claramelooo - Tumblr blog

claramelooo · 28 days ago

Text

WOVEN FATES (20/20)

I know. I know! I'm late! I'm so sorry 😭

I had a serious problem with the wifi, I managed to get it working only now. But we're going to let you think that mommy left you suffering on purpose (it's more poetic that way, right?) 😅

So! That's it! Enjoy it!!! <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After your experience. You understand what it is really made of.

Fate

You woke up feeling light. For the first time in so long… there was no exhaustion. Not even that strange lethargy that usually followed the intense acts of the night before.

Your body ached, of course — the marks, the bruises, the still-fresh cut on your palm.

But it was a different kind of pain.

A good pain. A living memory.

As if your flesh was whispering: “You survived. You belong.”

You stretched, naked — fingers interlaced, arms raised over your head, reaching out. The sheets still tangled around your legs. Sunrays slipped through the curtains like a blessing, and the whole room seemed to breathe with you.

As you moved your hands, you felt it.

The cut from Rio’s cold blade was still there. You touched it gently. It was thick. Dark red. It almost looked like it was smiling at you.

And you smiled back.

You walked to the kitchen with your heart pounding, bare feet making no sound on the cold, expensive wooden floor.

And then you saw it: the same scene as always.

Rio was leaning over the counter, trying to draw on a plate with molasses. At first glance, the lines looked clumsy, but there was a kind of care there that made you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning too wide. — it was funny seeing her like this. Your Mama, not Rio the award-winning artist, so severe that even pancake doodles were supposed to be perfect.

Agatha, as always, had her back to you, focused on the kettle and the scrambled eggs. Her movements were graceful, precise. Even when she wasn’t trying, she commanded the space.

Even in the bad weeks.

Even in the heaviest silences.

This scene never changed.

“You’re always here…” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

“And you always look at us like it’s a miracle,” Rio said, turning around with that cheeky smile, revealing her molasses masterpiece on the pancakes. “Like it? It’s you, Agatha, and me. I thought it’d be cute.”

Agatha gave a dry chuckle, not even turning. “That little face looks like a dead fish.”

“Hey!” Rio feigned outrage, wiping her hands on a cloth. “I’m the internationally awarded artist, remember?”

You laughed out loud, sitting at the table, still feeling your body sore from the night before.

“You two are so normal in the morning, you don’t even look like the wicked witches who did unspeakable things to me last night.”

“Ooh, you do love playing that card, don’t you, sweetheart?” Rio teased, walking toward you. “So bossy and fierce last night, and now acting all innocent?”

“I wasn’t being fierce!” you protested, your face heating up even more. “That was called confidence! I knew you wouldn’t deny me anything.”

“Oh, my love,” Agatha finally turned, a mischievous smile on her lips. “You looked like a demonic princess. I must’ve done an excellent job shaping you, little gem.”

You stifled a laugh behind your fingers, shaking your head.

That’s when your Mama noticed.

“Oh my god… sweetheart.” She rushed toward you, taking your hand gently. “Does it still hurt?”

“What?” you blinked, confused. It took a few seconds to realize she was referring to the cut. “Oh. Yeah, but… it’ll pass, right?”

The smile she gave you stole the breath from your lungs. Reverently tender, Rio brought your hand to her lips.

She examined the cut, her eyes moving across your skin with almost ceremonial care. Then she blew on it — a soft, flickering breath.

The sting came like a shiver. The cut tingled, glowed…

And disappeared.

Your eyes widened.

Rio turned your palm over and kissed the back of your hand before whispering: “Better?”

You still hadn’t managed to blink. “Impressive.”

She tossed her hair back with a victorious air. “Oh, what? That simple, mediocre spell? Please. It’s nothing to me.”

Agatha rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly used to her wife’s enchanted showmanship, and murmured something in Latin just to poke her: “Vanitas vanitatum, Rio.”

Vanity of vanities, Rio.

You chuckled softly, eyes moving from one to the other, with a warmth in your chest that felt too big to hold in.

This was real.

They were here.

Bickering, flirting, caring — being your chaos and your refuge all at once.

Rio arched a brow, pretending to be offended.

“Oh. I’m the vain one, Agatha?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“Darling, the shoe fit and I strutted it down the runway of life,” Rio replied proudly, winking at you like she expected applause.

You covered your face with your hands, laughing — and when you peeked through your fingers, you realized how much you loved that routine. Even the bickering, the dramatics, the sharp retorts.

It was all so… familiar.

So yours.

The taste of coffee mixed with milk was so sweet on your tongue, it felt tailor-made for that morning.

Happiness came quietly, seeping gently through the spaces of the kitchen: in the scent of melting butter, the muffled sounds of laughter, the warmth of hands brushing now and then — accidentally or on purpose.

You found yourself smiling at them, without even realizing it. Not the forced, nervous smile from the beginning.

But a real one.

Loose. Warm. So honest it trembled.

Rio looked at you and raised a playful eyebrow.

“Falling in love, are we?”

You let out a laugh through your nose, not denying it, and Agatha murmured something like “Finally figured it out.”

The molasses on your plate had become a happy little face with horns. A clumsy attempt by Rio to draw a smiling little witch. You found it adorable.

And then…

Something sparked in your eyes.

“What happened to Wanda?”

The silence spread slowly, like smoke.

Not a tense silence. But a heavy one. Almost respectful.

Agatha placed her cup gently on the saucer, her fingers resting on the warm porcelain. Rio licked her lips, took a deep breath to answer — but Agatha spoke first.

“Her powers have been… suspended. Removed. Until you decide what to do.”

You blinked, feeling the ground fall away beneath you even though you were sitting.

“That means…”

Agatha looked at you with a half-smile. Not mocking — but with a kind of dark pride.

“That means her fate is in your hands.”

Your chest tightened. Your mind spun.

Not that you’d take revenge. Not that you wanted harm to come to Wanda — at least, not anymore.

But knowing this… Knowing you could.

Knowing you had that power.

That control.

It lit a spark.

Something dangerous. Warm. Almost… sweet.

You lowered your eyes, as if that could hide the thought. But Agatha had already seen it. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with that wicked tenderness only she possessed:

“Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” you asked, surprised she had sensed it.

“The weight.” She said it like revealing an ancient secret. As if no other word in the world could better fit that moment.

“Weight? Of what?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. Your brow furrowed, your chest tightened. And still, you needed to hear it from her lips.

“Of being chosen.”

It was like too-tight a hug. Or a punch straight to the stomach. You still couldn’t tell. But something inside you tore open completely. And instead of pain, what flooded your body was a kind of fever — an impossible mix of relief, fear, pride, and vertigo.

To be chosen. To be the end of one story and the beginning of another. To be the knot in someone’s fate.

Suddenly, all your years of loneliness seemed to converge in that moment. All the times you felt forgotten, invisible, too small to fit into any bigger plan… all of that now seemed like it had only ever been a rehearsal.

A quiet preparation for this moment.

The moment you would be seen. Recognized. Chosen. Marked. You lowered your head. Part of you wanted to scream. The other just wanted to cry.

That’s when Rio approached from behind.

You felt her before you saw her — warm and solid, like a wall of flesh, bone, and magic wrapped around you.

Her arms circled your shoulders with a care that nearly broke you.

The touch wasn’t possessive. It was protective.

A physical reminder that you weren’t alone.

“You are our end,” Rio murmured, her lips brushing the back of your neck, her voice rough with something that sounded like worship. “And the beginning of her story, my love.”

You closed your eyes.

The kiss she placed on your skin carried everything you couldn’t name.

It wasn’t just affection — it was a vow. A sacrament. A seal.

You felt anger. So much anger toward Wanda.

For everything she did and took.

For making you feel small. Insignificant. Replaceable.

But you also felt responsibility. You were now the guardian of a power you didn’t fully understand. In your hands, you held the fate of the woman who once tried to control yours.

And finally, there was desire. Not the wild, raw kind from a few hours ago — but something else.

A deeper desire. A more dangerous one.

The desire to stay. To remain. To belong.

To never again live in a world where Agatha and Rio didn’t exist. The desire to deserve that touch, that love, that curse.

You were fury and mercy.

You were the poison and the cure.

The punishment and the miracle.

And when Rio’s kisses spread across your skin like a profane blessing, when Agatha’s eyes burned into you with that devoted intensity, something inside you unlock and called you.

[...]

The Audi engine hummed through the city. You’d grown spoiled, always riding in Aggie’s car in the mornings. Listening to her old-people music, breathing in the scent of leather.

It was a good routine to have.

When the car stopped, your heart sank — yes, the dreaded three blocks. Always three. The safe distance between their world and the one that still couldn’t know.

You sighed, hand hovering over the door handle with hesitation.

But before you could open it, Agatha’s fingers touched yours — firm, gentle.

“Don’t go yet,” she whispered. “I haven’t looked at you enough. My little student girl.”

You smiled, still surprised by how deeply it affected you. She said those things with such dangerous ease.

And you? You felt it all like it was the very first time.

How could someone with that much power make you feel so... so alive? So silly? So absurdly young, as if time held no weight at all?

Maybe being their secret... wasn’t so bad. Maybe mystery protected. Maybe silence built something only theirs — where the world couldn’t reach.

There was poetry in the hiding.

Freedom in what didn’t need to be explained.

But the clock was merciless, and you had to go. The project presentation was that afternoon, and despite the surreal life you lived with Agatha and Rio, part of you still existed in the ordinary world.

The student. The friend. The survivor.

“The presentation’s today,” you murmured, almost like an apology.

The ride had been short but sweet. Aggie looked at you at every red light like she was about to discover a new secret on your face.

And you? You laughed. A light, clean laugh — almost adolescent.

She nodded in understanding.

“Good luck, my heart,” she said, cupping your chin before kissing you. “Show them what you're made of.”

You entered the building on trembling legs, your heart pounding in your ears. It felt strange walking through the college halls, knowing what you now knew.

Knowing what had happened.

Knowing who you had become.

The presentation room was packed.

The final project of the class, led by Lilia, had turned into a small event.

As you walked in, Alice’s eyes found yours almost immediately — and you looked away. The anger still lived there, buried beneath layers of disappointment.

Then your gaze was caught by Lilia, seated at the front.

She didn’t smile.

Her face was the same as always: elegant, unreadable, a professional mask impossible to crack. But her eyes... her eyes said something more. She looked you up and down with a focus that pierced.

And a chill ran down your spine, like a ghost had passed behind you.

“Good morning, everyone,” Lilia’s voice rang out — steady, controlled. “I hope you're ready.”

She stood with her usual grace, unhurried. Leaned her hip against the corner of the desk, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the room like she knew exactly what everyone was trying to hide.

As she read out names, calling group by group, you felt Alice’s presence inching closer — like an unwanted shadow.

She was shorter than you, but in that moment, she seemed even smaller.

Smaller on the inside.

Shrunk by guilt, maybe. Or regret.

You heard her calling your name softly.

Once.

Again.

And again.

At first, you ignored her.

You really didn’t want to deal with that shit. Not now.

But she kept going.

And you turned.

Your face was serious. Rigid. Like stone refusing to be shaped by empty words.

A look you’d never shown her before.

And now, it was the only one you had to give.

But before you could say anything — before the flood of hurt, rage, and frustration came out — Lilia’s unmistakable voice cut in.

“Girls,” she called.

Your eyes turned to her.

“It’s your turn.”

You took a deep breath.

Gave Alice one last glance. And said, barely moving your lips: “Let’s get this over with.”

You walked to the front of the room with steady steps, though your heart was pounding like mad in your chest.

Behind you, Alice hesitated, but followed — that was the deal. Even if the trust between you was broken, the work was shared.

At least on paper.

You didn’t look at her.

You didn’t have to.

This story was yours now.

Lilia leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers laced, her sharp gaze locked on you.

You plugged your USB into the projector. Took a deep breath.

And began.

“When we talk about character building, we’re taught to focus on conflict, motivation, trauma. But some creations don’t come from any of those places.”

The first images appeared on the screen: Paintings, shadows, scribbles. Fragments of a world where the real and the mythological aren’t opposites — They’re layers.

“Some characters aren’t written in ink. They’re summoned.”

You felt the room’s silence thicken, Lilia’s eyes like a knife against your skin — and still, you didn’t flinch.

“This is the story of two women. One made of absolute control. The other, of darkness in its most beautiful form.”'

You moved through the room like someone who knew exactly where they belonged.

“They appear in hidden records, in stories scholars like us would label as fiction. But what happens when fiction refuses to stay made up?”

The screen now showed a sketch of a map: three interlocking circles.

“They didn’t build kingdoms. They didn’t seek power for power’s sake. They shaped a being. A third figure. Not as heir. But as proof.”

Lilia was watching you with a hard gaze, making you want to flee from her eyes.

But you didn’t.

You stopped.

Agatha’s voice echoed in your mind: “Show them what you’re made of.”

And what are you made of?

The question slithered inside you like an ancient serpent.

You stood at the center of the room, under the weight of Lilia’s stare, under the quiet judgment, under the tense silence.

And somewhere deep within you, far beneath your skin, the answer began to rise.

You are made of your mother’s absence on Sunday mornings. Of your father’s frustration that you weren’t who he wanted you to be. Of the metallic taste of shame. Of the words you swallowed just to avoid looking weak.

You are made of the first time you saw Agatha and couldn’t tell if you were scared or mesmerized. Of the way Rio looked at you in that café, like she could paint your soul. Of the warm leather in their car. Of the scent of jasmine on her neck. Of the taste of freedom on the tip of your tongue.

You are made of the things that were almost said about you. And the ones you never allowed anyone to say.

You are made of magic that can’t be explained — only felt. And of a quiet hunger for belonging.

You are made of love. But not the soft, romantic kind. Love as a blade. A pact. A fire that burns everything down until only what’s real remains.

Your skin prickled. But your body stood firm.

On the outside, what others saw was a girl presenting a project.

But inside you, a temple was being built.

You inhaled.

Lifted your eyes.

And your voice, low and fatal, rang out:

"Proof that love can also be a kind of madness. That control can be care. And that sometimes… the best characters aren’t invented. They’re awakened."

Lilia moved for the first time. A slight tilt of her chin. Her mouth parted — not in surprise, but… fascination.

"Our characters don’t have names on paper. But they’ve left their signature on everything they touch: In the way someone leads without raising their voice. In the smile that hides entire worlds behind the eyes. In the body of someone who wasn’t made to obey… but to belong."

The final slide appeared.

Three figures dancing in blue flames, like shadows behind a sheer veil.

"This is our proposal: beings not born from a rational arc, but from a ritual. Who need no redemption — because they were born marked to be exactly what they are."

You fell silent.

And the silence after your final words was heavier than any applause.

Lilia sat like a sphinx.

Then she spoke, slowly, as if she’d swallowed shards of glass:

"You’re actually good. Truly impressive."

The words left Lilia’s lips like a rare flash of lightning in a clear sky. You didn’t answer — but your chest rose subtly, recognizing the compliment not as a gift, but as a nod of confirmation.

She was strict. Surgical.

She didn’t praise out of politeness.

But something in her tone said she had high expectations for you.

Beside her, Alice opened her mouth — hesitant, like she wanted to share the moment, soak in the glow.

But then the bell rang, shattering the spell.

The students began to disperse like leaves in the wind.

You said nothing. Just walked toward the door, leaving Alice behind, stuck in her own hesitation.

"Alright, class! Grades will be posted on the bulletin outside. Stay tuned." Lilia called out, watching the students walk through the doorway.

The work was done.

And now you could go home.

Watch a silly show with Lucky curled up beside you, always purring. Water your plants while waiting for your mommies to come home from work.

You took a deep breath.

Finally.

The peace that comes after giving your all.

But that peace was broken by the touch of a hand on your wrist.

A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

"Hey—hey! You’re seriously just going to ignore me? You vanish for two days and when you come back, you’ve got this… this attitude..." she hesitated, as if unsure which word fit best. “Pretentious.” Her grip on your wrist tightened.

You turned on your heels, eyes cold.

Oh. My. God.

How dare she?

"Yes, Alice! I’d love to go back to the time when you were just the weird girl."

Ouch.

You knew that stung.

But well… it stung you too.

The betrayal, the lies and the silence.

She swallowed hard, as if she finally understood the real issue here. "Oh. Right. This is about the night of the party, I see."

"No, Alice." You let out a dry, cracked laugh. "This is about you. Your betrayal. Or better yet — were you ever really my friend at all?" You pointed a finger at her, each word slicing into her like a blade.

She blinked quickly, her eyes brimming with tears for a moment. "What—? Of course I was. I–I–"

"Funny… Wanda told me something else." You stepped back, arms crossed, waiting for her reaction.

Alice’s eyes widened for a split second. “Wanda…”

"The fucking witch who told you about the source. About me." You tried to control your voice, but the last part came out like a growl.

"Look. Billy said she was just some acquaintance. We didn’t… we didn’t even really know who she was."

Billy.

You remembered his eyes.

Dark. Deep. Haunted.

He had seen something in you before you even knew it existed.

And now you could see what he saw.

That son of a bitch.

What did he have to do with her?

You let out a tired sigh. The rage weighed on your shoulders like a stone. You rubbed them with your fingers, exhausted from feeling so much.

"Screw all this, okay? I don’t care anymore. I’m fine. More alive than ever." Your voice came out proud, confident.

And it was true.

You were alive.

More aware.

Stronger.

Because now you knew who you could count on — and who you couldn’t.

"The real question is: why did you agree to this? Why did you do this to a friend?"

Alice lowered her head, finally broken. The tears now fell freely, without shame. But her body remained rigid, like she was clinging to some scrap of dignity amid the collapse.

You looked away.

Not out of weakness.

But because it hurt too much to watch her fall apart.

You glanced around — students coming and going, ordinary lives, trivial problems. And you, standing in the middle of an open abyss.

"She said I could be stronger. More… powerful." The word came out broken. Like a child confessing she’d broken her sister’s favorite toy.

You stared at her in silence.

"Well… I hope it was worth it, at least."

You said it with confidence — and it was true.

But inside, you were shattered.

You closed your eyes for a moment, accepting what you’d known all along. Sometimes, people choose paths where there’s no room for you.

Deal with it.

You turned your back and disappeared into the crowd.

[...]

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft sound. And like magic, the world outside shrank into something distant, irrelevant.

Here, within the warmth of your walls, you were just… you again.

The jingle of Lucky’s collar was all it took to revive your heart.

You dropped your backpack to the floor and ran to him, throwing yourself onto the couch with a heavy sigh. The tiny furball landed on your lap in seconds, purring loud, heart racing with joy just to have you back.

"My baby!" you cried, laughing as he wrapped himself around your arm, showering you in soft, playful bites. "Mommy missed you so much…"

For a few seconds, time dissolved in that cuddle. It was just you, him, and the purring.

Until a familiar voice came from behind the couch:

“Look, my love. Seems like we’re grandparents already.”

You turned to Agatha — who murmured in agreement while fixated on the iPad screen — and frowned. What were they doing home? So early?

“You bet we are,” you replied, kissing the top of the black cat’s head. “The real question is whether Lucky was properly fed these past two days.” Your tone was stern and serious.

Agatha scoffed, sinking into the armchair across from you. “Oh, please… He’s a cat. He ate his kibble every three hours, just like he should.”

“What? What kind of kibble? Lucky only eats the three-protein blend. No fish. So you have to remove every—”

“What a spoiled, demanding little creature,” Rio cut off your avalanche of instructions.

“Oh, really? Then take a good look at the monster you created,” Agatha shot back, dramatically pointing at you and Lucky curled up on the couch.

“I created?” Rio repeated, incredulous. “Says the woman don’t-feed-the-baby-sugar-because-it’s-bad-for-them.”

“Well, it is,” Agatha shrugged, as if she had just won the argument with a bulletproof truth.

You just laughed, defeated. Being with them felt like living inside a dream — a warm, silly, messy dream you never wanted to wake up from.

But then, something white hopped across your peripheral vision. You blinked.

A little puffball.

Lucky jumped down and went straight to it, sniffing curiously.

What…?

You leaned over the couch to get a better view and saw the tiny creature, pink-nosed and alert-eyed, sniffing your cat... and for a second, you couldn’t believe it. Lucky started licking the soft white fur, and the tiny being leapt forward, giving you a full view.

Your eyes widened.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Language,” Agatha warned, eyes still on the screen.

“Aggie. Love…” Rio chimed in, her voice thick with barely restrained amusement.

Agatha finally looked. She squinted at the little rabbit, as if deciphering a secret etched into its ears... then relaxed.

“Hm. That’s Señor Scratchy,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

Rio sank deeper into the couch, arms crossed. Like she already knew what was coming — and that it would be delightful to witness.

“No, it’s not. Señor Scratchy is a rabbit… plush,” you said with emphasis, like explaining something to a child who just told a very bad lie.

Agatha raised a cynical eyebrow. She glanced again at the bunny with the faint brown spots.

“Oh. He is?” She looked back at you, feigning innocence.

“Yes, Agatha. I remember perfectly. Plush,” Rio chimed in just to tease her, earning a deadly glare from the witch.

“Mommy…” you began, but didn’t even need to finish — Agatha sighed loudly, like someone caught red-handed but determined to keep her dignity.

“Ugh, fine!” She raised her hands, standing just to pick up the little furball. “Señor Scratchy was our pet before you got here.” She petted him gently.

“What?!” You were stunned and slightly outraged.

“And we had a deal that when you came here,” she continued, stroking the bunny, who seemed to approve with closed, content eyes, “he’d behave and help you adjust to the house.” Agatha rubbed his ears, and he practically melted in her lap with pleasure.

“And to us,” Rio added now, her chocolate-bright eyes piercing right into your heart.

Then it clicked. Why hugging that bunny always soothed your worst days. It felt like touching them. Like their emotions flowed right back through him.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“Surprise!” Agatha stood up and placed the tiny creature in your lap.

“Oh my God!” you repeated, breathless, feeling the soft fur and that cool little pink nose brushing your fingers.

“We changed him back because we didn’t want Lucky to feel lonely while we went to pick you up,” Rio explained, petting him too.

“Oh my God! I have a real bunny!” You stood up with him in your arms, spinning excitedly. “You two are the best mommies in the world!”

They laughed at your enthusiasm.

“Sweetheart, don’t shake him like that. Rabbits naturally have fast heart rates. Let’s not give a centuries-old creature a heart attack,” Agatha warned, still smiling.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Forgot he’s not plush anymore.”

Rio burst out laughing, tossing her head back. Neck exposed, that wide smile — a spectacle on its own. All you could think was how beautiful she was.

“All right, little weirdo. No more surprises,” she pointed to the couch. “How about helping us choose your dress for your Mommy’s film premiere?”

“I already picked one,” Agatha said firmly, eyes glued to a website.

“Aggie!” Rio scolded. “We agreed she gets to choose this time, remember?”

“But it’s an important night!”

“For her too.” Rio now sounded like she was parenting a teenage Aggie. It was hilarious.

“Fine. But only tonight,” Agatha declared, pointing her finger like it was law — because obviously, your Mommy would never actually give up dressing and feeding you like her doll.

“Uh, hello? I’m still right here, remember?” you chimed in, sarcastic.

“Silence, child! Move over,” Agatha demanded, settling on the couch.

She handed you the tablet, and you started browsing through the dress options.

There were so many. All colors.

And you decided to tease her a little.

“Hmm… Which one should I pick?” you sang the words, making your Mommy visibly tense. “Maybe lace?” You saw Aggie swallow hard. “Or something made of polyester…?” You knew she’d hate that. And she really did — judging by the way she clenched the pillow like she wanted to strangle you.

“Or what about neon—?”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” she exploded, finally.

You laughed and gave a mischievous grin, tongue pressed between your teeth.

“I got you.”

You returned your attention to the pictures. Until one of them stopped you cold.

It was long. A deep navy blue. Elegant and mysterious. A classic, sophisticated silhouette made for a red carpet. The full, structured skirt made the deep blue look almost black.

The bodice shimmered in starry blue — tight to the body, with thin straps. It came with a pair of long black satin gloves.

It was dramatic.

It was perfect.

Pure red carpet.

You whistled. “Yeah. I really got it.”

[...]

You were sweating inside the car.

The muffled sound of the crowd outside seemed distant, as if echoing through a glass dome. Cameras flashed like lightning. Shouts, flashes, and a red carpet that seemed endless. It was like standing on the edge of an abyss.

Your chest rose and fell in short, nervous breaths. The claustrophobia of the moment squeezed your waist tighter than any corset ever could.

To your left, Agatha held your gloved hand—her touch firm and calculated, as always. But her eyes, fixed on you, were pure embers. She tilted her head slightly and said, in that tone that made you tremble inside:

"Honey, breathe."

You tried. But all you managed was a dry swallow.

On the other side, Rio adjusted the choker around your neck—the one that had always been yours, even when you didn’t understand what it meant. Her fingers traced your collarbone with tenderness and reverence. Then she whispered, her lips brushing behind your ear:

"You look stunning."

A brief kiss, warm like melting wax.

"Everyone will see how you shine, my little gem."

Your gaze darted between them. And there it was—your anchor. Your temple. You felt the entire world pulling you out of that car, and yet, for a second, you wanted to stay there forever.

But the door opened.

And the world exploded in light.

You stepped out alone.

The night wind lifted the hem of your blue dress just enough to make the photographers lose their minds. It was as if you were made of liquid stardust.

They didn’t know your name.

Much less who you were.

But the dress told them your importance. And that this was where you belonged.

After the photos, you enter the building to join your staff colleagues.

"Hey!"

Yelena’s voice calls out to you in the middle of the brightly lit lobby, cutting through the noise of heels, laughter, and clinking glasses.

You turn—and there she is.

Beautiful.

A white dress shimmering like snow under neon lights. Her half-up hairstyle left a few strands loose, framing her glowing face. She looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine editorial. Or a dream.

"You look gorgeous." She smiles sincerely, her Russian accent caressing each syllable like a gift.

"You too," you reply, your heart still racing. "Seriously… wow. Like you fell from the wrong constellation."

Yelena laughs.

"Oh, stop. But thank you."

She looks you up and down and adds with a crooked smile: "You killed it out there. It was like… the birth of a star. Everyone stopped."

You shrug, shy, but your smile betrays you. "It was kinda scary."

"Scary is being in the middle of all those people trying not to look too emotional watching you shine. And I failed miserably." She nudges you lightly with her elbow. "Seriously, you’ve got talent. And presence. There’s something about you… that holds people."

You swallow hard.

You know why that happens.

Now you know it’s what a Source is.

Pure, eccentric energy.

You want to thank her, but part of you doesn’t know how. Compliments always felt like traps. But not with Yelena. With her, it’s just lightness.

Before you can respond, a woman’s voice—firm and slightly husky—calls her name:

"Yelena."

You both turn at the same time.

A woman approaches with decisive steps. Red hair. A high bun that looks sculpted. The black suit fits with millimeter precision, as if sewn directly onto her body. There’s something in her eyes that commands silence—and fire.

"We need to review the security for the outer wing. A press group got past the barrier."

Her voice doesn’t rise. But it demands.

Her gaze briefly sweeps over you. Assessing. Cutting.

Then returns to Yelena.

Yelena sighs, exasperated. "I’m coming. Two seconds."

The woman nods with an almost imperceptible movement and walks away, firm, elegant, an aura of power lingering in the air.

You can’t help it.

You look back at Yelena.

Then toward where the woman disappeared.

Then back at Yelena with raised eyebrows.

And venture:

"Girlfriend?"

Yelena chokes on the champagne she’d barely started drinking.

"Are you crazy?" she sputters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing and coughing at the same time. "That’s Natasha. My older sister."

"Oh." You blink. "Wow."

"'Wow' is what everyone says before getting scolded. Or punched." Yelena laughs but then gives you a conspiratorial smirk. "She’s got that eternal-PMS Russian goddess aura, but… she’s good people. A legend in the military, actually."

You’re still staring down the hallway where Natasha went.

"She looked at me like she could hear my thoughts."

"She probably could," Yelena replies, amused. "She’s like a retired spy, head of security, espionage master, and queen of sarcasm. Anyway, don’t flirt with my sister. I want to keep liking you."

You widen your eyes.

"Oh. No. I wasn’t." You assure the blonde.

I mean, the woman was indeed a vision, but nothing that would make you take your eyes off your mommies. It was just a burning curiosity in your chest.

But you definitely didn’t need to worry about that now.

Not when your mommies stepped onto the red carpet.

Agatha appeared first, her eyes half-lidded as if reading secrets on the horizon. The black dress was as tight as it was liquid, as if dressing her by pure will alone.

The deep neckline merged with the dark choker, revealing the swell of her breasts with a kind of threatening elegance—as if sin had learned to walk in heels.

And right beside her came Rio.

The white dress ignited under the flashes, as soft as moonlight on sheets. The high bun left her long neck exposed, her skin gleaming, her generous décolletage on display like a sacred canvas.

Her neckline was deep too, but in a way that seemed almost innocent—almost. Because nothing about Rio was ever truly pure. It just seemed that way. Until you looked again.

The two of them walked as if they’d been born for that red floor.

You lost your breath. Literally. Your heart seemed to leap so hard your vision blurred for a second.

It was pure exhilaration.

And you knew.

You knew no one—no one—would ever be able to occupy that space like they did. Not Hollywood stars. Not queens, not legends.

Because they were all those things... and so much more.

Your entire body tingled.

You gripped the champagne flute tightly, as if it could keep you grounded. But every part of you wanted to run. Scream. Bite your own lips.

Or drop to your knees right there.

The cameras went wild.

Flashes exploded like fireworks.

But you didn’t see any of that.

You only saw them.

Agatha turned her head slightly.

And for a brief second—a single, precious second—her eyes met yours.

Rio held Agatha’s arm, pulling her slightly by the waist as she whispered something in the older woman’s ear. Agatha laughed, one of those nearly inaudible laughs you knew by heart.

The most beautiful sound in the world.

You felt your legs weaken.

If it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would’ve collapsed right then.

"Fuck..." you whispered without realizing.

Yelena let out a low whistle beside you. "The witches of Hollywood have arrived. "

You smiled. But inside... inside you were melting.

Part of you wanted to run to them. Drop to your knees and beg them to claim you right there on that carpet.

The other part... just wanted to keep watching.

To etch it into your retina. Tattoo it onto your soul.

Because, in that moment, you knew:

You belonged to those women.

Forever.

The party hall was soaked in expensive perfumes, artificial laughter, and clinking champagne flutes. You mingled for a few minutes, greeted who you needed to, smiled at who you should.

You watched your mommies from afar. They gestured dramatically. It was so fucking sensual. Your cunt clenched around nothing. Fuck. You’d barely arrived and already wanted to leave.

Your legs were nearly giving out, and you needed to go to the bathroom to empty your bladder, which felt swollen from the adrenaline.

You needed to splash your face and calm down.

The bathroom was luxurious. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and plaster moldings mimicked Greek sculptures.

You splashed cold water on the back of your neck and tried to take three deep breaths.

“Well, well, well… Looks like Agatha chose a decent dress this time.”

Wanda.

Shit.

You swallowed hard, feeling shaky. You wouldn’t show fear. Never again.

Fuck this.

“I chose it.”

The reply came out sharp, direct. Firmer than you thought you could muster. The back of your neck still dripped with cold water, but the heat of her name—Wanda—already surged through your veins like poison and desire.

You turned slowly, your damp fingers gripping the white marble sink. Wanda leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed, a champagne flute in hand, her gaze red as freshly spilled blood.

She wore a tight wine-colored jumpsuit with strategic cutouts and a plunging neckline that nearly reached her navel. Every curve seemed placed there with a singular purpose: to provoke. Command. Destabilize.

“Chose it?” She smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “Think that makes you... one of them?”

You forced your eyes not to waver.

This was Wanda.

Her. The woman who’d kidnapped and tortured you for two fucking days. You wanted to vomit. But not now. Tonight, you were different. You were full. Full of your mommies’ presence. Full of the power growing in your chest like an unbreakable secret.

“I don’t think. I know.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, sipping her champagne elegantly. “Hmm. And how’s it going, being their little doll?”

She stepped closer. Slow. Her heels echoed on the bathroom tiles like hammers chipping at your self-control. “Can you even handle all this, little girl?”

The taunt stung. Burned.

But instead of flinching, you smiled.

Slow.

Almost cruel.

As if, suddenly, you knew something she didn’t.

“They molded me,” you replied, lowering your voice like a forbidden prayer. “But I’m no doll. I’m fire. I’m a relic. I’m the curse they chose to love.”

Wanda stopped inches from you.

The air vibrated between you.

“You talk pretty for someone who still trembles at the sight of me.”

You smiled wider. Because yes, maybe your legs shook. Maybe your heart raced. But there was something in you now... something even she couldn’t break.

“I tremble because I feel too much. Not because I fear you.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, as if trying to read between the lines of your soul. And maybe she was.

But you were no longer an open book.

She leaned in, her face close to yours.

Her breath brushed your lips.

“You’ll get hurt with them. Think you’re special? You’re not. It’ll hurt so much when they leave.”

You swallowed hard but didn’t look away. Instead, you lifted your chin, gaze steady.

“If it hurts, I’ll love the pain. But you, Wanda… you’ll love it twice as hard. And then, you’ll understand me.”

Silence fell like thunder.

Wanda’s expression hardened for a second. Her mocking laugh died in her throat, morphing into something heavier.

Something she swallowed dryly.

You walked past her with elegance, leaving a trail of perfume, power, and something else—a spell, perhaps.

As you opened the door, you didn’t look back.

But you felt it.

Felt her gaze burning into your back.

Felt the seed of a curse taking root in the Scarlet Witch’s eyes.

Four hours later, the car glided silently through Los Angeles streets damp with early winter rain. City lights blinked outside as if still trying to compete with the glow of the night you’d left behind.

You leaned between them, exhausted.

Your feet ached from the heels. Your skin still pulsed with the thrill of it all.

But it was more than fatigue.

It was the feeling of something completing. Like a musical note finally finding its harmony.

Rio stroked your hair while Agatha rested her chin atop your head.

“You were perfect,” the older woman murmured.

“You were born for this, little gem,” Rio added, almost like a prophecy.

You didn’t reply. Just closed your eyes.

“I just want to get home,” you whined, tired and petulant. “I want to put on cozy pajamas and sleep.”

“Oh. Sleep?” Rio said. “But you haven’t seen the surprise we prepared for you.”

There.

The moment Rio said it, you cracked one eye open. “Surprise?”

“Oh yes, darling.”

In an impulse you lifted your torso off the bench.

“Tell Ralph to drive faster.” You ordered. “Hear that, Ralph? Faster!”

The mansion was dark, save for the muffled click of Agatha and Rio’s heels on marble. They walked ahead, letting you kick off your shoes at the door, the cold floor biting your feet.

The entire house felt different. Not the furniture. The air. As if… something had shifted. As if a cycle had finally closed.

You rushed to the bedroom. You wanted your surprise now. To kiss them. Maybe… more.

But when you crossed the threshold, you froze.

There, facing the bed, stood a mirror.

Enormous. Antique. Gilded frame ornate enough to feel alive.

And you knew it hadn’t been there that morning.

In its reflection, you saw something strange.

Agatha stood behind you, dressed in black like at the premiere. Rio, beside her, in white, as if balancing the scales.

But their reflections weren’t exact.

A faint shimmer hovered between their bodies. A blue glow invisible to ordinary eyes.

And it came… from you.

You looked at your hands. Nothing there.

But in the mirror, you glowed.

A soft click sounded behind you. The door closing.

“You see it, don’t you?” Agatha asked, her voice softer than ever.

You nodded, still staring. “What… is that?”

Rio stepped closer, removing her choker and placing it on the dresser like an ancient relic returned to its altar.

“It’s the truth,” she said. “And the gift.”

Agatha took your hand.

“It was never about having you, sweetie. It was about making you accept the bond. On your own.”

Rio finished: “You walked through the trials. Lived. Grew. Cried. Shone. And through it all… you stayed. You chose us.”

And as they spoke… you felt it.

Your heart changed rhythm. As if beating in triple time. As if it had finally found its song.

The mirror glowed—not with light, but with truth. The blue bond shimmered between your bodies. No longer a reflection. Now it was real.

Now, binding all three of you.

Agatha pressed her lips to your temple.

“The bond is sealed.”

You shuddered.

Energy shot up your spine like sweet, merciless lightning. Your skin prickled. Your chest burned from the inside out.

And then… something snapped.

Something inside you that was still human.

Something that bled.

That feared.

Something that no longer existed.

You staggered, but Rio caught you—steady, like an ancient vow.

“It’s done,” she whispered, her brown eyes brimming, reflecting gold as they shimmered. “You belong to us now. In all times.”

You looked into the mirror one last time.

And you saw it.

Your eyes were no longer the same.

They glowed—fluorescent blue, alive, impossible. As if made from the very essence of the night sky.

Something utterly terrifying to human eyes.

But perfect in their world.

You had become immortal.

This story was never meant for just anyone. It was written for those who find beauty in darkness. For those who fall in love with what is eerie and strange.

Where some see fear, others find peace.

And where others give up… you stayed.

Because sometimes, the path fate weaves toward joy is terrifying.

And that’s the beauty of living.

There were no fireworks.

No music.

Only the silence of eternity, being written by three hands.

You were no longer free.

You never would be again.

Three hearts.

One curse.

And the most beautiful of destinies.

~*~

Thanks for following Woven Fates, my beloved ones. I hope this story can reach everyone who reads this story :)

And yes... the spin-off will be WandNat x Reader.

Mommy will take a rest from writing 🥱 But I'll be always here to read you, my babies.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

191 notes · View notes