her presence felt suffocating. “You’ll understand, in time,” she murmured. “This is love, in its purest form. And soon, you’ll see that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. With me. Forever.”

As her words echoed in the suffocating silence, you realized with a growing sense of dread that she meant every word.

Suddenly, Agatha’s lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you gasping, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip before her tongue plunged into your mouth. The taste of her was intoxicating—dark, sweet, and dangerous. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her, and you could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her blouse. 

She broke the kiss, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered, “You’re mine now, darling. Every inch of you.” Her fingers trailed down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before she grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head. The cool air of the office hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Agatha’s eyes raked over your body, her gaze predatory and possessive. “Beautiful,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. She stepped closer, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden instantly. You gasped, your head falling back as she leaned in to capture one in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

Her hands moved to your waist, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties. She knelt before you, her hands running up your thighs, her nails digging into your skin just enough to make you whimper. “So wet for me already,” she purred, her breath hot against your core. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, tossing them aside.

Agatha’s tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your slit, and you moaned, your hands tangling in her hair. She chuckled darkly, her breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. “You taste divine, darling,” she murmured before diving in, her tongue lapping at your folds, teasing your clit with expert precision. You cried out, your hips bucking against her face as she devoured you, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place.

She pulled back, her lips glistening with your arousal, and stood, her eyes locked on yours. You whimpered, your body trembling with need. “Please, stop,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

She smirked, her hands moving to unbutton her blouse, revealing the black lace bra beneath. She shrugged it off, her breasts spilling free, and you couldn’t help but stare. She was perfect, her skin smooth and pale, her nipples hard and begging for attention. She reached behind her, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor.

She leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. You moaned into her mouth, your hands gripping her shoulders as she pressed her body against yours.

She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses in their wake. Her hands moved to your waist, unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her black lace panties. She stepped out of them, her body pressed against yours, and you could feel the heat of her core against your thigh.

Agatha’s hand slid between your legs, her fingers teasing your folds before slipping inside you. You gasped, your head falling back as she curled her fingers, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Please," you whimpered.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine now," she whispered. "Every inch of you."

You tried to pull away from her, but she held you tight. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "I can't do this. I can't be yours."

Agatha's hands tightened around your wrists, her nails biting into your skin. She smirked, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Oh," she purred. "But you're already mine, darling. And nothing is going to change that."

Pressing her body against yours. "I'll never let you go," she whispered, her breath hot against your neck.

And then her lips crushed against yours, her teeth nipping at the bottom of your mouth before she thrust her tongue inside. You whimpered, trying to fight it, but her hold was too strong.

She pulled away, her eyes flashing with anger. "You should be grateful for what I'm doing for you," she snarled. "You should thank me for making you mine."

Panting heavily, her eyes wild with desire. "Tell me," she demanded. "Tell me you're mine."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Please," you whispered. "Let me go."

Agatha smirked. "Never," she said. And then her lips were back on yours, her tongue demanding entrance.

You tried to fight it, but she was too strong. And soon, your mouth was opening, accepting her tongue. She moaned, her body pressing harder against yours, her hands still holding your wrists above your head.

"You're so perfect," she murmured against your lips. "So perfect for me." She leaned back, her eyes scanning over your body. "You'll be my perfect little pet," she purred, her hand moving to your breast. She pinched your nipple, making you gasp. "I'll train you to do whatever I want," she continued. "Whatever I want, you'll do."

She smiled, her fingers moving down your body to your core. She slipped her fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that made you moan. "And I'll make you cum for me," she whispered against your lips. "I'll make you cum so hard."

You tried to protest, but her hand over your mouth stopped you from speaking. She pressed her fingers deeper inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over.

You were trying to hold on, but it was impossible. Her fingers were too skilled, too good. You tried to push her away, but she didn't budge. And then the pleasure exploded inside you, making you cum on her fingers.

Agatha pulled her hand away, her fingers glistening with your wetness. She brought her hand to her mouth, sucking your juices off. "Delicious," she purred.

You stood there, shaking from the orgasm and the realization of what just happened. Agatha had taken control of your body, forcing you to submit to her desires.

You had played with fire, and now, you were trapped in the flames. Her flames.

_-_-_

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

[buttercandy16]

Mistress

PAIRING(s): Vampire!Agatha Harkness x Maid!Reader

SUMMARY: Your mistress becomes obsessed with you, leading to a dark, twisted relationship where love, power, and obsession collide.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive, Blood, and SMUT.

A/N: Been a while since I've written some smut. Enjoy!

The halls of the Harkness estate were vast and cold, like a labyrinth of secrets etched into its ancient stone walls. Candlelight flickered across shadowy corridors as you carried a silver tray of wine toward the parlor, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. You tried to focus on balancing the tray, but you couldn't ignore the eerie stillness of the estate or the way the other servants whispered nervously about their mistress.

Agatha Harkness.

Even among her wealthy contemporaries, her name was uttered with equal parts reverence and dread. She was a woman of unparalleled elegance and power, known for her biting wit and an aura of danger that clung to her like a second skin. Rumors swirled about her cruelty, her temper, and her insatiable appetites—not just for luxury but for something darker.

You’d taken the job as her maid out of desperation, knowing little of her reputation. Now, after only a few weeks, you wondered if the warnings had been an understatement.

And yet, you found yourself drawn to her in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

The moment you entered the parlor, you felt her eyes on you.

Agatha lounged in a grand velvet armchair, her long fingers elegantly wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Her gaze slid over you like a caress, sharp and assessing, making your skin prickle under the weight of her attention.

“Finally,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

“My apologies, mistress,” you said quickly, setting the tray down on the table before her.

“Hmm.” She didn’t look away, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, mistress,” you said, fighting to keep your hands steady under her piercing stare.

She stood slowly, her towering frame somehow both graceful and intimidating as she circled you. The scent of her perfume—a dark, heady mix of amber and spice—wrapped around you, making it hard to think clearly.

“I noticed you the moment you arrived,” she murmured, her voice dangerously low. “There’s something… unique about you. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Her fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as she moved behind you, and your breath caught.

“Tell me,” she said, her breath warm against your ear, “do you enjoy working for me?”

The air felt heavy, and the words got caught in your throat. “Y-yes, mistress,” you managed, though your pulse quickened for reasons you couldn’t fully name.

Her low chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. “Good. I have high expectations, and I’d hate to be disappointed.”

Over the following days, her interest in you only grew more intense.

She began finding reasons to summon you alone—fetching her wine, helping her dress, accompanying her on her nightly walks through the moonlit gardens. Always, she kept close, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of you.

At first, you thought it was simply her eccentric nature, but soon it became clear there was more to her obsession.

“I can hear your heart racing,” she said one evening as you stood in her chambers, tidying the delicate lace cuffs of one of her gowns. Her tone was amused, but her eyes burned with something primal.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, but I think you do,” she said, taking your wrist in her hand. Her grip was gentle but unyielding as she pulled you closer. “You’re quite… intoxicating.”

One night, you found yourself summoned to her private chambers. The room was dimly lit, the scent of wax and roses thick in the air. She stood by the fireplace, her long dark gown catching the light like a pool of ink.

“Come here,” she said, her voice low and commanding.

You hesitated but obeyed, stepping closer until you were standing just inches from her.

Her hand reached out, her fingers trailing over your cheek. “You’re shaking,” she whispered. “Are you afraid of me?”

“N-no, mistress,” you lied, your voice barely audible.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You should be.”

Before you could respond, her grip tightened on your arm, and she pulled you against her. Her other hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, hungry and unrelenting.

“You don’t understand yet, do you?” she murmured, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “The hold you have over me. Your scent, your warmth, the taste of your fear…”

Her lips brushed against your neck, soft and deliberate, and your breath hitched. You wanted to pull away, but her presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and somehow… thrilling.

“I could devour you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both lust and menace. “Body and soul. And I don’t know if I could stop myself.”

You felt her teeth graze your skin, a soft scrape that sent electricity coursing through you. But instead of biting, she pulled back, her expression carefully controlled.

“Not yet,” she said, more to herself than to you. “Not yet.”

Her fingers lingered on your wrist as she let you go, her touch burning long after she released you.

“Leave me,” she said abruptly, turning away.

You didn’t wait for her to change her mind.

The next day, she was colder, more distant, as though trying to suppress whatever had taken hold of her. But the heat in her gaze never dimmed when she looked at you, and you knew the storm wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.

Every interaction with her left you more confused, more tangled in her web of obsession. The line between fear and something far more dangerous blurred, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to flee or to fall.

And as her lips curled into a knowing smirk, you realized that decision might not be yours to make.

The air in the Harkness estate grew heavier each day, as though the house itself was responding to the tension between you and its mistress. Agatha’s presence loomed everywhere—her perfume lingering in the hallways, her voice echoing in the back of your mind, her piercing eyes locked on you at every stolen glance.

You told yourself it was just her nature, an eccentricity fueled by wealth and boredom. Yet deep down, you knew it was more. Agatha wasn’t merely interested; she was consumed. And despite the gnawing fear in your chest, part of you couldn’t help but lean into it, daring the flame to burn brighter.

One evening, you were summoned to her private chambers yet again. The summons itself wasn’t unusual by now, but the tone of her note was: “Tonight, you’re mine.”

You smoothed your trembling hands down the front of your uniform as you knocked on the grand wooden door. Her voice drifted through, low and sensual.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, only to be greeted by a sight that made your breath hitch.

Agatha stood in front of a gilded mirror, her silhouette framed by the glow of the roaring fireplace. She was in a deep plum silk robe, tied loosely at her waist. The fabric clung to her curves, revealing far more than it hid. Her hair tumbled down in dark waves, and her gaze met yours through the reflection.

“You kept me waiting,” she said, her tone soft but full of unspoken weight.

“My apologies, Mistress Harkness,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Agatha,” she corrected, turning to face you fully. “When we’re alone, you’ll call me Agatha.”

Her smile was slow and predatory as she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the thick rug. She stopped just in front of you, her presence commanding every ounce of your attention.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” she said, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. “Have the other servants been treating you well?”

“Yes,” you replied, though the closeness of her fingers to your skin made the word come out shakier than intended.

“And yet,” she continued, tilting her head, “I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. Do they know how much you give?” Her fingers lingered on your cheek, her touch as delicate as a whisper.

“I—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, pressing a single finger to your lips. “No need to speak. You’ve already given me enough with just your presence.”

The air between you crackled with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Her eyes roamed over you, her gaze so unashamed and hungry that you felt exposed even in your modest uniform.

“Have you thought about me?” she asked, her voice a low, dangerous hum.

Your throat tightened. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Her smile deepened, a sly curve of her lips that seemed to peel away every pretense. “Don’t lie to me. I see it every time your hands tremble when I’m near. The way you avoid my gaze, yet I catch you staring when you think I’m not looking.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your heart thundering in your chest. “Mistress, I—”

“Agatha,” she corrected again, more firmly this time. Her voice softened as she leaned closer, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. “Do you feel it too? This… pull between us? Don’t deny it.”

Her hand trailed down your arm, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your wrist. The touch was light, yet it left a trail of fire in its wake.

You stepped back instinctively, trying to create distance, but she followed. Her movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey.

“You’re nervous,” she said, her voice almost teasing. “Good. I like the way your pulse quickens when I’m near. Like it’s calling to me.”

Her fingers brushed the delicate skin of your neck, lingering for a moment as her gaze followed the motion.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to restrain myself?” she whispered, her voice dripping with hunger. “You’ve awakened something in me—something dark, something primal. I can hardly stand it when you’re near.”

Her lips ghosted over your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Every time I see you, every time I smell you, I wonder… how would you taste?”

Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you, but her hand moved to your waist, steadying you. It wasn’t just her words—it was her voice, her touch, her presence. It was overwhelming.

“You should go,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Her laughter was soft and rich, like the purr of a satisfied predator. “Go? You’re the one in my chambers, darling.”

Agatha’s other hand slid around your back, pulling you impossibly close. The silk of her robe brushed against you, her warmth seeping into your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” she said, her lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “One word, and I’ll let you walk out of here. But if you stay… you’ll belong to me.”

Your breath caught as her fingers tilted your chin upward, her dark eyes blazing with intent. It felt like the world had stopped, like the only thing that mattered was her—her lips, her touch, her dominance.

This was no longer just your job, your duty. This was something much deeper, darker, and inescapable. And as her lips brushed against yours, soft and commanding all at once, you knew there was no going back.

The kiss started soft—tentative even—but there was no denying the fire that ignited the moment her lips claimed yours. Agatha wasn’t the kind of woman to ask twice, and now, her dominance poured over you like molten honey. Her hand tangled in your hair, holding you in place as her lips parted yours, the taste of her intoxicating.

“Do you feel it now?” she murmured against your lips, her voice like a low growl. “How you’ve bewitched me?”

Your body trembled under her touch, your breath hitching as her sharp nails dragged lightly down the curve of your neck. The trail they left tingled, a shiver that rippled through you like electricity. She stepped back, just slightly, her hungry eyes roaming over you as though she was calculating her next move.

Then her expression shifted—intense and dark, her pupils dilating as she fixated on your neck.

Before you could speak, she moved, gripping your waist and pressing you against the cold stone wall of her chambers. Her lips brushed your collarbone, soft and deliberate, as she inhaled deeply.

“Your scent…” Her voice broke, heavy with need. “It’s… maddening.”

Her mouth trailed along the line of your throat, kisses becoming hungrier, rougher. Then you felt it—the sharp press of her teeth.

"Agatha—" you gasped, half-panicked and half-lost in the thrill coursing through you.

“Shh,” she cooed, pinning your wrists above your head with surprising strength. “You’ve already given me your lips… your trust… What’s one more thing?”

Her teeth broke the delicate skin of your neck with a swift bite, pain mingling with the heat of her lips. Your cry was stifled as she pressed her mouth fully against you, drinking deeply. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt—the sharp sting giving way to a strange, dangerous pleasure as her body molded against yours.

The world blurred at the edges, your heart hammering as she drank, the wet, visceral sound filling the chamber. Your pulse slowed, your knees weak, but Agatha didn’t falter. When she finally pulled back, her lips and chin were smeared with your blood, crimson standing out stark against her pale skin.

“Look at you,” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly hunger. “So fragile, so perfect. Do you understand now what you do to me?”

Her hands slipped to your waist, her grip firm yet somehow tender, steadying you as you sagged against her. “You taste like heaven,” she murmured, licking the remnants of your blood from her lips as though savoring a fine wine.

“You—” You tried to speak, but the words didn’t come, your breath hitching as her thumb traced over the fresh wound on your neck.

“Shh, don’t speak,” she said, her voice softening, almost tender now. “You’ve given me so much already. Let me take care of you, darling.”

She lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the massive bed draped in deep violet and gold linens. You felt the world sway as she set you down, her robe falling open just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her shoulder. Her predatory grin had returned, but now it was laced with something gentler—a strange, possessive affection that made your stomach twist.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she murmured, brushing your hair away from your face. “You belong to me now. Completely.”

She leaned over you, her bloodstained lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentler this time. It was possessive yet worshipful, as though she was memorizing every inch of you.

The blood loss left you lightheaded, the line between fear and desire blurring until it vanished entirely. Agatha’s hands roamed over your body with reverence, her touch burning like fire.

“Such strength,” she purred, her lips hovering over yours. “Yet so vulnerable.”

She pressed another kiss to your neck, careful to avoid the wound this time. Her tongue flicked over the edges of the bite, soothing the sting, even as her hands trailed down your sides, setting every nerve ablaze.

The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows across the room as Agatha’s lips left your neck, her tongue lapping at the wound she’d made. Her hands were everywhere—tracing your collarbone, gripping your hips, sliding up your thighs with a possessiveness that left you breathless. She pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and glinting with something primal, something that made your stomach twist in a way that was equal parts fear and desire.

“You’re trembling,” she murmured, her voice low and rough, like the growl of a predator savoring its prey. “Do you want me to stop?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your body was betraying you, your pulse racing as her fingers slipped under the hem of your uniform, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Her touch was electric, sending shivers up your spine, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.

“No?” she teased, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Good. Because I don’t think I could stop even if you begged me to.”

Her hands moved with purpose, yanking the fabric of your uniform up and over your head in one swift motion. The cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her gaze as she took you in—every curve, every inch of exposed flesh. Her eyes burned with hunger, and you felt utterly exposed, utterly at her mercy.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, her voice dripping with reverence. “Every part of you.”

Her hands were on you again, rough and demanding, as she pushed you back onto the bed. The satin sheets were cool against your back, but her body was a furnace as she climbed over you, her robe falling open to reveal the smooth, pale skin beneath. Her breasts brushed against yours, and you gasped at the contact, your nipples hardening instantly under her touch.

“You’re mine,” she growled, her lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

Her mouth closed over your nipple, her tongue flicking against the sensitive bud, and you arched into her, a moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. She chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and her teeth grazed you lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Her hand slid down your stomach, her fingers dipping between your thighs, and you gasped as she found your wetness. She groaned, low and guttural, as she felt how ready you were for her.

“So eager,” she purred, her fingers teasing your entrance. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, as her fingers pushed inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur. She moved with a practiced precision, her thumb circling your clit as her fingers worked you, and you writhed beneath her, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life.

“Look at you,” she said, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “So desperate for me. So perfect.”

Her pace quickened, her fingers thrusting deeper, harder, and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you fall apart.”

As the firelight flickered in the darkened chamber, her mouth found yours again, her kiss consuming you entirely. She poured everything into it—her obsession, her hunger, and her unspoken claim over you.

When you woke, you were wrapped in satin sheets the color of freshly spilled wine. The dull ache in your neck reminded you that last night hadn’t been a fever dream. You touched the spot cautiously, your fingers finding tender flesh but no wound. Agatha had tended to it somehow; you could still feel the faint sting of her tongue against your skin.

As you turned, you realized you weren’t alone. Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, her robe draped loosely over her, revealing more than it hid. She held a glass of dark red wine in one hand, her other hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh.

“You’re awake,” she said without looking at you. Her voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a sharp edge to it—possessive, in control.

You tried to sit up, but the room spun, and Agatha’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, pressing you gently back down.

“Easy, darling,” she murmured, her fingers cool against your flushed skin. “You’ve given me so much already. You need to recover.”

Her words were kind, but her tone betrayed her satisfaction—like a predator who’d gorged herself on her prey and was now savoring the aftermath.

“Why?” you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse.

Agatha smiled, setting her glass aside. She leaned down until her face was inches from yours, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Because I couldn’t resist,” she said simply. “You’re… exquisite. Every look, every breath, every drop of blood.” She cupped your face in her hand, her thumb grazing your cheekbone. “You have no idea the effect you’ve had on me.”

You flinched as her lips brushed over your forehead, but you didn’t pull away. There was a strange tenderness to her touch that made it impossible to move, even as your heart thundered in your chest.

“I should have left you alone,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But I’m not that strong. Not when it comes to you.”

The days that followed blurred together.

Agatha no longer kept her distance. She was everywhere—in the gardens during your morning chores, in the kitchen as you prepared meals, in your dreams every time you closed your eyes.

And always, her hands were on you—brushing against your arm as she passed, grazing your neck when she adjusted your collar, lingering on your waist as though she couldn’t stand to let you go.

“I’ve been patient,” she said one evening, pinning you against the cool stone of the hallway. Her voice was low, dangerous. “Do you think I’m a patient woman, darling?”

You shook your head, your words stolen by the heat of her body pressing into yours.

“No,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I’m not.”

Her hand slid up your thigh, her touch searing through the thin fabric of your uniform. “Do you understand what you’ve done to me? How you’ve consumed my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment?”

Her mouth found yours before you could reply, the kiss rough and commanding. You couldn’t think—only feel. The way her hands gripped your hips, the way her teeth scraped your bottom lip, the way her breath mingled with yours as though she intended to drown you in her need.

The next morning, you woke again in her bed. She was watching you, propped up on one elbow, her fingers idly playing with your hair.

“Good morning,” she purred, her voice soft and lazy, though her eyes held that same dangerous glint.

“Why… why me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Her smile widened, and she leaned down until her lips hovered just above yours.

“Because you’re mine,” she whispered, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her teeth grazed your ear, and you shivered. “And I don’t share.”

The days turned to weeks, and the line between fear and desire blurred beyond recognition. You found yourself waiting for her touch, aching for her attention, even as a small part of you screamed to run.

But there was no escaping her.

Agatha Harkness had claimed you in every way that mattered—body, blood, and soul.

And as her lips trailed down your neck, her sharp nails leaving burning paths along your skin, you knew you didn’t want her to let you go.

Because no one could consume you like she did.

No one could burn you so beautifully.

You belonged to her, entirely and inescapably.

And somehow, you didn’t care.

_-_-_

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

[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter Four: Enemy of my Enemy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Psst.”

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

“Get up, mi amor. Time’s up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But before long, that line snapped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then came the night they both broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, silence reigned, heavy and suffocating.

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

The shift in tone sent chills down your spine.

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

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

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

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

_-_-_

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