claramelooo

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE! (News)

(picture of Mr. Raw peacefully sleeping to get your heart melt and forget to kill me 💜)

Well, as I said in the chapter 15 of checkmate, my life is really crazy right now. A lot of changes is happening and your mommy is the worst dealing with this (believe me lmfao 😆)

I'll give myself a break for a while. Mostly to organize my routine, my time and my mind.

Anyway, I have a very important question for you, babies. Do you prefer longer chapters and that our fic finished really in chapter 20 or shorter chapters but also increasing the number of chapters?

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (15/20)

Hey, my boos!

We are getting at the final chapter....I know I know! Actually, I'm trying to write the perfect ending but my routine is so crazy! I'm thinking to stop for few days to organize it, and then, back.

Anyway! I'll let you know, okay?

Enjoy it!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst.

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha finds your behavior strange.

Skewer

noun

a tactic where a more valuable piece (like a king, queen, or rook) is attacked, and when it moves to defend itself, a less valuable piece behind it is exposed and can be captured. It's essentially the opposite of a pin, where the less valuable piece is in front.

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee was the same. Strong, bitter, and persistent. Thanos loved making coffee. It was one of his small daily gestures, a ritual that seemed like affection.

“Do you have a meeting today?” He’d ask, still in expensive cotton pajamas, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

“I do, at the Chamber.”

Silence would follow, broken only by the soft clinking of a spoon against a mug.

“Don’t you think you’re getting too involved in all this? Politics is… dirty.”

She pretended not to hear, took a sip. “That’s exactly why.”

Thanos gave her a small, measured smile. The kind that always came before a perfectly crafted phrase.

“I just think it’s too much exposure. It changes people, Agatha.”

She smiled back. Because smiling was easier than arguing. Because he never yelled, never laid a hand on her. And yet, every word felt like an invisible clamp pinning down her wings.

Their house in the Hamptons was beautiful. Classic, quiet, and immaculate. She used to run her fingers along the golden frames in the hallway, where his diplomas were displayed.

Economics at Oxford. MBA at Yale—where he’d been her mentor during undergrad, and how they met—and a smaller frame with her name on it, from a speech she gave at Harvard.

A speech Thanos had read and rewritten three times before letting her take the stage.

“It’s not about censorship, love. It’s just a matter of tone. You tend to sound… aggressive when you talk about the system, and no one likes aggressive women.”

That night, Agatha didn’t sleep.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember when exactly she started being tamed. When she had been boxed up and commanded.

On their wedding anniversary, Thanos took her to a French restaurant, all candlelight and background piano.

A toast to love!

He gave her a gift: a pearl necklace. 

And she gave a speech. Polished and empty.

On the way home, in the car, Thanos placed his hand on her leg.

“See? When you want to, you know how to behave. Everyone loved you tonight.”

She never wore the necklace.

Years later, she could still remember the taste of that wine. The scent of his skin. The impenetrable silence that filled the house.

And how, on the outside, everything looked perfect. 

The businessman and his wife. The philanthropy. The meetings. The smiling photos at gala dinners with his investors.

And a woman slowly disappearing inside herself.

[...]

The bathroom mirror was fogged up, steam curling up the tiled walls. Agatha braced her hands on the cold marble sink. Her reflection looked younger today or maybe just more real.

Her body still pulsed with what had happened a few hours earlier.

The tight stall.The bass thumping through the walls. The taste of your kiss. The muffled moans against your neck.

She closed her eyes.

God, that had been wrong.

So wrong.

Inappropriate, reckless, impossible.

And yet...

She thought of you.

So young.

But it wasn’t just your age. You were movement, impulse. Raw, generous desire.

You gave yourself like someone who had never learned to hold back, like someone who hadn’t been broken into small enough pieces to fear pleasure yet.

And that… that destroyed her, because she wanted to break you.

Wasn’t it wrong?

Yes.

Of course it was.

But... maybe not that wrong.

What happened in that bed, in that stall, it wasn’t casual. You touched her with hunger, with reverence, with a kind of freedom Agatha thought she had buried under layers of power, fear, and duty.

Freedom.

The word echoed with a summer taste.

Being with you was like an unexpected breeze on a stifling afternoon. A light, cool, rebellious wind. The kind that enters without asking, slams windows, sends papers flying, and makes curtains flutter like freed ghosts.

You were that.

An impossible wind.

And Agatha…

She’d spent her whole life closing windows.

She sighed, bracing herself on the sink, and remembered the word:

Mommy.

You always called her that, like it meant nothing. Or maybe it did?

It didn’t matter.

Because the effect was immediate and consuming.

It wasn’t just erotic, no—although it was, searing and incandescent to her. It was what it said about how you saw her.

With surrender, with trust, and need.

Agatha shuddered.

She felt exposed, yes. But also… adored. As if, for one night, she’d stepped out of her armor, as if someone had seen something in her beyond strategy and control.

You saw her. Whole. And still… you wanted her.

You were so sweet you might have been naive. There was a wild insolence in you, a thirst that never apologized.

You wanted the world and you wanted her. Even with her contradictions, her sharpness, her fears and mistakes.

And for some reason... that didn’t scare her.

Not like it should.

You were intense, generous, unfiltered, and maybe— just maybe—The best thing that had happened to her in seventeen years.

She straightened slowly, running her fingers through the wet dark strands falling over her shoulders. The robe touched her skin with silent tenderness.

She took a deep breath.

Maybe she wasn’t the kind of woman who deserved love, maybe she wasn’t the kind who knew how to love, but for now… maybe she could allow herself.

After all, even the most powerful king was once just a pawn trying to cross the board.

When Agatha stepped out of the shower with her hair still damp, skin warm under the cotton robe, she didn’t expect to find the bed so quiet.

You were there, lying on your side, one knee bent, sleeping deeply on the messy sheets.

She stopped, just watched you.

You breathed slowly, long strands falling across your cheek. Moonlight slipped through the cracks in the curtain, sketching soft shapes across your face.

So young.

So confident. 

and yet… so, so reckless.

She sat down beside you but didn’t dare touch. She just stayed there, watching over you like someone guarding something precious and fleeting.

That night, she slept beside you without armor. 

And dreamed of freedom.

In the morning, the shift was obvious.

You woke up first. Spoke little, almost distant. Irritation shimmered in your eyes, even though you tried to hide it.

Agatha furrowed her brow, confused. But she slipped the armor back on and didn’t ask.

Like every dream, your days of peace had ended.

The car drove in silence back toward Seattle.

She gripped the wheel with one hand, the other resting on her thigh in anxious stillness.

You stared out the window. Silent, closed off and inaccessible.

“Is everything okay?” She asked in the gentlest tone she knew, though it still came out stiff, almost automatic.

You just nodded.

“You can drop me three blocks before campus.”

Just like this. Dry and unaffectionate.

“Alright.”

And when the car stopped, you murmured a thank-you far too soft to reach her fully.

She didn’t reply with words. Just nodded, feeling her heart crack with a silence so heavy it ached in her bones.

She shouldn’t be this shaken. It was just sex. Just youth —in the purest sense of the word. Just a detour in the middle of a war.

But why…

Why did it feel so wrong to leave you there?

Hours later, back at her house, the longing ached in the most unexpected corners of her body.

Where was her good girl? That one who smiled with her eyes and obeyed with her body?

Where had she gone?

“Mom?”

Nicky’s voice snapped her out of it.

She smiled, drained.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He walked in slowly, his eyes too perceptive for someone so young. He noticed the small suitcase and the fatigue on her face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied too quickly. “I went to Oregon. Some company matters to sort out...”

Even to her own ears, the excuse sounded hollow.

She loved her son, with every cell in her body. But holding a real conversation with him—one that didn’t involve numbers, deadlines, or expectations—felt like trying to grasp something that always slipped through her fingers.

Still, she tried. As she always did, even if it was already too late.

She stepped closer and took his hands gently, as if trying to touch something that no longer belonged to her.

“Tell me, sweetheart… how are things? The SATs are coming up and—”

“Mom, please.”

He sighed, eyes shifting away—impatient, yes, but there was something else.

A deeper fatigue. 

An old disappointment.

“Can we, just this once, not talk about that?”

Agatha froze.

“About what…?”

“This. School. College. Career. How I always have to be perfect. How you only—”

He stopped himself, swallowing hard, like choosing between speaking and not hurting her.

“What is it, Nicky?” Her voice came out smaller, frightened. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just… sometimes it feels like you know me as a resume, not as a son.”

The words landed like a punch to the stomach.

He went on, calmer now, but cruel in his honesty.

“When I was little, we used to go to the park. You made picnics, you’d run with me. You laughed, mom!”

His eyes were shimmering with tears.

“Now I don’t even know what you like to do in your free time. I don’t even know if you have free time.”

Agatha felt her chest collapse inward.

“Sweetheart, I…”

What could she say?

That she was trying? That she’d spent years walking invisible tightropes just to keep everything running? That loving the right way always seemed to slip from her grasp?

He shook his head, disappointed.

“You keep asking what I want to be, but have you ever stopped to ask what you’ve become?”

Silence.

A brutal pause in time.

He let go of her hands with care. It wasn’t violent or cruel. It was just… final and that hurt more.

Agatha stood there, fingers still curled in empty air, as if she were still holding the five-year-old who used to run through fields with scraped knees and an easy smile.

But he was gone.

“I’m sorry…” she said, but he was already walking out the door.

And just like that, everything was loneliness again.

[...]

Dinner had been set for 7 PM sharp, but Agatha arrived at 7:10. Evanora had taught her well: Men should wait.

Tony Stark was already at the table of an upscale restaurant in downtown Seattle, a nearly untouched glass of white wine in front of him.

When he saw her, he smiled like an ad campaign — standing with the practiced charm of a seasoned flirt.

“Agatha Harkness,” he said, taking her hand as if she were rare porcelain. “You look stunning.”

She looked him dead in the eye, then withdrew her hand and casually wiped it on her dress.

“Spare me the bullshit, Tony. Let’s get to the point. Tell me what you want.”

She sat down without ceremony, crossing her legs with surgical precision.

He gave a low chuckle, settling into his seat with the smugness of a man who thought he was in control.

“What I want?” He twisted the ring on his finger, pretending to think. “I want you… submissive.”

Agatha laughed. It was loud, unexpected and a little terrifying.

“Submissive?” She repeated, leaning over the table, eyes gleaming. “Oh, Stark… how many years have you been dreaming about that?”

“Since you wore that blue pantsuit in the Senate. Almost gave me a heart attack.”

She smiled, but now it was pure ice.

“Shame it didn’t finish the job.”

Tony laughed, but there was a sharpness under the surface.

“No need to pretend you’re still some saint in heels. We’ve all sold something to get where we are. I’m just offering a better price.”

She leaned back in her chair, studying him like one would examine a dissected animal.

“You’re pathetic.”

He opened the black folder beside his plate with a theatrical snap.

“And you’re predictable.”

She saw them.

Photos.

Full color.

Too sharp. Too clear.

Her, at your dorm room door—that night when she couldn’t think of anything but you. You, stepping into her car wearing that purple sweater, still smelling like Cuir de Beluga—Agatha could still smell it. Your faces much too close to be professional.

She froze.

Tony turned the first image toward her and smiled like a snake.

“Didn’t know our golden woman had a thing for little girls.”

Agatha’s face remained impassive, but her hand gripped the glass so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“You’re bluffing.” She said quietly.

“Am I?”

He pushed more photos her way.

“You think the public will understand? A powerful fifty-year-old woman with a college girl in her lap? It all sounds very… nineties. And look…” he pointed at one photo. “this one’s right in front of her dorm. Underage or not, the headlines write themselves.”

Agatha didn’t respond immediately.

She took a deep breath and picked up one of the photos, examining it closely.

Tony seemed to savor the silence.

“You could end all this with a nod, Agatha. Be reasonable. Back my campaign. Step down with dignity, and maybe… I’ll offer you a role. Something symbolic. Decorative. Pretty. Like you.”

God, he was so repulsive.

Her stomach turned. The wine threatened to rise.

Agatha looked at him.

For a second, something in her face faltered. A muscle in her jaw, a tremble in her lower lip.

But she didn’t break.

Not there.

Agatha would never break in front of a man.

She gathered the photos one by one, each motion calculated and precise.

“Are you finished?” She asked, emotionless.

“For now.” He replied, smug.

She stood.

Her dress skirt was immaculate. Her posture, flawless. But there was a shadow in her eyes, a crack only the very observant would see.

Tony thought he’d won.

And maybe… for the first time in a long while, Agatha wasn’t sure he was wrong.

~*~

Can I kill Tony?

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @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 @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[claramelooo]

Since we are talking about cate blanchett, can I tell you how pissed I was when they killed hela and did not explore her character more? Like how can mcu fumble on an opportunity of a one on one between scarlet witch and goddess of death.

Right???? I agree so much with you, honey! You have no idea!

It's outrageous that the MCU didn't take advantage of a character like Hela, even Cate Blanchett herself.

I can't describe how offended I was! But now I'm having a chance!

Please! Keep going sending me ideas!!

I love you!! ❤️

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (14/20)

I did not post it at midnight cuz I was decorating my wall, I'm the worst at it, but I think I'm making this right...

And I wrote the chapter after I saw the interview Kathryn Hahn gave to Jimmy Fallon. Omg, the woman is so funny!

I can't!!

This chapter let me sooo: 😭😩🫶🏻🥹🥺🥺

Enjoy!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, sex, smooth and angst

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: you go on your first date with Agatha.

MUSIC RECOMMENDATION:

Opening

noun

1. It can be characterized as a new open for a move within the game.

The ceiling was dark wood, with exposed beams and marks of time. You could see where the paint was starting to peel, where nature was creeping in despite the varnish. 

Even here, in this silent room in the middle of nowhere, everything about her seemed flawless. Everything around her was like her: reserved, solid and effortlessly beautiful.

You were lying on her bed, wearing only the sweater that barely covered your bare legs breathing in the scent of the sheets—of her. Something spicy like sandalwood and woody like honeysuckle.

Dinner had ended a while ago, and the playful, easy mood had dissolved, giving way to silence and your insecurity. Would she send you away? Pretend nothing happened again?

But no.

She did none of that.

In fact, she had simply looked at you and said: "I need a shower."

She went upstairs, and now here you were.

In her bed. 

Turning your face into the pillow and breathing in the fabric like it could calm you.

It didn’t.

Your body still pulsed. Not from adrenaline, but from a strange, low, warm hunger. The kind that starts in your stomach and ends in places no one dares to name aloud.

Sex still clung to your skin like old sweat, but it wasn’t just that. It was her! Agatha. That damn woman who touched you like she was disarming a bomb and always left you in the middle of the minefield, totally alone.

Honestly, you didn’t know what to do now. You’d never made it past this stage.

The bathroom door opened slowly and you turned your head quickly and tried to look relaxed, as if you hadn’t just been caught lost in dirty thoughts about her body.

Agatha appeared in a thick robe, her hair pinned up, still damp in places like she’d taken a bath. She didn’t look directly at you right away, just walked past the bed in silence, went to the dresser, picked up a hairbrush.

Only then did she turn.

"Are you okay?" The question was direct, and it made you rethink your whole life.

"Yeah, I..." you thought, and thought, and nothing came to mind except, "I’m really tired."

She nodded, brushing her hair. She looked away, then looked again.

She wanted to say something, but it was clear the weight in the air was heavy for her too.

"You can sleep here if you want."

The phrase was tossed with the same calm as "I need a shower." As if it meant nothing. As if you weren’t clenching your thighs under her sweater, already wet again just from looking at the curve of her collarbone peeking out of the robe.

You wanted to ask what it meant, but you knew if you did, you'd ruin everything. Agatha was the kind of woman who offered a bed the same way someone offers an abyss: you jump if you want to. 

The choice is yours, the fall too.

You just nodded. 

"Okay." Your voice came out soft, almost like an obedient child.

She went back to brushing her hair, and silence settled in the room like a third presence—uncomfortable, intimate and loaded.

You shifted slightly in the bed, crossing your legs to relieve the hot pressure building between them. But the sheet slipped, revealing your bare thigh. By the time you noticed, the fabric was already on the floor.

You held your breath.

Agatha stopped too.

Her eyes landed on the space between the edge of the sweater and the beginning of your skin. She didn’t smile or look away. But she didn’t move closer either, just stood there, watching.

Slow and controlled, almost cruel.

"Are you cold?" The question came as a whisper, and you didn’t even know what to say.

"A little." You lied.

It was hot, too hot. It was her. 

Always her.

Agatha walked to the edge of the bed, calmly picked up the sheet, and placed it back over your legs, like someone tucking in a child.

The touch was light, but her fingers brushed your thigh a second longer than needed and she knew it.

You looked at her. Up close, her skin looked even softer. The scent of honeysuckle and sandalwood returned, now with something more intimate.

You couldn’t resist.

"Agatha..." 

"Huh?" She murmured, looking at you, but not quite focused.

"Are you going to keep doing this?" 

"Doing what?" 

"Leaving me like this." Your voice trembled, so, did your breath.

She came closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet now between you. Her hand rested on it, but didn’t touch you.

"Like what?" Still that venomous calm. But her eyes... they were different. 

You held your breath.

"Like it was just another night."

She smiled, just one corner of her mouth, and it seemed almost sad.

"I don’t know... this all feels so unexpected. I can’t..."

"Control it." You said, finishing her sentence with precision.

She froze. The smile died slowly on her lips, as if you’d touched a tender and deep nerve.

"Yeah," she quietly admitted, like she was confessing it to herself too. "Control it."

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, it was full, tense, but also... intimate. A space where neither of you quite knew what to do and still, you stayed.

You raised your hand, hesitant, and touched her face. Her skin was warm, maybe from the bath, or maybe something else. 

She didn’t pull away, just closed her eyes. And that simple gesture, of trust or surrender, completely disarmed you.

"I keep trying to understand what this is," you whispered, brushing your thumb along her cheek. "And at the same time... I just want to feel."

Agatha opened her eyes and there was something there you’d never seen before. Not during the debate, not at dinner, not even when she looked at you with desire.

It was fear, and want, and a deep—ancient exhaustion from pretending she needed nothing.

"You’re so young," she said, almost in lament. "And yet... you see me so clearly." 

"Maybe because of that."

She went quiet. Her face still close to yours. Your breaths touching again, searching like lost hands.

You slid slightly on the bed, offering space. She hesitated for a second, then lay down. This time there was no sheet between you. Just two bodies, under shared warmth.

She pulled you gently, like drawing in a good memory and you fit.

Her hand on your waist. Yours on her chest, feeling the rhythm of her heart.

"I’m so scared of liking this." She confessed, voice almost inaudible against you.

You shut your eyes, feeling a knot rise in your throat.

"I know. Me too." You whispered back, your faces almost touching.

She exhaled into your mouth. "God. What the hell are you doing to me?"

Your bodies rubbed together with longing, like you hadn’t had each other just hours before.

The first brush of lips was like lighting a fuse—slow, calculated, a flame growing between shared breaths. Agatha hesitated for a fraction of a second, like she was still fighting herself, before surrendering to the kiss.

Her lips were softer than you remembered, yielding under yours with a vulnerability she never allowed during the day. Her taste filled your mouth as your tongue ventured forward, timidly and hungrily.

You felt the exact moment she lost control.

A husky moan escaped her throat when your hands found her hips, pulling her fluidly on top of you. Agatha broke the kiss for a moment, her dark eyes dilated, heavy breath filling the space between you.

“Slow.” She ordered, though her voice wavered. More plea than command.

You obeyed, letting your hands glide down her thighs as the two of you settled into a perfect hold. Your legs entwined like ancient roots, your humid warmth meeting at a single, scorching pressure point.

Your first movement was almost accidental but the electric impact rattled her. Agatha gasped, her fingertips dug into your shoulders as you repeated the motion, this time with purpose.

“Like this?” You whispered, feeling her body tremble above you.

She didn’t answer in words. Instead, she captured your lips again in a kiss more hungry. Your tongues met in sync with your bodies, an erotic waltz with each movement prolonging the electric tension growing between you.

You felt the second she began to unravel—the slight tremors in her thighs, the weight of her breasts pressing down with each move, the muted moans slipping between kisses.

“I see…” you murmured against her lips, your hands finding hers and weaving your fingers together. “I see all of you.”

That confession broke Agatha entirely. Her body arched over yours in a perfect curve, her lips parting in a silent cry as wave after wave of pleasure shattered her. You held her safe through every tremor, every spasm, every intense piece of ecstasy.

When she collapsed onto you, exhausted, her eyelids fluttering as she let herself sink, you simply wrapped her in your arms, feeling her rapid heartbeat against your chest.

What followed wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, like a promise.

And when she finally opened her eyes to look at you, you knew: you were fucked.

Agatha rested her head on your chest. Your skin touched, warm. The smell—not perfume, but skin—so comforting, and suddenly… you didn’t want to leave.

“I never really loved him.” She said, breaking the reverie.

You frowned, the single thought surfacing. 

“Thanos?”

She nodded with eyes still closed, serene, relaxed.

“He was kind,” she said, nostalgic.  “Held the car door, flowers on birthdays… made coffee before you woke.”

You waited for the but. You knew it had to come.

“But he always made sure I knew I was the better half. That I should be grateful for having him.” She let out a quiet laugh, a self-conscious one. 

Her head was still on you.

“He hated when I talked about running. Said I’d humiliate myself, turn into a caricature. That people would laugh, dig up dirt.”

You swallowed, unsure what to say. You wanted to hold her, but also... to understand.

“For a while, I believed him,” she continued. “Thought he was just worried. Protecting me.”

She turned her face into your skin, silent for a long moment. You wondered if she’d cried, but when you looked... her eyes were dry.

She wasn't crying.

She was remembering.

And something inside you tightened—a quiet anger, a protective instinct—even though she was older, more powerful, colder.

Or maybe she wasn’t any of this, and now you could see her cracks.

“He wasn’t violent,” she said softly. “But... he had a way of making you feel so small I sometimes believed I was shrinking for real.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, meaning it, thinking of all she’d endured. Years of silence, of submission.

“I thought something was wrong with me. It was so… painful,” her tone was nostalgic. Agatha lifted her head, looking at you with ocean eyes and furrowed brow. “But it’s so good when I’m with you.”

She looked truly confused and you understood perfectly.

“I really am irresistible, babe. Not your fault.”

She laughed and it shattered something in the air. A crack in the current moment between memory and desire. Your heart surged at that laugh—not sarcastic, not polished—real. Something she felt now, not just defending from the past.

Agatha dropped her gaze, bit her lip. A teenage gesture, so out of character that it broke you.

“You don’t need to understand it all at once,” you whispered as softly as her, voice shaking with tenderness you could no longer hide. “Just… stay.”

And she stayed.

She lay down on you again, but now the touch was different. Less strained, more rooted. Her hand rested on your stomach, fingers tracing slow, imaginary lines—like learning the map your skin was.

And there, in that damp hush of wood and night and entwined breath, an inevitable idea formed.

She deserved to know the truth.

Thanos might have been murdered.

Agatha had believed those three years it was a quiet tragedy.

You looked at her, chest rising under your hand, her face serene, her fingers still drawing patterns across your skin.

She deserved to know.

Deserved to know that maybe the man she thought erased her had been erased first.

You knew it was confidential info. You didn’t even know why Natasha leaked it.

She deserved to know.

But how to tell her? How to break it to her without unraveling this fragile thread you’d woven fingertip-by-fingertip, breath-by-breath?

Her hand stilled on your stomach.

“You’re thinking too loud.” She murmured, eyes still closed.

You forced a smile.

“Sorry.”

Agatha lifted her head. She studied you, as if reading the silence between your words.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” She asked, looking at you. 

You could see the sparkle in those eyes, as if she was coming back to life little by little.

You opened your mouth.

But nothing came out.

Air passed your throat, but your tongue didn’t move. Neither jaw nor courage. Because you didn’t yet know who, or why. Didn’t know if you should say it at all, and worst of all: you weren’t sure what Agatha would become once she knew.

You closed your mouth slowly.

She lifted her head again, searching you. But this time, she didn’t ask again.

“It’s okay,” she finally said, as if deciding not to force someone teetering on a tightrope.

She lay back down, face up to the ceiling.

“When you’re ready.”

And she stayed like that.

The silence wasn’t heavy, it was just too full, like a breath that hasn’t quite released or a question you know you need to ask but aren’t sure you can live with the answer.

Agatha moved slowly, seeking comfort. Her body slid against yours again, more to the side this time, cozier. Her leg found yours and her arm came to rest across your abdomen naturally, like it belonged there.

You were still for a moment. Your heart racing, your stomach twisting with nerves. Her breath steadied, tickling your ear, and you stayed wide-eyed, refusing to sleep. You wanted to look at her, see her face, so serene and softened by sleep.

In the warm rustic bed, between sheets that still smelled of honeysuckle, sandalwood—and something of her you now recognized without name—you finally drifted off.

And you don’t know who fell asleep first. 

You just know that when sunlight streamed through the curtain, soft and honey-golden, your bodies were so intertwined you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Her arm tightened around your waist. Your knee between her thighs.

Your cheek was so close to hers that your breath warmed the nape of her neck, and the scent of bare skin—no perfume, just skin—made you never want to leave.

The first movement was slight. One hip shifting. A touch by accident. Then another. Rubbing, sliding slowly, a soft sigh. You felt her skin tremble at the contact.

Then you opened your eyes and so did she.

Her irises were nearly gray in the sunlight. 

You realized neither of you wanted it to stop, maybe you didn’t even know how.

The kiss came like the sun. So warm and inevitable. Just mouths, tongues, the taste of sleep mixed with desire.

She pressed her body to yours, and you moaned against her lips, a whispered secret.

There was no yesterday anymore.

No more doubt.

Only now. 

And now was hot, wet and full.

You simply couldn’t hold back. Maybe it was the kiss, or the warmth between your thighs, or how her hip pressed so naturally against yours that it felt right.

Her hand rose along your waist, firm yet reverent and it nearly unraveled you. She touched you like she was starving, and terrified of breaking you. 

And you wanted her to break everything.

When she slid between your legs, you moaned into her mouth—low and urgent. She captured the sound with her lips, her teeth, her tongue. 

She moved.

Her first hip slide was slow, just feeling. Still, you arched into her, breathlessly hungry.

She smiled against your neck.

“Slow…” she murmured in that rough, half-awake voice. “I want it gentle.”

But you didn’t want gentle. You wanted to devour her, to trap her so that she could never escape from you again.

Your pussies rubbed together with such ease, such desire

Her hand slid between your bodies and touched you without asking. You were hot, dripping, bare, and she moaned, not surprised but desired, like she’d been holding it back.

She touched you with two fingers while her hip moved in rhythm.

You clutched the sheet. Then her shoulders. Then the life rising between you. Her touch was slow, but precise. She knew your body, as if she’d memorized every reaction.

“Look at me,” she said and you did. Her eyes were misty of sleep, pleasure and feeling. “I love it when you obey.” She said and you melted.

She was here. With you.

The orgasm hit you both in waves. You bit her shoulder to stifle your cry.

But she didn’t stop. She kept touching you until you collapsed, until your body gave in, until you couldn’t tell air from moan anymore.

She kissed you afterward. Tasting like victory and sweetness, like home.

And then, when your eyes were still half-open, your breathing erratic, your heart racing back to normal...

Agatha smiled against your lips. 

“Good morning.” She whispered without breath.

And she looked stunning—with clavicles glistening with sweat, her face framed by sun backlighting—she seemed angelic.

Fuck. You felt lost.

L.O.S.T

You blinked, grounding yourself.

“You’ve got stamina for a woman your age.” You teased, even though your chest felt heavy.

Agatha laughed in disbelief, tilting her head back.

“For your information, I was the biggest club hopper at Yale.”

She leaned back into the pillow, still laughing as her fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare stomach.

“Club hopper?” You raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smile.

“Every weekend. Friday in New Haven, Saturday in Hartford. My friends and I danced until our knees gave out.”

“You?!”

“Yes, me,” she feigned indignance. “What’s so hard to believe about that?”

You turned on your side, your arm sliding onto her hip. “You seem so… elegant. So contained.”

“I am,” she nodded, leaning her face toward yours. “But before I became… this, ”she gestured vaguely to herself. “I was just another insufferable youth with existential crises and terrible taste in cheap wine.”

“That’s unbelievable!” You laughed freely.

“Believe it,” Agatha said with an annoying, beautiful confidence. “I held the debate team presidency and was the dance-floor assassin.”

“Assassin?” You teased against her lips, catching the scent of her again.

“I took it very seriously.” She squeezed your bare ass and chuckled.

“Prove yourself.”

“I doubt you can handle it.”

“Oh yeah?” You growled, straddling her as your bodies pressed together like you’d never parted.

She squeezed your waist.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, honey.”

“Prove it.”

She sighed, either tired or amused by your persistence.

“It’s in my yearbook. Last line of the profile.”

“You’re lying.”

“‘Poetry writing, club hopping, and art,’” she quoted. “‘Like I was fucking Virginia Woolf dancing reggaeton.’”

You laughed louder, leaning your forehead against her sweaty shoulder.

“That’s so specific.”

“I am very specific.” She sighed, dramatic.

You pulled back just enough to look at her face. “And what about poetry writing?”

“Okay, that was bullshit! Every poem had the word hollow at least three times.”

“Wait. You were a goth?”

“I was intense,” she answered, feigning offense. “And the hollow was… metaphorical.”

“Ah, right. How could I forget second year’s existential chasms?”

“And third. And fourth. And there's the grad school too…”

You both laughed, and your chest felt light—full of something warm growing each time she poked fun at her past.

It was rare to see Agatha like this: stripped of everything but herself.

You traced her sweaty clavicle with your finger, still beautiful, still here.

“Take me to dance, Governor.” You whispered to her skin, so low only she would hear it.

Agatha opened her eyes, surprised, still lazy like someone waking from a sweet dream.

“Dancing… like, tonight?”

“Yes,” you said, your smile blooming with challenge. “I want to see what those hips can still do.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling with mischief. “I thought I already proved that last night.”

Her hand slid down boldly, cupping your mound with surgical precision and you moaned, open and deep, not bothering to hide it.

“Bitch.” You muttered, already laughing against the pillow.

“I’m older. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to dance.” She said, teasing like she was making a promise.

And before things could escalate again—the heat still pulsing between your legs, her touch still lingering—you were already on your feet, energized by what felt like your first official date.

“Where are you going?” Agatha asked, her voice already sounding… needy, like she didn’t want you too far.

“Making breakfast!” You announced like it was a grand mission. Not even bothering to dress, you wrapped her floral robe over your naked body and walked barefoot across the wooden floor. “Coffee, no sugar, right?”

You were already at the door when you heard:

“Actually…” you turned. Agatha was propped up against the pillows, her hair tousled like dark silk, eyes half-lidded but alive—already dancing. “Today, I want to try new things…” she said, with a deliberate pause. “Sweeter things.”

You smiled and it wasn’t just about the coffee.

The day passed like a lazy dream. The coffee was sweet, lunch was some improvised pasta because Agatha hadn’t gone shopping. 

Time felt suspended between stolen kisses, gentle touches, and small discoveries about each other’s tastes.

You never imagined how soft the future governor could be.

And now that you know, you can’t afford to lose it. Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t tell her about Thanos. Not because it’s not your place—though it isn’t, really—but because you don’t want to lose this.

Her smile.

For you.

That night, reality knocked like a damn sledgehammer. Holy shit. It was really happening.

You and Agatha. 

Going out.

Together.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your earrings. The black dress left your arms bare, your clavicles prominent.

When you turned around, she was there.

Leaning against the closet doorway, her hair in perfectly undone waves. A dark blue satin dress hugged her waist just right. Long legs. Elegant neckline. And her lips… tinted a soft baby pink that made her look alive.

She looked… young.

Not in appearance, in spirit.

You forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t notice at first. She seemed nervous, uncomfortable in her own skin, like she was revealing too much.

“What?” She asked. “Too much lipstick? Is the dress too shor—”

“Agatha.”

You cut her off, your voice firmer than you expected from yourself.

She looked at you, startled.

“You look beautiful.”

And then you saw it, something in her broke, like an invisible wall, built with years of control and self-defense, finally cracked down the middle.

Her shoulders dropped half a centimeter. Her eyes softened. Her mouth opened just a little, as if to thank you, but no sound came.

She looked… vulnerable. 

And stunning. 

And yours.

For a second, she wasn’t the political witch, the calculated mother, the untouchable woman.

She was just Agatha. Undone by a compliment. By you.

The club in Oregon was smaller than the ones in the city, but pulsed with raw, young, sweaty energy. Neon lights painted the crowd in lilac and electric blue while the bass made the floor vibrate.

You walked in hand-in-hand with Agatha, slipping through the dancing bodies like you were home.

But she hesitated.

Stopped just at the edge of the dance floor, eyes scanning the crowd with an unreadable expression.

It wasn’t the noise or the heat, it was deeper, like she was observing a planet she hadn’t lived on in decades.

“You okay?” You asked, leaning close, your mouth brushing her earlobe to be heard over the music.

She nodded, forcing a smile.

“It’s been a while… since I was in a place like this. A long while.”

You squeezed her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. Being here with you is already everything.”

You smiled so hard your jaw hurt.

Agatha looked at you. You swore she saw something, because her brow furrowed, her jaw tensed.

“What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

She cupped the back of your neck and held you there.

“You’re so good to me, aren’t you?”

She sounded enchanted, like she was touching something she’d been denied for too long.

You didn’t know what to say. The way she said it… Like a confession. Or an apology. Or the first time she let herself believe.

The music shifted—something sensual and magnetic—and snapped you both out of it.

Agatha blinked slowly. Something changed in her face. Her shoulders relaxed and a smile bloomed.

“I used to dance to this in the back of campus, you know? Drinking cheap wine and wearing a blue eyeliner.”

Your mind raced, picturing a younger Agatha—intense, wild, no pressure from the world—dancing with no pressures.

A life taken from her, a life stolen by a patriarchal society.

But before you could respond, she pulled you in.

No asking.

Words like violence

Break the silence

Come crashing in

Into my little world

Her hands gripped your hips, and your bodies molded into each other like they belonged.

The sultry melody wrapped around you both, but all you could hear was her breathing.

Agatha danced like she remembered.

Who she was. What she wanted. What she could do with her hips.

And she did.

Painful to me

Pierce right through me

Can't you understand?

Oh, my little girl

Her body moved with dangerous grace. Slow and precise. She leaned back against you, head on your shoulder, hand clasping yours.

You tried to breathe.

Failed.

She turned again, pressed her forehead to yours. 

“You make me forget everything.” She murmured, eyes burning with something unspoken.

Then her lips captured yours, fierce and desperate.

The kiss grew, heated, your bodies rubbing together in the middle of that sweltering crowd.

When she pulled your head back, you saw it, wildness. The hunger of a lioness.

She dragged you off the dance floor. The music still pounded under your feet.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

The club’s bathroom was a tiny white-tiled box lit by blacklight, smelling of disinfectant and her expensive perfume.

She shoved you against the door with a thud, eyes smudged and burning like coals.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” She whispered, trembling hands cradling your face. 

The kiss was fire.

Teeth biting, tongue claiming every inch. Your hands found her hips under that tight skirt, fingers sinking into her soft flesh as she ground against your thigh with a low groan.

Vows are spoken

To be broken

Feelings are intense

Words are trivial

“I want to feel you,” she panted, bunching your dress up to your waist. “All of you. Now.”

Her skirt slid up in one smooth motion, revealing the tiniest lace underwear.

You laughed against her lips, breathless from shock.

Pleasures remain

So does the pain

Words are meaningless

And forgettable

"Planning this, Mommy?"

She answered with a bite to your neck and a roll of her hips that stole your breath. "Good old Agatha was crazy for this."

Your hands trembled as you tugged down the straps of her dark blue dress, exposing her perfect breasts—full, rosy, nipples already hard. 

When your mouth captured them, she cried out, her fingers digging into your hair with near-painful force.

"Yes, just like that, fuck," she growled, guiding your hand between her legs. "You suck Mommy so well."

The wetness you found there made you moan. She was soaked, pulsing against your fingers like a wild heart. When you pushed two fingers inside at once, her legs shook violently.

"Slower," Agatha ordered, but her body betrayed her words, her hips rising to take more. "I want it to last... want to feel every second..."

Your foreheads touched, breaths mingling, bodies moving in a rhythm that was less a dance and more an ancient ritual.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

You saw the exact moment when she lost herself. Eyes rolling back, mouth open in silent moans, fingers leaving marks on your skin as if afraid she’d disappear.

When her orgasm hit, it came with a muffled scream against your shoulder, her body writhing like a live wire. 

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

You held her through every wave, kissing her closed eyelids, her damp cheeks, the corners of her mouth that kept curling into a smile.

"Look at me." You asked when she came back to herself.

Her eyes were two black oceans. No longer stormy, but free. She kissed you then with a sweetness that ached, her trembling hands cradling your face.

"Thank you." She whispered against your lips, and you knew it wasn’t for the orgasm.

It was for reminding her who she was.

For letting her be.

When you left the bathroom hand in hand, the music was still playing. And Agatha—your wild, free Agatha—pulled you into another dance, this time without fear.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

The door clicked softly behind you. The muffled sounds of the night city faded in the hallway as Agatha dropped the keys on the table with a quiet sigh.

You could still feel the heat of her body on yours—her hands, her taste, the mingled scent of expensive perfume and unrestrained desire.

Agatha moved past you, removing her earrings, her heels, slowly unzipping her dress as if shedding a role that had constricted her more than the fabric itself.

"I haven’t had fun like this in… years," she murmured, not looking at you, her voice caught between exhaustion and joy. "I’m going to take a shower."

And she disappeared down the hall.

You stood there alone in the dim bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed, still in your crumpled satin dress, grinning like an idiot.

Then you realized.

You were lost.

Not in fear.

In the fall.

In the passion.

You thought of Thanos. Of Barkley. Of her son. Thought maybe you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have.

But when she gripped the back of your neck, when she told you how good you were for her… that felt truer than anything you’d ever known.

You pressed your hands to your face, trying to steady your breath. This wasn’t the time to drown in the feeling.

Not yet.

The phone buzzed.

On the dresser, Agatha’s iPhone lit up, the screen casting a glow in the dark room.

Maybe it was Barkley. Or Nicky.

You hesitated, but instinct won out. Better to check, make sure it wasn’t urgent.

You picked up the phone and swallowed hard at the notification.

Tony Stark

Confirmed our dinner for Friday?

Your body turned to ice.

You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that he was still around, or the casual, intimate use of our.

Our dinner.

Friday.

You glanced toward the bathroom door. The shower was still running, the sound muffled. You could hear her humming a song.

And then it hit you. No matter how much Agatha had freed herself tonight, no matter how much she was with you, there were still locked doors inside her.

Doors where Tony Stark still had a key.

And you… you didn’t know if you were just a guest or if you were building a home.

You read it again.

And again.

The smile still lingering on your face slowly faded, like snow touching hot iron.

Your chest tightened in a strange way. Not fear, not sadness. It was…

Jealousy.

A hot, acidic and stupid jealousy.

You hated feeling it.

But you hated even more that he could send a message like that, in the middle of the night.

With that kind of freedom.

And the cruelest part? Maybe he could. Maybe he still had that space. Maybe he’d never left it.

You locked the phone again with an automatic flick, as if the glow of the screen could burn your skin.

From the bathroom, Agatha’s voice escaped between the shower’s spray. She sang softly, perfectly in tune, as if the world wasn’t shaking beneath her feet.

You fell back onto the bed, the fabric riding up your thighs, irritating your skin.

Your mouth still tasted like her, your body still burned from her touch. But now… now your heart was pounding out of rhythm.

You turned your face into the pillow and whispered to yourself, so quiet no one would hear:

"It’s just dinner."

But you didn’t believe it, not even a little.

And when you heard the bathroom door open, steam spilling into the bedroom, you pretended to be asleep.

Because if she looked at you now, she’d see.

She’d see you were already boiling inside. She’d see that, of all the dangerous things she’d awakened in you…

You were jealous.

And completely, hopelessly in love with her.

~*~

urghhh, the bad vibes... sorry. And don't judge our girl about not tell about thanos bc it should hard to be in her place too :/

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @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 @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (13/20)

Ready for it? I don't think so lol 😆

Enjoy and definitely don't hold your hands for yourselves

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, sex, mommy kink, hair kink, dirty talking and smooth?

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha takes you to her home in Oregon.

Music recommendation:

Control

noun

the power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events.

The sound of a door opening jolts you awake. You’d passed out from exhaustion and you're still half-naked on your bed. 

You hadn’t even realized how tired you were.

You wiped the drool from the corner of your mouth and checked your phone.

Holy shit!

It’s already 9pm.

You have exactly one hour before Agatha gets here.

You jump out of bed and rush to your closet, settling on a loose purple V-neck sweater paired with jeans and ankle boots. You spray just a little of the perfume Agatha gave you. Just enough for her to notice.

You feel cute, comfortable, and most importantly: dressed for Seattle’s chilly weather.

As you passed through the living room, you saw Carol stripping off her jeans, now left in just her underwear. Damn her and that habit of walking around the place in nothing but panties!

“Going out?” She asked, folding the fabric.

You shifted your bag awkwardly on your arm.

“Yes.”

“Funny…” she left out a sarcastic little laugh. “I texted you this morning. You saw it and didn't reply.”

Shit.

You sighed. You coudn't even help it. Ever since Agatha gave you that special phone, you barely use your regular one. Always wanting to be available—for her.

“I’m sorry, Carol…” you began, letting your guard down. “I passed out the moment I got back.”

“You’ve been working too much, little Bear.” She teases, her voice slithering like a snake on tiptoe.

“I’m building my career, Carol.”

“I know. I know. I just wonder if there’s not… a bigger motivation behind all this.”

Why did Carol Danvers have to be so good at this? Fuck her.

You averted your gaze, trying to hide the flicker in your eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A job that suddenly calls for fancy clothes and new perfume, huh?” The words were casual, but edged.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Carol still held the reins.

“You’re seeing someone.” It wasn’t a question. “A woman?”

“Carol…”

“You are,” she laughed, but it’s that kind of wounded laugh that hurts more than a scream. “And it’s okay. I’m happy for you.”

She smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

And you’re not sure if you should comfort her or just walk out.

So instead, you simply said:

“Thanks.”

You didn't bother staying in that energy. Out the door, you checked your phone.

9:50pm.

Perfect.

You’re standing in the campus courtyard, hands trembling as you holded your bag. You had no clue where Agatha was taking you, but you’re ready for anything.

The jeans already felt like a mistake. Your skin was warm, anxiety sticking to your joints. Every passing second felt like a provocation, every shadow outside made you held your breath.

You checked the time for the tenth time.

9:58.

You bit your lip.

Tilted your head back, trying to breathe, trying to stay in the now.

And then, the special phone vibrated.

I’m here.

You gasped, heart racing.

Looking around, you spoted it: a matte gray car—sleek, discreet and elegant.

The headlights flash twice.

Calling you.

You let out a soft laugh. 

Of course she wouldn’t get out of the car.

You walked to it like the ground itself might give way beneath your feet. Each step feels like you’re floating, like the earth's lost its weight.

You get in.

Agatha was there.

Wearing a lavender cardigan that hugs her mature skin; velvet pants, the vintage fabric clinging to her long legs; her hair was down in soft waves, looser than usual; her face half-lit by the amber glow of the dashboard.

She looked stunning in a way that borders on vulnerable, but she was not looking at you. Just breathing—long and deep—like your presence is more dangerous than she’s ready to admit.

“Good evening.” Her voice was firm, even muffled. Still full of control, but her gaze remained fixed ahead, on nothing.

Something tightens inside your chest, like a puppy seeing its person again, tail wagging uncontrollably.

“Hi.” You said giving a small and tender smile, almost aching.

Finally, her eyes turned to you, scanning you slowly. Your still-damp hair; the purple sweater; the fitted jeans and the sweet scent of vanilla on your skin...

Her jaw clenched.

Silence.

The car stayed still, like she hadn't yet decided whether to take you or leave you.

“This is insane,” her voice was low, cracking. Agatha leaned forward, resting her forehead on the steering wheel, fingers tense around it. “I’m not this kind of woman.”

You slightly lean in toward her.

Not touching, just… near enough that your warmth became a big question.

“Then, what kind of woman are you?”

She left out a short, bitter laugh. No joy in it, just air and weariness.

“The kind who controls. All the time.”

You turned your head, looking out at the dark dorm buildings and the life you were leaving behind tonight.

“You could control me if you wanted.” It came out as a whisper. Dripping and dark.

A confession.

A craving.

A surrender.

Agatha turned to you. Her eyes locked with yours and in them, that drowned sea of blue-green. Everything she tried to hold back pulses there.

She swallowed hard. Her shoulders tight, her hands battling the urge to reach.

For a moment, time stands still. Just your heartbeat, hers, and the intimate abyss between you.

“Put your seatbelt on.” Her voice sounded flat, but resolute.

You obeyed, and the click of the buckle feels louder than it should.

The car started to move.

This road

Is gonna take us back now

You look so fine

I don't know how to act now

Taking the two of you into whatever would come after surrender.

The only sound in the car was the low hum of jazz from the radio and you smiled, catching another glimpse of Agatha’s inner world.

They say: My child

Don't stroll off easy

'Cause when it's time

You'll gonna hear what she said

“Where are we going?” You asked, the spell still burning in your chest.

“Oregon.” She said, clipped. No room for questions.

And so you decided to let the woman—so visibly rattled by your presence—be alone with her thoughts. For now.

You didn't notice the time passing. You didn’t even know when you dozed off, but you woke at the exact moment the engine cuts off.

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

“We’re here?” Your voice was raspy.

“Come.” She said, already stepping out.

Outside, the air was thick with the scent of damp trees, wet earth, and rain.

In front of you there was an old wooden house. Elegant, sophisticated, and mysterious.

So very Agatha.

If you ever leave me alone

I'll be cryin' wishin' you'd come home

She was already at the front door, her tall, dark silhouette framed against the shadows. You steped out slowly. Your feet met the damp ground, wrapped in the coolness of the forest.

The air was purer here—thick with moisture, pine, soil, and the lingering perfume of rain. In front of you, the house: dark wood. Old. Elegant in its restraint. Rough and solid lines, as if it had grown straight from the earth.

When I look in your eyes

I see you starin' at me, girl

And when it's time

Will you hold on me, girl?

'Cause you

You got a hold on me, yeah

So, I'm gonna make you see, yeah

“Is it… yours?” You asked, almost breathless.

She didn’t answer right away, just walked up to the porch.

You followed.

“It was his.” Her voice sounded dry, but there was something in it—bitterness, grief or maybe just fatigue.

“Thanos?”

She paused, hand already on the doorknob. Her shoulders squared, but tense.

“One of the few things of his I didn’t get rid of.”

The door opened.

The house inside was really beautiful. Spacious, filled with the scent of polished wood and old books. A dark fireplace, heavy curtains. Everything in deep and warm tones.

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

Agatha closed the door behind you, and for a moment, you were trapped in that small, intimate space.

“Would you like something?”

“Water’s fine.”

You watched as she takes off her shoes and hangs up her coat. Her movements were slow, almost ritualistic. Everything about her was so composed, so calculated and yet, you can saw the effort. The battle with something inside.

When the Sun goes down at night

Gonna let you know that everything's alright

She disappeared down the hall and when she returned was carrying two steaming mugs. 

You raised an eyebrow. You glanced down and saw the creamy brown liquid.

“Hot chocolate, huh?”

“Nicky loves this nonsense.” She said, sipping without looking at you.

Agatha sat on the couch, taking some distance from you, sure, but not far enough to stop you from wanting her.

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

Is it any wonder?

Silence.

“Do you always do this?” You asked softly.

“Do what?”

“Hide out in houses in the middle of the forest.”

She smiled, slightly embarrassed. “I’m not hiding. I came here for work, if you must know.”

You took a sip of the chocolate, letting out a small sound of approval. 

“Work?” You asked, brows furrowed, genuinely confused. “Is there a meeting or conference here? I’m sorry…I didn’t bring… I didn’t know…” You started to panic.

You truly had no idea about any Oregon related campaign activity. If you had, of course you would’ve come prepared.

She smiled a bit wider now.

“Honey, relax,” The way she said honey actually made the word taste like it’s coated in sweetness. “It has nothing to do with the campaign. It’s one of Thanos’s companies, so I need to check how things are running.”

Your whole body melted with relief.

“Oh, right. Your oil tycoon husband…”

She laughed and you laughed too. You love that sound, rare as it is.

“I know you’re young and have that strong identity bias, but Thanos was… good. He and I worked for a long time.”

“He was a capitalist, Agatha.” You didn’t hide your disapproval. “Everything he stood for went against what you preach.”

She looked at you slowly, as if weighing whether it’s worth replying.

But she did!

Agatha always replied. Not because she wanted to, but because you made her wanted to. You provoked that side of her.

“I know,” she took another sip, eyes fixed on the unlit fireplace ahead. “And he was also kind, loyal, gave me Nicky, and above all, he encouraged me to be who I needed to be.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to decipher. “You mean… to lie to the whole world?”

Agatha exhaled.

“To lie to myself.”

You settled your mug on the wooden coffee table and the wood creaked under the movement.

“If everything was so perfect in your life… why did you bring me here?”

The question hung in the air. Heavy, but inevitable.

Agatha didn’t answer right away. Her eyes moved from the chocolate to your mouth, then quickly away.

“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated with herself. “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing. With you or… with myself.”

You waited. You didn’t interrupt, actually, you allowed.

“You unbalance me,” she continued, more quietly now. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Like what?”

She lifted her eyes, wild and distressed. “Like this… visceral. Indecent and dangerous.”

You felt your blood warming in your veins, but your voice stayed gentle.

“Is it because I’m a woman?”

Agatha closed her eyes, as if your question were a blade.

“Maybe.”

You nodded slowly. Without drama. Mostly because you were also trying to make sense of it. Maybe if you understood, you could quiet this storm inside your chest every time she’s near.

“And if I were a man? Would you feel more comfortable?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, cornered like she was being interrogated. “But it wouldn’t be the same, would it?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The idea that a woman like her could be confused because of you? That was not nothing.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile too smug to be innocent.

“You want me, Agatha. And that terrifies you, because wanting means losing control. Doesn’t it?”

This time, she didn’t answer, but the way her fingers tightened around the mug, the way her jaw flexed it says everything.

You rised slowly, crossing the space between you until you were standing right in front of her. Agatha didn’t move, but she tensed.

You kneel, gently placing your hand over hers.

“But I already told you, you can control me if you want to.”

It was a whisper.

Not totally submission, more like a choice.

Agatha looked at you like she was torn between kissing you and throwing you out.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost audible.

Agatha didn’t move, but you saw it. The slight tremble in her fingers, the unsteady breath; her chin lifted in defense, but her eyes… her eyes were frightened like a little girl’s, almost surrendered.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” She whispered again, voice faltering.

“I do,” you pressed her knee gently with your hands. “I’m asking you to stop pretending, stop running every time you look at me.”

She leaned slightly back, like she’s trying to escape what she feels, but Agatha didn’t really move away.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Her eyes roam your face, then your body, then return to your eyes.

“You’re a child,” she tried to say, but it sounded more like grief than judgment. “You should be going out with girls your age. And I…”

“You want me.” Your voice sounded firm enough, after all, she needed to say it out loud. You were not here by accident.

Agatha closed her eyes.

You see her lashes trembling like glass and when she opens them again—the green, the blue—there’s something feral there.

An instinct caged for far too long.

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she said, a whisper scorched by guilt. “And I’m old enough to know that these things… these urges… come at too high a price.”

The position you're was vulnerable, but your gaze was too sharp to be entirely submissive.

“Then punish me,” your voice came out low, rough with sudden arousal. “Control everything. If that’s what makes you feel safe. Tell me what to wear. What to say. How to breathe around you. Use me to keep the world away, if that helps you not feel what you feel. But don’t push me away just because I want to be yours.”

Agatha’s hands clenched so tight her knuckles go white.

You see it.

She’s trembling now.

And it’s not fear.

It’s desire.

It’s the kind of hunger that threatens to crush her.

“This is…” she breathed.

You leaned in, your face inches from hers.

“Teach me, please, Mommy.”

She closed her eyes again, as if she had to reach deep inside herself for something that still makes sense.

But when she opened them again, they burned.

And then her fingers were tangled in your hair pulling with a strength you didn’t know she had.

Her next words were a blade:

“If I take this… there’s no going back. Do you understand?” Her voice ached. “If I have you… you’ll be mine. Not for a night. Not for a game.”

You bit your lip, with your whole body trembling. You could come just from this.

“P–please… do it.” You smiled, proud you can even speak in a moment like this.

You barely had time to blink. Agatha pulled you in.

With no warning. No hesitation.

Her mouth crashed into yours with the force of a collapsing star.

This wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collapse!

She kissed you like she was punishing you for just exist, for tempt her, for make her feel.

One hand fists in your hair, fingers twisted tight enough to border on hatred, while the other slided down your waist and yanked you flush against her like she wanted to erase the space between you through sheer friction.

It was so brutal.

Her teeth scraped your lip, bite. Her tongue invaded your mouth like she owns it—and maybe she does. You whimpered, helpless, and that only made it worse because she pulled your hair harder.

You felt it in the way Agatha was trembling. Not from fear, not anymore at least. She shuddered like someone who was wintered inside herself for years and just remembered what sunlight burns like.

She breaked away just long enough to gasp for air, forehead still pressed to yours. Her breathing came ragged, like she was running for miles away. Her eyes were green-hurricanes, all contained fury and nameless hunger.

"You did this to me," she rasped, voice wrecked, almost angry. "Made this hollow place inside me scream."

You smiled.

You're panting too, but you didn’t pull away.

"Then fill it," you whispered back, a challenge. "Pack it full of me."

Agatha groaned. A deep, guttural, primal sound.

She hauled you into her lap, your legs straddled her waist, and her hands immediately claimed your ass—kneading, gripping like she's testing your give. 

That flushed, red mouth finds yours again.

Slower now. Crueler and hungrier.

It was a kiss that felt like it wanted to excavate truths from your marrow, like it was searching for something deeper than flesh.

Agatha was in control.

And that didn’t mean gentleness.

In fact, it means she'll brand you with lips tasting chocolate and knowing hands and zero fucking hesitation. It means if you hadn't given permission, she'd have stolen anyway.

But you did.

So now she's everything you asked for.

She teared away abruptly and you're hypnotized by the sight of her swollen lips, already leaning in for more…

"Take your clothes off."

The command rasped out of her like even after everything she said, everything she done. This was barely the beginning for Agatha.

Your fingers trembled peeling off your sweater. Fabric slithers down your shoulders as you frantically watch her face… Because of course you couldn’t lose anything.

Agatha observed you. From the edge of the bed, legs elegantly crossed, but her eyes...

Her eyes were pure filth.

"Slowly," she ordered, voice thicker than usual. "I want to watch every inch of skin appear."

You freezed mid-motion, panting. You knew this woman hold power without speaking, but when she speaks…

You unravel completely.

She leaned forward, nails biting into your thigh hard enough to mark. "Did you hear wrong, princess? Everything. Slowly."

The air left your lungs. You continued at an agonizing pace until your bra's exposed—black lace cupping you perfectly.

Agatha sucked air through her teeth.

"Perfect," she murmured, tracing the lace's edge. "Every time you obey, it just makes me want more."

Her hand slided down to tap your clit through your pants. "Now the rest."

The zipper's click echoed obscenely in the silent room. Fabric slithers downed your legs, revealing matching panty—drenched, nearly transparent in places.

A slick strand followed the fabric as you peeled it off and you curled into her lap, suddenly embarrassed you hadn't prepared better for this.

Agatha laughed. Low and wicked.

"Look at you... Such a big girl, aren't you?" Her fingers pet through the hair on your mons pubis. "Did Mommy catch you by surprise?"

Your throat locked around unshed tears.

You knew hair was completely natural, but the way she said it, the way she smiled while touching you… It made you feel like that scared little girl from Westview all over again.

Agatha spanked your mons, making you jolt. "Use your words like the big girl you are."

You swallowed hard. "S-sorry, Mommy. I wasn't prepared."

That smile. That infuriating and smug smile. You wanted to strangle her, or just sob into her lap until she rocked you and says she didn’t care.

"Don't worry," she purred. "Mommy loved it."

Her palm cupped your coochie, rubbing slow circles while she kissed your neck.

"So wet already..." her murmured curls into your ear. "Is this what you do just hearing me talk? Just knowing I exist?"

You burned, but didn't deny it. You can't.

Agatha didn’t stop. Her fingers working your clit with calculated pressure, each movement echoing like a ticking time bomb.

You tried to close your legs but her knee blocked you, holding you open, exposed and entirely vulnerable to touch that felt like punishment and reward at once.

"Answer," she ordered against your neck, teeth grazing skin. "Do you get like this just knowing I exist? All soaked and desperate?"

You babbled something incoherent and she pressed harder, wringing a sharp cry from you.

"Words, princess," she hissed, fingers sliding inside without warning. "Or do you want me to stop?"

"N-No!" You bucked against her hand instinctively. "Don't stop, please—"

"Please what?" Her fingers curled, hitting that spot that whites out your vision. "’Please, Mommy? Please let me come like a dirty little slut?’"

Her language was a knife that cuts, bleeds, excites. Tears spilled, but not from pain. From shame. Shame at how your body betrayed every principle you thought you had.

"Y-yes," you whimpered, nails biting her shoulders. "Please, Mommy... let me... let me ruin you."

She laughed—low, triumphant—before speeding her fingers to a rhythm you could not match.

"Take it," she growled, watching where you're joined. "Take everything you deserve."

Your orgasm hit like an Agatha-hurricane—violent, messy, humiliating. You writhed, muscles clamping around her fingers, hot slick gushing over her hand onto the couch.

Agatha watched, mesmerized, like she was seeing art unravel.

"Look at you... such a mess," she murmured, lifting her soaked hand between you. "You drenched me. So out of control... We'll have to train you better."

She brought her fingers to her mouth, licking each one with exaggerated devotion, eyes fluttering shut.

"Delicious," she sighed like she's tasting a secret. "You're so pretty when you obey."

And you tried to cover your face, Agatha wrenched your wrists back.

"No. You'll watch while I clean up your mess."

She slid off the couch, kneeling between your still-trembling thighs, and licked you all clean—slow, thorough, like she's memorizing every fold, every strand of hair, every inch of the body she made shake.

"Mommy loves you like this," she whispered against your soaked skin, fingers playing at your entrance. She tugged your hair, making you arch. "All open and soaked."

When she leaned in to kiss you, you tasted yourself on her tongue—salty, forbidden, perfect…

"Open." She demanded and you obeyed. You'd do anything for her.

Your mouth formed a perfect O, stretching your flushed, overheated cheeks still tender from your climax.

"Tongue out."

Now your tongue lolled between your lips, the muscle already aching. Yet all discomfort fades when she spits directly into your waiting mouth.

It was viscous, thick. And suddenly you've never been more grateful for anything.

"Thank you, Mommy." You whimpered as you swallow.

She hummed, dark eyes glittering with pleasure at seeing you so thoroughly hers.

Agatha gripped your chin firmly, fingers sinking into the plush flesh of your cheeks. Her gaze raked over every ruined detail of your face. The saliva glistening at the corners of your mouth, your pleasure-heavy eyelids, the expression of absolute submission.

"Want more?" She purred, her voice honeyed poison.

You answered before thought catches up, voice ragged from moaning.

"Yes, Mommy. Please."

That predator's smile made your stomach flip. With deliberate slowness, she gathered another mouthful and let thick strands drip onto your outstretched tongue.

You breathed in her heat, the musk of her arousal mingling with expensive perfume.

"Swallow," she ordered, watching your throat work with burning eyes and when you obeyed, she made a low sound of approval, fingers playing with your swollen lips.

"Good girl." Her eyes mirrorred your wrecked reflection—puffy lips, fevered skin, so fucking hers.

"Now... make Mommy happy," she murmured, reclining on the couch with feline grace. Her legs parted slowly, revealing what you crave most. "Show me all what I've taught you."

Your heart was hammered, as you moved between her thighs; her fingers fist in your hair, yanking sharply.

"First... smell," she commanded, forcing your face closer. "Smell the female scent of your mommy.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Hearing her talk like this is unbearably hot. 

The scent overwhelmed—copper, salt, something primal that made your mouth water. You moaned helplessly, and she laughed, dipping fingers into her own wetness to collect an amber strand.

"That's right," she whispered, teasing her swollen folds. "Let me watch you ache for it."

When you finally leaned in to lick, she jerked your head back.

"Not yet, eager little thing," she taunted, smearing her essence across your lips. "Taste what you'll earn."

A tentative lick drawed a rough groan from her, a sound that seemed to escape against her will. She yanked your hair again, making you whine.

"You'd do anything for this, huh?" Those storm-gray eyes burned into you.

Your brain short-circuits. "Fuck! Yes! YES! Mommy, let me have you!"

Her pupils blew wide, like a flash of something feral beneath polished control. In one brutal motion, she dragged you up, legs coiling around your waist like serpents.

"Would you kill for it?" Her lips brushed yours and your eyes locked. "Would you kill for me?"

Oh god.

Rational thought drowned in her musk. 

Fuck logic!

"Yes! I'd kill! Anyone you want! Fuck!"

Her laugh came out shaky, fractured and then she shoves you back to your knees.

"Prove it."

Your mouth sealed to her like a vow. You drank every moan, every tremor like poisoned communion. Agatha arched, her always-perfect control shattering as she claws the sofa.

"S-slow," she hissed, even as her hips grind against your face. "Fuck—too good!"

You disobeyed, speeding up. Nails dig into her thighs, holding her open as your tongue invaded. Claiming and corrupting.

She screamed, a sharp sound bitten into her own wrist. Her body convulsed, flooding your mouth as you swallowed greedily, each spasm cracking that dominant facade.

A final hair-pull warned you.

"Good girl," she panted. "Now... one finger. Just that."

You slid inside, feeling her pulse around you.

"Curve it," she instructed, guiding your wrist. "Rigth there…yes—"

When you found the spot, her back bowed off the couch.

"F-fuck," she snarled. "Now lick. Just the clit—gentle—"

Your obedience earned a scream so beautiful it rewires your soul.

She collapsed to the couch, pulling you into a filthy kiss that mingles both your tastes.

"Never," she gasped against your mouth, trembling hands fisted in your hair. "Let anyone else teach you this. Understood?"

It was an order. A plea and a confession.

You nodded, pausing just to stare up with lust-drowned eyes. 

"Only you, Mommy."

The shiver that wracked her body was better than any orgasm.

"Christ," she rasped, fingernails gouging the couche fabric. "You…learn so… fast—"

Your response was to crook your fingers while sucking her clit and she breaked completely—hips jerking, curses and praise tangling.

"Perfect slut—don't… stop—right there—my girl—mine—"

Her climax hit with a muffled shriek, body seizing under your mouth.

"Fucking hell," she breathed, arm slung over her eyes as she melts into the couch. "You had to be this good, didn't you?"

You licked your lips clean, dirty pride glowing in your belly.

She's wrecked—hair mussed, eyes glazed, that invisible smile curling her lips even as she muttered how wrong this is. The same expression from the emergency exit that night.

A sigh and her arm slides away, ocean eyes finding yours.

"How old are you again?"

"Old enough to make you scream on your designer couch."

"Insufferable." But the crooked smile was real this time.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was warm as her skin pressed to yours, as if this madness had become something natural. Already you're craving more—more gifts, more affection, more her.

Your head rested on her chest now, listening to her racing heart slow. Her fingers absently play with your hair, the caress almost accidental.

"You hungry?" You asked after a while, tracing her sharp jawline with your gaze.

"No." She lied. 

You raised an eyebrow.

"I could hunt something in the woods."

"Please don't." She groaned, clearly lacking patience for your theatrics.

"Build a snare. Strangle a deer with my bare hands to feed my woman—"

"You're dramatic and totally intolerable."

"Thought you liked that."

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her phone. "We're ordering. Anything decent open this late?"

"If you consider real food decent."

"Real food?"

"Mmhmm."

“If you say a burger fits that concept, I swear I’ll kick you out of here naked.”

“Promises, promises…”

She gave you that dangerous half-smile, and you bit your lip just to tease her.

She pretended not to notice.

“So, what do you suggest, chef?”

“Japanese.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want raw fish after cumming. It’s not hygienic.”

You bursted out laughing, rolling across the couch.

“What?! What does that even mean?” You said between laughs.

“It’s just not hygienic. Plain and simple.”

You can’t help but laugh harder, trying to understand the crazy logic behind a crazy woman.

“You’re totally paranoid. Christ!” You reached for your sweater, your nipples are freezing. “There’s other stuff, y’know? Ramen, gyoza, tempura…”

She rolled her eyes.

“Hmm. Gyoza or ramen. Nothing with octopus.” She finally gave in and you beam.

“Oh my god! That’s it! I love those tuna balls! So crunchy… I could totally have another orgasm just by putting one in my mouth.”

“Not without permission.” She said while picking up the phone to order, and you raise your hands in surrender.

“Got it, chief.”

She ordered the food and the two of you start tidying up the mess in her living room, while you eye several spots where you definitely would like her to fuck you again.

“Girl, for God’s sake! Stop talking about those tuna balls!” Agatha groaned while fluffing the couch pillows.

“I’m serious! You’re gonna love them!” You had just come back downstairs after putting your stuff away in the guest room.

You sat on the couch—your former love nest. Now you were side by side, no shame, no masks, and it feels so good to touch her like this.

“So… something tells me that accent of yours isn’t from around here, huh?” Agatha brushes her fingers over your hand—what might seem like a casual touch, but to you, it’s worth more than any twisted word she’s ever said.

“Nope. I’m from Westview.”

“Oh. Arizona, of course.”

“Wait, you know the town?”

You’re genuinely shocked. Westview is tiny—maybe 80,000 people max? Small, cozy, familiar…

And you hated it.

Agatha shrugged.

“Thanos liked investing there. Small but promising. You’ve got sunlight most of the year. Perfect for solar farming and new panel tests.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned like a petulant child.

“Ugh, Thanos this, Thanos that… Can we please stop talking about your dead perfect husband?”

She laughed and pinched your cheeks.

“Aww, is Mommy’s little girl jealous?” She giggled more as your grumpy face got worse. “And don’t worry, sweetheart. Thanos was far from perfect.”

“Whatever…” you muttered, sinking back into the cushions. “I did love the town. Loved how green and untouched it was. Until my dad died, and, well… there wasn’t really a reason to stay anymore.”

“Were you close to him?”

“Very. He was my hero…”

Agatha smiled at the way you said it.

“Hmm. I think we’d have gotten along.”

For a moment, your eyes met and the weight of whatever this was between you pressed down so hard it almost hurted.

The doorbell ringed through the wooden mansion, breaking the tension. You plastered a grin on your face and hopped up from the couch.

“My tuna balls!”

You hear Agatha sigh and mumble something like “you’ve got to be kidding,” but you couldn’t care less, not with your stomach growling like that.

“Here. Take my card.” She holded it out. “I’m paying.”

You raised your eyebrows at her.

“Oh, not if I pay first.” You left her hand in the air and handed your card to the delivery guy.

Spending your hard-earned cash on the woman who owns your body… and your mind.

When you come back in with the bags, her expression was priceless.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Oh. I’m compensating you for the amazing orgasm, Mommy.” You hugged her, and she groaned.

“You’re right, being bought is uncomfortable.”

“Told you so!” You snapped your fingers, finally proving your point.

She rolled her eyes.

“Just open the food. I’m starving.”

You started unpacking everything. Tempura, gyoza, yakisoba, onigiri… You looked, and looked, and then realized: “They forgot the tuna balls…”

Agatha, her mouth full of gohan, blinked.

“Hm? What?”

She studied your face and then it hit her too, and she bursted into laughter. Loud, unfiltered laughter that actually surprised you.

“Seriously?! Of all the things I said today, this was what makes you laugh?” You said, pouting.

“Oh my god! They forgot your balls!” You swear there are actual tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

This woman’s humor…

You buried your face in your hands and muttered. “My balls…”

Which only made her laugh harder.

~*~

Guys, I swear you have to try the tuna balls...

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @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 @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[claramelooo]

https://www.tumblr.com/claramelooo/786443962875543552/i-need-to-read-a-cate-blanchett-fic-from-you?source=share

I watched carol for the first time ever yesterday and I cannot believe I was missing out on such a great movie. Wlw aside the story was so amazing. I was literally crying at 1 am 😭. So ig Carol aird or Hela would be great. I haven't watched Tár yet so I cannot say much about Lydia. Though I'm always up for whatever you come up with. I just need some care blanchett

First of all, Carol is a canon event definitely! And I think to write a typical romance/drama with Carol making you guys suffer a lot while with Lydia would be more a dark thing you know? Just like in the movie

[claramelooo]

Claraaaaa vc é fera d+!!! Amo seu estilo de escrita!!! Só tenho uma perguntinha pra você, qual é o seu time favorito de futebol? (se tiver!)

Sinceramente,

Uma fã dos EUA

Olá!! Obrigadaaaaa! Bem, isso é um pouco complicado sim porque eu não tenho um time de futebol favorito, sequer curto muito. Mas eu adoro vôlei e basquete! E sempre torço pro flamengo, também adoro os Lakers (não sei se te responde...)

Eu adorei sua ask, minha querida! Escreva mais! ✨❤️🫶🏻

[claramelooo]

hi, mommy! i hope you’re doing well. can we get a preview for the next chapter please? 🐰

Hey, honey! Sorry for my delay to post it but better late than ever lol 😂

See you tomorrow!!

[claramelooo]

I need to read a cate blanchett fic from you

Right??! Actually, I've been thinking about that... Which of Cate's characters should I start with? I've been thinking a lot about Lydia or Hela. But obviously I'm going to write about all of them because that woman is so hot!

But tell me! Which are your favorites?

[claramelooo]

I'm not calling wanda auntie just telling you. She is my mommy and natasha dayummm🤤. Who cares if Agatha is in denial? There's always mommy wanda and my fav russian natasha. Both can top me

Oh... Hmm... Okay LMAO I can see you could enjoy any of them equally (you're so bold)

[claramelooo]

Hi! I like ur writing. I don’t usually do anon messages but thought I’d tell you anyways. Also, do you refer to yourself as mommy or do you use that towards others? I’m just curious because how you sign off on messages you use ‘mommy’ I’d love to know how to properly address you 🧎🏻‍♀️

Hey, baby. Hope you're well!

It's okay, you can call me whatever please you, honey. Some of my babies call me Mommy but others call me Clara and it's okay! I'm not demanding at all 😂

Actually, I'm one of that people who put themselves in the mother's role, and it's totally instinctive. But I also can be in other side too (remembering I'm a Sw)

Xoxo, lovely ❤️

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (12/20)

Here I am again! Last chapter of the week, I promise!

Enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, angst, tension, semi public sex and fingering.

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha tries to win over young voters.

Knight

noun

1. a piece represented by a stylized horse's head. It moves in an "L" shape, two squares in one direction (either horizontally or vertically). Each player starts with two knights, and they are considered minor pieces, valued at three points.

One day until Monday.

Twenty-four hours until you walked into the office and saw the beautiful face of your insufferable boss. 1,440 minutes until you could talk to her after waking up beside her. 86,400 seconds to pretend none of it had ever happened.

Your head felt heavy on the pillow. Your mind crowded with memories of the two of you, her body and all the things she’d said.

Some of those words had warmed your heart; others had made you come and some had rejected you without mercy, without hesitation.

Over lunch, Natasha mentioned the possibility that Thanos had been murdered.

God… That meant Agatha would be investigated, right?

That would be disastrous for her image.

Her son. Nicholas, right? You didn’t know him, not really. Just a few pictures. But you knew what it was like to lose a father.

You had to warn her. Agatha needed to be ready. Call in legal. Talk to Jennifer. Prep the entire image team.

You needed to get to the office as early as possible.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Each step down the hallway echoed in your head like a metronome of nerves.

The words kept repeating in your mind like a half-rehearsed monologue.

“Sonya,” you called out, eyes locked on Agatha’s glass office door. “Is she in yet?”

The assistant, typing furiously, glanced up for barely a second before returning to her screen.

“She got in about ten minutes ago. She’s actually waiting for you.”

Your heart skipped.

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to look less like you were falling apart inside.

Then, feigning confidence, you stepped into the room.

Agatha stood by the window. The morning light traced the outline of her silhouette, and her shoulders were visibly tense.

When you entered, she turned to face you with that gaze that missed nothing.

In silence, she took two steps toward the door behind you and locked it with a sharp click.

The air grew heavier.

You were about to speak, to bring up Thanos. The way she had stirred things inside you no one else ever had. But then she turned back to her desk, opened a drawer, and held out a yellow envelope to you.

“Here." She said, avoiding eye contact.

You frowned.

“What is this?”

“It’s... a way to make sure you feel comfortable and safe.”

Her voice was calm, rehearsed. Cold. Colder than yelling.

You took the envelope and opened it slowly. The contents made your eyes go wide.

Money. A lot of it.

You didn’t bother to count, but you could swear there was at least $2,500 inside.

"You're paying me?"

Agatha sighed, crossing her arms.

"It's not payment, it's a gift. So you can keep studying. So you can have freedom, without any... complications."

You felt your face burn.

"A gift?" Your voice came out low, but sharp. "Is this so I keep pleasing you in bed? Or to keep my mouth shut out here?"

She narrowed her eyes, like she was holding something back inside her.

"You don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you and myself. I’m a public figure. A powerful woman. It’s campaign season and if this gets out…”

Oh, God…

Okay. Now you were pissed.

This wasn’t good at all

"So you'd rather pay me to pretend it never happened?"

Silence.

You gripped the envelope tightly. You wanted to throw it in her face. Tear it to pieces right in front of her.

For a moment, you even wanted to accept it and pretend nothing had happened.

Pretend you hadn’t felt anything. Pretend it was just wild, incredible sex. Pretend it didn’t hurt when she kicked you out the next morning.

"I… I'm not good at this," Agatha said, her eyes locked on yours now. "I just… I can't let this spiral out of control."

You gave a hollow smile, the kind you wore when everything hurt too much.

"Control, control, control. That’s all it is with you, isn’t it, Agatha?" You said, biting the inside of your cheek. "But it’s too late for that."

You placed the envelope on the desk with deliberate calm, like returning an unwanted gift.

She exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You don’t understand! Can’t you see I’m trying to protect my entire life?” she snapped, her voice rising. “You think it’s easy? That I can just fall into your arms and ignore everything I’ve built?”

Her eyes had a greener hue now, glistening like fresh water.

You looked at her.

And you could saw the broken woman that Agatha Harkness really was.

It hurt.

It hurt even more that, despite the way she was treating you, you still wanted to understand her.

To comfort her.

"I didn’t ask you to want me!" You shouted. "I didn’t ask for you to look at me like that, to touch me like that! And now that it’s happened... you try to buy my silence like I’m just another political mistake to manage?!"

She stepped back and stopped behind the desk, gripping the edge like it could somehow keep her upright.

"You’re being unfair."

Her voice was too soft, cracked.

"And you are a coward, Agatha Harkness."

You stared at each other.

Everything unsaid hanging between you like thunder in the air.

Until a knock at the door broke the spell.

Daniel stepped in, and you looked at him, desperate for the tension to break.

“Ladies! Everything’s ready. Barkley’s waiting for you both.”

Right.

Tacoma. The speech. The plan to win over the youth.

You still had a country to convince.

You nodded and walked out of the room, swallowing hard. You had to get your breath back before you could breathe the same air as her again.

[...]

The campaign committee was pure chaos, buzzing with electric energy. Posts with the hashtag #MotherHark were already going viral.

Quick-cut videos of her speaking to young people about politics were flooding TikTok and Instagram; impactful quotes captioned with modern typography, intercut with clips of her staring directly into the camera while the campaign slogan pulsed in purple and white:

"Politics is everything, and everything is politics."

You were sitting in one of the chairs in the conference room, waiting for the campaign bus to arrive, silently watching the latest video on your phone. In it, Agatha spoke with a steady voice:

"From the moment you choose what to wear, what to eat, or even which movie to watch, politics is there. Invisible, but always present. And it's time for you, young people, to start seeing it."

“They’re commenting like she’s some kind of communist MILF.” Sharon murmured from across the room, chuckling.

“She is a MILF.” Billy replied with a crooked grin, leaning on the production table.

You rolled your eyes.

You hated that term and the way it sexualized older women.

So typical of teen, clueless boys.

Jennifer walked in right on time, followed by Sonya and three interns holding clipboards.

She looked flawless wearing a charcoal turtleneck, tailored pants and a navy blue trench coat with a slight satin sheen.

Even at seven in the morning, she looked like she’d already had three coffees and absorbed the soul of a wartime general.

“Team,” she began, wasting no time. “We have thirty minutes before we head out to Tacoma. The school is prepped, the students are already in the auditorium, and the media crew left earlier to set up the cameras.”

She tapped a small stack of cards against the table.

“What I want from you: focus. No unnecessary improvising, no drama en route. We're going to show these teenagers that their opinions matter. I want them to feel like political agents and if they leave with only one idea in mind. They have power.”

You and a few others boarded the bus.

It was massive. The biggest tour bus you'd ever stepped into.

Agatha was sitting by the window.

Dark sunglasses, a tired expression.

That sculpted jawline. The same one that made you ache to trace it with your fingertips, was tense. She wore a purple T-shirt, and damn, that color looked perfect on her.

God…

You two had fought.

But all you wanted was to kneel in front of her and make her feel good, right there and then.

Hesitating, like someone jumping off a cliff, you sat down beside her.

Silence.

The bus began to move, a gentle rumble under your feet. Voices around you talked about equipment, schedules and image strategy.

But between the two of you, there was only silence.

“Thank you for not taking the money.” She said softly after a few minutes.

Her voice barely sounded like hers. It was quiet, almost human.

You kept your gaze forward, fixed on some imaginary point on the back of the seat in front of you.

“It wasn’t hard to refuse,” you replied. “What’s hard is forgetting that you thought I’d betray you.”

She turned her face slightly toward you, like she was about to say something. But she held back and looked back out the window, her fingers fidgeting with the diamond ring.

"If I had met you in another life," she murmured. "Maybe everything would’ve been different."

You turned now, facing her. The shadow cast by her hair, the sharp line of her lips. There was a kind of tiredness there. Not the kind that comes from a bad night’s sleep, but from a whole life.

Her words hit you differently. You hadn’t expected to hear that from her, and something sparked in your chest.

What did she think about when the lights were off and she was alone in her massive bed at night?

You had never wanted to find out so badly.

"If you had met me in another life," you echoed. "You would’ve done the same thing. Because this isn’t about me, it’s about what you don’t allow yourself to feel."

Her head turned slowly, like your words had a physical weight.

The sunglasses couldn’t hide everything. Since the tight curve of her brow, the subtle twitch in the corner of her mouth.

Agatha was trembling slightly or maybe that was just your desire for her to be.

"You’re too young to understand." She said. Not with anger, but with something more like quiet desperation.

"And you’re too old to keep hiding."

Her jaw clenched.

"Don’t say it like it’s that simple. It’s never occurred to me like that."

"What? The fact that you’re a lesbian?"

Agatha froze, like you'd touched something forbidden inside her.

"I’m not..." she tried, but the word felt too heavy in her mouth. "...that."

"Lesbian. Saying it won’t kill you, you know?" You said. "That’s what I’m talking about. Even if we had met in another life, you still wouldn’t let yourself feel it."

"I just like to keep a reserved image." She leaned back into the white leather seat like a sulky child.

"You can be reserved and still be comfortable with your sexuality at the same time." You said casually, rummaging through your bag for your earbuds.

She flailed her hands silently, and it made you want to laugh. It was funny how expressive she was when no one was watching.

"Excuse me?! I’m very comfortable with my sexuality!"

You couldn’t help it, you let out a little laugh.

"Oh, sure you are," you said, rolling your eyes with a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. "But let me tell you something..."

You leaned in just close enough to catch the ocean-color glint behind her sunglasses.

"No straight woman kisses the way you kiss. No straight woman fucks the way you fuck."

You whispered the words onto her warm lips.

Agatha let out a soft breath, her tongue slipping between her lips in an attempt to hold herself together.

You knew she wouldn’t make a move here, but still…

Watching her hesitate because of you?

Delicious.

Before she could reply, the bus came to a halt and one of the assistants stepped in.

"We’re here."

The school auditorium was full. Teenagers between 15 and 18 filled the rows of wooden chairs, buzzing with curiosity.

You stood near the exit with other team members, trying to focus.

Which was hard, because Agatha was wearing a purple jacket—the kind that made her look like she’d been on the varsity basketball team in high school—and you couldn’t help imagining it.

She looked younger, and hotter.

It was all part of the game, you knew that.

And Christ, you were feeling so stupid for falling for a political strategy you had written yourself.

Agatha walked up to the stage with no fuss and cleared her throat lightly into the mic.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly. "I know. Ten-thirty in the morning already feels like punishment."

Soft laughter rippled through the room. She let the silence breathe, her timing impeccable.

"But I’m here today because... someone told me young people don’t care about politics."

She paused dramatically, raising an eyebrow.

"And I thought that was so ridiculous… I had to come check for myself."

More laughter now. Genuine and warm.

"I want to talk to you the same way I talk to my 17-year-old son, who’s convinced I’m the definition of boring. Spoiler: he’s absolutely right."

Even more laughter.

Suddenly, the auditorium felt like the audience at a stand-up comedy show.

"Come on, don’t be shy! I want to hear from you!"

A girl in the second row raised her hand. Agatha pointed at her with a nod of her chin.

"You. Name and question."

"Jade," the girl said. "Have you ever thought about quitting? I mean… being a politician seems kinda dangerous sometimes."

Agatha looked at her for a moment, as if really digesting the question.

The room went quiet.

"Every single day," she answered. Honest, razor-sharp. "But the secret is remembering why you started. And for me, it’s remembering who’s watching me."

She looked over the crowd. Her gaze landed on you for just a second.

It was quick, but enough to burn.

"My son. You. People who think the future’s screwed. My job is to prove it can be different, but it only works if you are part of it."

Another student raised his hand. A scrawny boy in an X-Men hoodie.

"Did you always want to be governor?"

"No," she said. "When I was young, I wanted to be a dancer. Eventually I found out you actually need talent for that."

Louder laughter this time.

"So I went with the more dramatic option, is true. Changing the world through action and speech. And honestly? Sometimes I think I should’ve risked Broadway instead."

A real laugh formed on her lips, and it was like she was born for that stage.

She leaned in slightly.

"But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can be many things. I was a daughter. A wife. I became a mother. Today I’m a candidate, and tomorrow? Who knows... Maybe I’ll just want to be a good example for someone who hasn’t even been born yet."

You held your breath.

Because it wasn’t just the content, it was the tone. The quiet vulnerability. The way she allowed little cracks to show.

Just enough for you to fall in love with her.

Fuck…

You were so screwed.

When a shy student asked how to get involved in politics without knowing where to start, Agatha answered:

"You start like you start anything: by messing up. A lot. Getting into things you weren’t invited to. Yelling before you even know how to argue, but you learn. Because when you speak, someone listens. And one day, you look back and realize that the first time you raised your hand... changed everything."

Then she reached out her hand, symbolically, to the students.

"Raise your hands. Make noise. The world won’t give you space if you ask politely. So scream!"

And they did. The auditorium exploded with wild, living shouts, and the vibrations climbed up through your feet.

Her presence up there, it was so grounded, so human, so powerful and stirred everything inside you.

And worse: she knew it.

You saw how she looked every student in the eye. How she treated every question like a mission. The way she moved her hands. Always authoritative, but warm. That low tone of voice. The almost automatic gestures.

She was... everyone’s mother.

And for a moment, you wanted to be back in that hotel room.

You wanted to kneel between her legs and say it again, through tears and desire.

Mommy.

Your face burned.

You clutched your notebooks to your chest, trying to hold yourself together.

Jennifer appeared at your side, cutting through the electric current.

"She’s doing very well," she said in a neutral tone. "See that? That’s what I call winning."

You could only nod.

But the truth was, in that moment, you weren’t thinking about votes.

You were thinking about how much you wanted to rip off that purple jacket and call her Mommy again and again.

[...]

The bus buzzed with praise. Excited comments, laughter, applause. Jennifer could barely hide her excitement as she said, “That’s three major headlines right there.” Even poor Sonya smiled, and she never smiled.

But all you wanted was Agatha.

She climbed the bus steps slower this time. Her posture still upright, still in control. But her eyes even behind those dark sunglasses were searching.

For you.

She hesitated, walking to the back and sat beside you.

The same seat as earlier.

Your heart skipped.

"You were amazing." You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Thank you," she replied, still looking out the window. Then she turned her head slightly. "You were right, the younger audience is the key."

You nodded.

The silence that followed was both comforting and torturous. It cracked beneath the surface like static, like the whole world was waiting for something to happen.

Then Agatha discreetly reached out and took your hand.

Almost like an accidental brush, but your entire body lit up, because you knew nothing Agatha did was accidental.

"I think I’m tired," she said. Her voice low, intimate. "Really tired."

Her fingers began to stroke the back of your hand. Slowly, and almost absentmindedly.

But you knew better.

There was nothing absentminded about her. Every movement was calculated. Every touch whispered that it was anything but innocent.

Because Agatha was a control freak bitch.

"And you..." she continued, leaning in just a little. "Should make me feel good."

Your breath stuttered. You turned to face her, catching the shadowed gleam of her eyes behind her glasses.

And still, you felt her cutting through you.

"Yes," your voice came out as a needy whimper. "Anything."

You whispered, because that was all you could manage.

Fuck. You’d go to the ends of the earth if she asked. You’d give your soul to the cruelest devil and fight the strongest god if it meant pleasing her.

"Anything?" She repeated with a smirk, just a hint of irony. The corner of her mouth curling like a comma full of meaning.

She looked around the bus. Everyone was quiet, resting before the ride back to the office.

Then she leaned in, her shoulder brushing against yours.

"Unbutton your pants and spread your legs." She said. Her voice already hoarse, already pulsing.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as her words cut through the air between you, low enough that only you could hear them, but loud enough to make your body react instantly.

You hesitated for a second. Not out of fear, but because of the risk. Then, under Agatha’s watchful gaze, you slid your fingers down to the button of your pants, undoing it with an almost inaudible click.

She watched every movement. The sunglasses hid her eyes, but not the hunger in her expression.

When you spread your legs just enough, she let out a quiet sound of approval and then… with a casualness that could’ve fooled anyone into thinking she was just reaching for something in her pocket, she slipped her hand between your thighs.

The first touch was electric.

Her steady and controlled fingers found you already wet, and she inhaled sharply, like even she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing.

"You filthy little tease," she murmured, her lips grazing your ear as her fingers slid over you, exploring, gauging your response. "But you’re so damn pretty…"

You bit your lip hard to keep from moaning, your hips moving involuntarily against her hand, chasing more pressure.

Agatha smiled slowly, predatorily, then pressed her fingers firmly against your clit, making you choke on a wave of pleasure.

"Quiet," she ordered, voice like a ribbon of silk and steel. "Or everyone’s going to know you’re grinding into my hand like a needy little kitten in heat."

Blood rushed to your face, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t stop.

Your muscles were tight, your stomach coiled, every flick of her fingers dragging you closer to the edge.

She noticed—of course she did—and slowed her pace, fingers now circling torturously slow, watching every microexpression flicker across your face.

"You gonna come for me right here? In front of everyone?" she whispered, her lips brushing your temple. "Gonna be a good girl and stay quiet while I make you fall apart?"

You shook your head, desperate, but she already knew the answer.

"Mommy…"

"Oh. You really like that, don’t you, baby girl?"

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes rolled back under your lashes.

And then, she sped up.

Her fingers worked you with cruel precision, and you grabbed the seat hard, your knuckles white, your whole body trembling with raw tension.

"Please," you mouthed, voice gone, lips just forming the word. "Mommy."

She understood.

And with one final perfect circle right where you needed it most, she brought you to the brink… and stopped.

Her fingers pressed down firmly, holding you there—no movement—leaving you suspended in the abyss.

She watched your desperation, the corners of her mouth curling upward, before she began again.

Slower. More torturous.

"You make me ravenous," she confessed, her voice trembling, like she hated every syllable she had to admit. "No one’s ever… ever made me want to lose control like this."

Your pulse spiked at the crack in her voice.

She was unraveling.

You dared to touch her free hand, lacing your fingers with hers, and she gripped your hand tightly just like she needed an anchor.

"Not yet," she rasped. "You come when I say. Only when Mommy says."

When release finally came, it hit you like a jolt of lightning.

You arched, muscles clenching around her fingers, body shaking like a leaf and she covered your mouth with her palm, muffling your cries in a gesture that was both domination and protection.

"Shhh… quiet now," she breathed against your neck, licking the salty sweat there as she dragged out every wave of your pleasure. "All of this… all your filth… belongs to me."

When she finally withdrew, you were wrecked. Breath ragged, kegs weak, makeup totally smudged.

Agatha wiped her fingers slowly on your pants. Her eyes hidden, but her jaw tight with tension.

Two tears slid down your cheeks before you could stop them, and you smiled.

"Feeling better now, Governor?"

She swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths, trying to reel herself back in.

Then she looked at you, serious. Hard.

"Would you… want to continue this somewhere else?"

She whispered it like even she couldn’t believe she was saying it.

"Y-yes."

She shook her head and stood up, disappearing into the bathroom stall.

You let out a shaky breath, barely believing what had just happened.

And then, your special phone vibrated.

Wait for me at your dorm door. 10pm.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur.

You returned to the office on trembling legs, panties damp, head on fire.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice.

Jennifer was talking about a press conference with local reporters next week, but your brain absorbed nothing. Only a silent, impatient countdown ticked at the back of your mind.

Five hours until your shift ended.

Then eight more until Agatha would show up at your dorm and take you… somewhere unknown.

But honestly?

Fuck it.

You wanted this.

You wanted her.

And you’d do anything.

So when the clock finally struck, you left the building like you were on fire.

You crossed campus with the afternoon warmth brushing your face.

You entered the dorm, dropped your backpack on the couch without a second thought, and went straight to the shower.

A cold one, of course.

Not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

The freezing water hit your skin like a jolt. You leaned against the shower tiles, breathing deeply.

That woman.

She made you come with an intensity you didn’t even know was possible, on that damn bus.

God… she made you come so fast and so well.

All you wanted now was to return the favor, but the water didn’t wash it away.

Her touch remained on your skin like embers, still burning.

You stepped out with wet hair dripping down your back. The towel dropped to the floor in a hurr, wearing nothing but the thinnest pair of shorts, you lay on your bed.

Your eyes stared at the ceiling, but your mind was miles away.

On her blue-green eyes. On the taste you could still feel on your lips. On the command and the plea.

Your hand slid down your damp stomach, a distracted caress that quickly turned to raw desire.

You tried to stop.

Tried to be good.

But the truth?

Agatha had branded her fingerprints into your body, and every fiber of you ached for more.

Your hand moved lower, trembling.

But just before your fingers could go any further, your phone buzzed again.

The special one.

You grabbed it quickly, heart pounding.

Agatha.

Behave.

You closed your eyes, bit your lip, and smiled, utterly defeated.

She knew.

That fall was wrong, elegant, and inevitable.

You tried to think of the campaign, your job, even Carol.

But you weren’t playing it safe.

You were playing to be tamed by the queen with iron hands.

~*~

See you on Thursday!!

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @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 @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (11/20)

Since I did well on my test, mommy decided to give you a gift... and oh, today we celebrate Valentine's Day here in Brazil! So, be happy my Valentine... Or not lol

Enjoy! <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst and changed on the plot.

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: During your family lunch, you discover something that could change your relationship with Agatha.

Rook

noun

a major piece that moves any number of squares horizontally or vertically. It cannot jump over other pieces.

You wake slowly, as if being pulled out of a dream.

The room still smells like her clinging to the sheets. You yawn, stretching beneath the covers that still hold traces of the night before.

Your body aches in specific places, like little reminders of her presence. Of her touch, her husky voice, her mouth.

You turn your face into the pillow and freeze.

She is here.

Agatha.

Sleeping beside you, on her side, face half-hidden by messy hair. Smudged makeup still rings her eyes, proof she passed out without even washing her face. Without the suit she was wearing last night, letting her breasts spilling out.

The sight makes your mouth go dry.

You wonder what would happen if you reached out, cupped them, and warmed them in your hands.

The diamond necklace that once rested proudly against her collarbone now lies forgotten on the nightstand, beside a phone turned off.

You can hardly believe it.

She is here.

Agatha Harkness, campaign-trail governor, iron-willed woman. The one who could undress you with a glance and dismiss you with another.

Is.

Right.

Here.

You exhale slowly, a shy smile tugging at your lips, and turn carefully so you don’t wake her.

But of course, you moved too much.

Her lashes twitch, the breath shifting.

Then, her eyes open.

The blue. The green.

You’ve noticed before, but now in the morning light the iris split in two tones, like two different seas living in the same body, just like when saltwater meets freshwater, and for a moment, the waters don’t mix, they just stare.

That’s what her eyes are doing to you now.

Staring.

Your heart races.

You swallow hard and whisper, embarrassed:

“Light sleeper?”

She doesn’t respond right away. She watches you, as if trying to remember where she is and who she’s lying next to.

Then, with a voice rough from years of poor sleep:

“Ever since I had a kid, I’ve never been able to sleep the same.”

You blink.

The confession lands like an intimate whisper, raw and unguarded, almost like an apology.

Something tightens in your chest, a quiet warmth.

She turns her face into the pillow, like she wants to hide any trace of vulnerability. But not before you see it, not before you realize, yes, Agatha has cracks.

And you’re caught right between them.

You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet over your shoulders, as if it could protect what’s left of the night before.

Agatha keeps looking at you for a moment. Then, without a word, she sits up too—too fast, like she’s been jolted awake.

You see the moment clarity slams into her, the tension in her shoulders, the locked jaw.

She averts her gaze, like even the morning light is too much to bear and gets up in a sharp, restless movement and disappears into the bathroom without another look.

You hear the door close. Not loudly, but in a hurry.

Water begins to run, and for a moment, you think she’s going to take a shower, but the sound is erratic, tense.

It’s not comfort, it’s escape.

You stay there, sitting on the bed, unsure if the fault is yours. Maybe she’s just not a morning person, or maybe... she’s hating herself for still being here.

You lie down again, pressing your head into her pillow. The scent’s still there, now mixed with the warm smell of her expensive perfume.

Then the water stops.

The silence is so deep you can almost hear your own heartbeat.

She steps out, face washed, hair combed and wet. Wearing a white, fluffy bathrobe with the hotel’s logo.

She smells clean, in the truest sense of the word.

God…

You just want to curl into her lap, press your face into her neck, and breathe her in.

“I ordered breakfast,” she says, curt, like she needed to say something that didn’t involve last night. “It should be here in a few minutes.”

You nod, a little hunched, hugging your knees.

She notices.

How could she not.

Agatha closes her eyes for a second, like she’s trying to erase the growing distance in the room.

When she speaks again, her voice is softer, hesitant.

“Did you… sleep well?”

You want to answer with something ironic, maybe a flirt, but your throat tightens.

“I did,” it’s all you manage. “I… I thought you were going to leave.”

She takes a deep breath. Her eyes drift to the view beyond the windows, like looking at you might be too dangerous.

“I… was,” she admits. “But I drank a little too much and you looked… you looked way too peaceful. It pissed me off.”

Your eyes wide.

“I pissed you off?”

She gives a half-smile, a sad one.

“Yeah… You slept like you didn’t have a single problem in the world, like… everything was fine.”

You swallow hard.

She didn’t say it with anger, it was envy.

And finally you realize: what bothers her isn’t you, it’s what you represent.

Peace. Lightness.

Things Agatha no longer knows how to feel.

“I have problems, Agatha,” you whisper. “I just… don’t think about them while I am sleeping.” You say with a simple smile.

“And what are your problems, huh?” She shoots back with sharp sarcasm. “Choosing between chocolate milk and caffe latte?”

But her expression doesn’t match the tone, actually, her eyes stay low, still a little dark. Like she’s trying to push you away, not mock you.

You smile, but it fades quickly.

You take a breath, leaning lightly against the headboard.

“You know… as ridiculous as that might sound to you, sometimes yeah,” you say calmly. “Sometimes I have to choose between the things I can afford. I’m not rich like you.”

She looks up.

“I didn’t grow up with luxury, Agatha. I’ve always made do with what I had and last night… last night was a true exception. For both of us.”

You don’t know how long you stared at each other, it was like a trance in shades of green and blue.

The soft sound of the room service bell broke the heavy silence between you. Agatha stood almost immediately, her steps quick and firm, but not rushed.

You could almost feel the embarrassment clinging to her skin like an invisible veil. She opened the door just enough to take the tray and closed it before the server could even draw a deeper breath.

She placed the tray on the side table and exhaled—not out of tiredness, but something closer to… control. But then, her eyes landed on a detail, and for a second, the tension dissolved.

There was a strawberry cake. Real fresh. Topped with tiny sugar crystals.

You leaned forward, your eyes lighting up with delight.

“Strawberry cake? With fresh berries!” You murmured, almost like you’d stumbled across a forgotten piece of childhood. “God… I must be dreaming.”

Still naked, you ran to the bathroom, hearing Agatha mutter behind you, “I wish you were.”

You rinsed off and came out wearing the same plush robe.

Post-shower, you felt renewed, like you could handle a hundred Agathas. Okay! Not a hundred, maybe ninety-nine.

You sat at the side table.

The view from the Fairmount was invigorating. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d allowed yourself to rest like this.

For a few minutes, the room settled into a thick silence, broken only by the gentle clink of porcelain and the dark liquid being poured into cups.

Agatha took her first sip of coffee like it was poison: bitter, necessary, vital.

You were the one who broke the silence.

“You were amazing last night. I didn’t know you were actually that passionate about politics.”

She looked at you over the rim of her cup, eyes narrowed, as if weighing the seriousness of your comment before answering.

“I don’t know how to live without politics,” she said, and there was a hint of sorrow in that truth. “Since I was twelve, when I won my first school debate defending public healthcare policies. I never stopped after that. Got my master’s at twenty-three. Became a mother at thirty-three. A senator at thirty-five.”

She took another sip, eyes fixed on the nonexistent horizon of the room.

“And now, fifteen years later, I still have to justify why a woman like me deserves power.” She scoffed.

You nodded, respectfully. There was something monumental about hearing her story, like listening to an ancient play, layered with heroism and tragedy.

“And you?” She asked, not even changing the tone of her voice.

You smiled, more out of reflex than joy.

“My dad was a great lover. Even though he was a baker, he loved politics. Loved watching debates, reading op-eds, yelling at the TV.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow.

“Loved?”

“Yeah…” you hesitated, but didn’t look away. “He died when I was five, and I think studying political science was a way to… keep him alive, you know?”

The silence lasted just long enough to feel comfortable or at least bearable.

You took another bite of cake. Agatha just watched, like she could read you through your smallest movements.

But something had shifted in the air. A new tension settled between you, like her thoughts had returned to what happened before dawn.

“About last night…” she began, without looking directly at you, eyes fixed on her own fingertips.

You rolled your eyes before she could finish.

“It was a mistake.”

“Exactly.” Agatha answered so fast she didn’t even register the exhaustion in your voice.

“You’re so predictable…”

“Excuse me?” She lifted her head, eyes flashing with the same fury you’d already grown to like. “I don’t need to explain why this… what happened… is wrong.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Yeah, Agatha. But it happened. Twice.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out right away. Her eyes fluttered, like you’d caught her off guard with the memory.

Of the emergency exit, of the moment she unraveled under your fingers, Seattle’s cold night air hitting her alcohol-warmed skin.

Of the hotel room and the way she tried to fight it, almost becaming a beast, tearing your dress and something inside her

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the chair.

“You can wrap it up in guilt and moral speeches all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you wanted it. You want me, Agatha. I felt it. The way you pulled me in. The way you moaned when I—”

“Enough.” Agatha cut you off. The sound of the cup hitting the saucer came sharp.

A silence followed. The kind that weighs on the body, like a soaked blanket made of fear and unspoken things.

You broke it, this time softer.

“You weren’t just curious, Agatha. You were alive.”

She shut her eyes for a second. Took a deep breath, as if swallowing back something too big to say.

“I’ve never done… that.” She murmured.

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your juice.

“With a woman?”

Agatha slowly shook her head, drifting her gaze again.

“Never with a woman and certainly never with an intern.”

You smiled, leaning forward just a little, your voice light with sweet irony.

“Funny… you seemed pretty happy last night about the fact that I’m young.”

Her eyes widened, a faint blush coloring her face, though her chin stayed high.

Oh god… Agatha Harkness blushing. Right here. In front of you.

It was hilarious.

And adorable.

“That’s not funny.” She said.

“It is to me,” you shrugged, teasing. “But tell me… if you’ve never done any of this with another woman… does that mean I’m your first, huh?” You leaned across the table, flashing a smug grin.

She opened her mouth, no answer, and then she smiled, a crooked, fragile, almost guilty smile.

“This shouldn’t be happening.”

“But it is.” You said, firmly.

The tension in the air grew heavier. You could feel it like thick humidity clinging to your skin, to every unsaid word.

Agatha took a long, slow breath, as if it was the last one before drowning in her own conflict.

Her jaw tensed, the eyes that usually met yours with contempt or challenge now fled, almost shy and with that same evasiveness, she looked too calmly.

“Right. I think you should go now.”

Oh.

Okay… You’d pushed too far again, hadn’t you?

It was a light blow, but it stung.

Your heart stumbled for a beat, like it had missed a step. You blinked, trying to process. Trying not to show it. You lifted your juice glass and took the last sip to buy time.

To avoid saying it hurt.

To avoid seeming… fragile.

“All right.” You murmured, with your throat dry more from pride than thirst.

You stood, legs still strangely unsteady, like your body didn’t really want to leave. Staying there, in a robe, your hair still damp from the night before, the sheets messy between you... it was too intimate, almost unthinkable.

That room felt like a world apart, a dream. But you knew it wasn’t a place for you. Not for more than a few hours.

Until you noticed.

“Yeah… Agatha…” you said, crouching by the bed, picking up fabric from the floor. “I don’t have any clothes here, just the dress… and it’s in ruins.”

The wine-red fabric was in shreds. Literally torn from neckline to slit, revealing way too much.

You held it up with a half-smile.

“Fuck, Agatha! Are you some kind of goddess with superpowers or something?”

Agatha turned her face, but not enough to hide the involuntary smile tugging at her lips. She crossed her arms, cooler eyes landing on you over her shoulder.

“Language, please,” she said in a dry tone that didn’t quite match the faint blush on her cheeks. “Fine… you can borrow something of mine. I brought a few changes of clothes.”

You pretended to think for a second.

“Gonna let your intern walk around wearing your clothes, Governor?”

She sighed. The exhaustion, the guilt, the restrained desire it was all there, floating between you.

“If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re my shadow,” she said with a shrug, her body language almost theatrical.

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile.

“So I’m your shadow now?”

She looked at you for a moment too long and there was something in her eyes… something that looked like fear and hunger at once.

“You’re a lot of things I’m still trying to understand.” She said, softly.

She moved through the room and stopped by a black bag in the corner. Crouched, rummaging through the fabrics, humming.

She pulled out a pair of light linen trousers and a white button shirt, slightly sheer. It smelled like jasmine and something woody, probably sandalwood. You discreetly lifted the fabric to your face.

It smelled like her.

“That’ll fit.” Agatha murmured, not looking at you, handing you a structured blazer too.

You got dressed right there, feeling the linen touch your skin like something sacred. The shirt was a bit big, so you rolled the sleeves. The pants were a little tight in the butt, but they fit better than you expected and when you put on the blazer… you barely recognized yourself in the mirror.

You turned to ask if she thought it looked appropriate, but she was already on her phone. Giving short, direct orders, as always.

“The car will be here in five minutes,” she said.

You hesitated, a hot, uncomfortable feeling rising behind your chest. Uncomfortable, but not unexpected.

Then, Agatha stepped closer. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe, like they were memorizing every detail or maybe just making sure you’d walk out of her room looking perfect.

Not a wrinkle out of place. No reason for anyone to ask questions.

“I told the driver to drop you off wherever you want.” She added in a low voice, almost too careful, like she was trying to make up for the rejection with kindness.

You swallowed hard.

She was sending you away with a command, but dressing you in her own clothes. Wanted distance, but wrapped you in her scent.

Pushed you away with words and pulled you back with gestures, like she was always torn between what she felt and what she believed was right.

You looked at her.

Tall and flawless despite the long night, her eyes heavy with sleep and tension and still… she was kind.

Kind to you.

And that hurt more than if she'd been cruel.

You leaned back in the car seat, still wearing her blazer, the fabric smelling of something woody. A walking reminder of everything that shouldn't have happened, but did anyway.

Carol.

You thought of her first. Thought about how you disappeared and let the night turn into dawn.

God… she was going to kill you when you got back.

She was probably furious or… nothing. Because Carol was the type who didn’t feel much. And honestly? You were starting to love the freedom that gave you.

And then, inevitably, you thought of Agatha.

The touch, the anger, the way she dressed you in her own clothes while sending you away.You could still feel her fingers on your skin, her gaze on your body.

Your phone buzzed in your lap.

Carol.

Still on for tonight?

New bar opened. Small and lowkey.

Perfect for you ;)

Your eyes rolled back.

You knew you promised her a Saturday night out, but honestly? You didn’t want to see her and you had zero energy for bars.

You locked your phone and leaned into the seat, until it buzzed again.

Billy this time.

Come eat at my place? Mom’s making Praprikash 🍲 (with fried chicken 😌)

You laughed for the first time all day.

God bless best friends!

On my way!! Save me from my mental breakdown with fried chicken, please.

Billy’s house was exactly what you needed. Clanging pots, the smell of food, and voices that didn’t judge you. The moment you walked in, he hugged you without asking a thing.

Wanda was stirring the sauce, laughing with Tommy.

“My darling!” Wanda exclaimed when she saw you. She left the pot on the stove and pulled you into a tight hug. “I missed you! What happened? You look thinner.”

She said it with a worried look.

“Hi, Auntie!” You smiled, trying to mask the exhaustion in your eyes and your soul. “I swear I’ve been eating fine.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes suspiciously but ended up smiling back, returning to the pot with the grace of someone who ruled the kitchen with authority.

“If you’re starving in that university, you better tell me. We can declare anarchy and kidnap a professor.”

You was laughing untill Billy appeared in the hallway, squinting at your outfit.

Okay, hold up… That’s rich people clothing. Like, very rich woman clothing.”

“Long story.” You muttered, adjusting the blazer as if that could hide the entire night.

Wanda now had a dish towel draped over her shoulder. She checked the sauce like she was tending a child.

“You kids go to the living room. I’ll call you when it’s ready,” Wanda declared, raising the wooden spoon like a general’s sword.

None of you dared disobey, obviously.

You and Billy followed orders, giggling quietly, while Tommy sprinted ahead to turn on the PlayStation 5.

In the living room, the couch felt more comfortable than any expensive hotel bed.

You collapsed onto it with a sigh, letting the blazer slide off.

Billy sat next to you, legs crossed, looking at you the way only he could: deep, direct, with that mischievous glint of someone who’s known you since you were a teenager.

“So… are you going to tell me what that ‘long story’ is?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The event was amazing! For real! I saw Rio Vidal. The Rio Vidal!” You answered, way too excited, trying to distract him.

But the way he was looking at you was already making your neck heat up.

Billy gave you a slow once-over, then smirked.

“Rio Vidal, huh? Very impressive…But listen, I almost majored in fashion, you know. I know expensive clothes from a mile away, my dear. And that blazer is Hermès, no doubt.”

You held your breath, your stomach flipping slightly. You tried to play it off, useless adjusting the cuff of your linen pants.

“Whose… clothes are these?”

You opened your mouth, ready to come up with something. But Billy raised a hand, dramatically.

“Don’t tell me your powerful boss lent them to you…”

Shit.

He knew.

“Look, Billy… I can explain! Me and Agatha… it just happened and—”

“You and Agatha?” He cut in, eyes widening like he’d just found out you were a double agent. “I was talking about Barkley and the way she looks at you like you’re dessert at a buffet. But… oh my God, you’re fucking with Agatha Harkness!”

You immediately leapt off the couch and slapped your hand over his mouth, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Shut up!” you hissed, desperate. “Do you want Aunt Wanda to hear that!?”

Billy laughed against your hand.

“Mhm!” He mumbled, still chuckling. You pulled your hand back. “Governor Harkness, huh?”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I just told you that!” You buried your face in your hands.

Billy looked at you for a moment. Then picked up a pillow and lightly smacked your arm with it.

“Okay… This is chaos. Capital C Chaos, and I am 100% here for it.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“You… you’re not gonna judge me?”

“Judge?” He raised his eyebrows, amused. “Girl, you’re living a literal erotic fanfic with the most powerful woman in the state. I’m making popcorn and watching this play out.”

You finally laughed, covering your face again for a second, completely defeated.

“I owe you 20 bucks, don’t I?” You mumbled, your voice muffled by your hands.

“Oh, absolutely. To me and Sharon! We bet you’d fall for it before the second week.”

“Billy, no one can know about this.” You said, voice low but urgent.

“I know, I know! I’m joking. Chill.” He tossed a throw pillow at you.

Before you could say anything else, Wanda’s voice rang through the house:

“Lunch is ready, kids!”

The table was set with care and warmth. The kind of meal that made everything feel like home, even if your mind was still racing.

Already seated, Tommy looked up from his phone and asked innocently:

“Is Natasha coming?”

Your eyes widened, and you looked straight at Wanda, a mischievous smile growing on your lips.

“Natasha, huh?” you said, teasing, dragging the words out. “Interesting…”

Wanda served herself some chicken, trying not to smile.

“She’s just a friend.”

“Oh. I’m sure she is,” Billy chimed in, not even looking up from his Coke as he took a long sip.

The silence that followed was thick with meanings only the three of you could understand.

Natasha Romanoff. Detective. Former colleague of Vision—the same Vision who had cheated on Wanda with some random secretary. Ironically, the pain had brought Wanda and Natasha closer.

Funny thing is, you’d always seen Natasha practically drooling over Wanda. Vision had just been dumb enough to leave the door wide open for Romanoff to walk in.

The food was already getting cold, but the heat from the teasing around the table filled the room. Billy made sharp comments, you laughed with bright eyes, and Wanda tried to maintain her composure while futilely defending her so-called “friendship” with Natasha.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

Wanda got up too quickly, as if she already knew who it was. Billy shot you a look that said everything.

Natasha Romanoff stepped in with her hair tied in a lazy bun and her typical leather jacket. She gave a brief wave to everyone, but her eyes lingered on Wanda a second longer. No one said anything, but all of you noticed.

"Hello, kids," she said, pulling out a chair. "I brought ice cream."

"Not rum raisin again!" Billy groaned like a spoiled child, and you stifled a laugh.

Your heart felt soft and warm, like you belonged in this little family.

Natasha served herself calmly and began chatting like she’d been part of the family for years. She had that unsettling kind of charm, like she knew more than she let on.

Until her eyes landed on you.

“Interning with Barkley, huh…” she said, her tone neutral, but something behind the smile gave her away.

You held her gaze and smiled, trying your best to appear composed.

“I know, I know… but it’s not that bad. She’s actually really good at what she does.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, taking another sip before replying:

“Oh. I’m sure she is, sweetheart. I always say: if she were a man, everyone would be lining up to suck her dick.”

“Natasha!” Wanda exclaimed, scandalized, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a laugh.

“Am I wrong?” Natasha said, throwing her hands up. “The woman’s a force of nature. Cold, strategic, untouchable. A little scary, to be honest.” She looked back at you. “But I know talent when I see it.”

You lowered your eyes, trying to suppress the blush creeping into your cheeks. It felt like everyone could see too much, knew too much.

The conversation drifted after that, from politics to a short debate about increased security on your campus.

Until you got distracted by your phone. No, not your phone. That one Agatha gave you.

You wanted to check if she’d logged into the messaging app, what time she was last online and maybe... send her a message?

God.

You were obsessed.

Then Natasha said, far too casually:

“We’re reopening the investigation into the death of Thanos Harkness.”

Silence.

You blinked.

Once, twice.

That name.

Thanos Harkness.

You heard Billy’s fork clatter against his plate as he stared directly at you.

“Why?” Your voice came out shaky. “It’s been almost four years since he died.”

Natasha rested her elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.

“Well... there’s always been something off about the story. The man was too healthy. No concerning medical history. And yet, sudden heart attack. Too quick. Too clean.”

You felt the air leave your lungs, a weightless pressure crushing your chest.

“What does that mean?”

Natasha looked at you like she was studying your reaction.

“It means the police are now working with the theory that Thanos Harkness was murdered.”

The silence turned thick, almost tangible.

Maybe you really should send Agatha that message.

~*~

What about the theories? See you tomorrow!

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @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 @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (10/20)

Ready to read more about Agatha? It's short but it's important, the plot is being building.

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: sex with Thanos mentioned (in the past), alcohol mentioned and Tony Stark is trying

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha is losing control with you.

Pinned

noun

1. when a piece is forced to remain in place because moving it would expose a more valuable piece behind it to attack.

The door closed with a soft click.

Agatha stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, her hand still on the handle, fingers gripping the cold metal as if it could anchor her to reality.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling slowly. Tried to square her shoulders. To reclaim whatever was left of her dignity.

But inside... inside, everything was falling apart.

Your drunken, jealous, childish expression had made her heart race. She knew she was supposed to dance with Stark.

It was duty.

It was work.

A dirty, morally gray kind of networking.

The real kind of politics.

And yet, seeing you thrown off by it seeing your reaction—had made something warm bloom inside her.

Warmer than the bourbon.

Ridiculous.

She was a grown woman. Fifty years old, with a teenage son and a campaign poised to change the country, and here she was—emotionally unraveled because a girl had called her Mommy in the middle of an orgasm.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

It was the way you said it.

Soft, through gritted teeth, trembling with surrender. Almost a plea, almost a whispered claim.

The word still echoed in her ears like something obscene. As if it had opened something in her. No. It was as if it had blown open a door Agatha had locked decades ago and forgotten where she hid the key.

She let go of the handle carefully, like touching it any longer might be dangerous.

Then she walked down the quiet hotel hallway, the low heels of her shoes clicking like a cruel reminder of where she was supposed to be.

With Barkley. With Stark. Keeping up appearances.

But the façade had already been shattered—by you.

And worse: by herself.

The image of your face, your wet, hungry eyes when you whispered that fucked word—was burned into her.

It was supposed to be a game of control. She thought it was. She had the power. She was the one setting the pace, giving the orders, drawing the lines.

And you? You were the rebellious girl, too bold for your own good. However, in the end, you were obedient. Always obedient.

Until it stopped being about control.

It happened in the bathroom, she realized now. It was when she slapped you. The anger was real, the impulse too. But what came after…

The heat, the arousal,t he twisted pride in seeing her mark on your pretty face.

She wanted you to remember who was in charge.

That was it.

It was like something old, buried under decades of ice and responsibility, had woken up. Something that wanted to care, yes.

But also to mark.

To control.

To own.

And the part that horrified her the most? She wanted you to like it.

And you… did.

Fuck.

You liked it.

Agatha stepped into the elevator.

Alone.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror: hair disheveled, lipstick slightly smudged, her black blazer wrinkled and clinging to her skin with sweat and someone else’s perfume.

Ridiculous.

Weak.

And yet she couldn’t look away.

Something pulsed inside her, a long-forgotten fault line that had carried the weight of a lifetime of self-control and now it was starting to crack.

'This shouldn’t feel this good'

Because it had been good.

She had said to you and it was true. But you had smiled when you responded her—always creative and provocative and that destroyed her.

Too good.

Where were the cold, brilliant politician? The distant, calculated mother?

She didn't know the answers, however, she knew something was going on inside her and it was out of control.

Agatha was becaming a woman who begged for more when you moaned the M word into her mouth.

And now, as the elevator descended, Agatha felt like she didn’t know who she was anymore.

You were not in the plan.

Fuck.

This was definitely not in the plan.

For the first time, Agatha didn’t know what to do, and this wasn’t something she could fix with lawyers or advisors.

She closed her eyes.

Part of her wanted to go back. Run back, grab you by the hair and make you say it again until your throat was raw.

But the other…

The other had to survive.

Had to win.

By the time the elevator stopped, her face was composed again. But her heart... her heart was still upstairs.

With you.

The ballroom felt even more suffocating than before. Warm lights, too many people, too many voices. Forced laughter, clinking glasses, calculated handshakes. Everything in its place and yet, Agatha felt something inside her had slipped out of orbit.

She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She didn’t want to drink, but she needed something to do with her hands, to hide the faint tremble in her fingers.

She moved through the crowd like a ghost, smiling at shadows, shaking hands that didn’t feel real. Her eyes, unfocused. Her mind, still in that room.

Still with you.

The perfume.

She had chosen it herself. A rich, enveloping scent with notes of amber, vanilla and white leather.

It was bold, feminine, unforgettable.

She wanted you to smell the way she imagined.

The way she needed.

She wanted people to know, the moment you entered a room, that you were hers.

Because that scent—it was hers.

Chosen by her.

Stamped onto you.

The phone?

Well... that was uglier.

Control. Proximity.

She needed to know where you were, what you were doing, needed you to answer when she called.

She needed you reachable.

Submissive, maybe, and that terrified her.

Because Agatha hated the idea of being that kind of woman. But the truth was, she always had been, and maybe, no one had ever deserved that side of her—until now.

And the dress?

Ah.

The dress was the cruelest part.

Because yes, she wanted you to be seen. She wanted everyone to look at you and think you’re the chosen one. Agatha wanted the world to see how beautiful you were.

How alive, how young.

But she also…

Wanted to strip you.

Wanted the right to take it off, only to destroy it.

She didn’t know if she wanted to give you power or take it.

Maybe both.

And after that photo, those stiffened nipples showing through Armani in that fucking fitting room…

Well, she did.

Agatha had torn that dress apart like it never existed, but deep down, she knew she’d tear through twenty more. She’d buy you fifty if you asked her with that soft voice, that smug little face and those pleading puppy eyes.

She hated herself for it, and wanted you even more. And didn’t understand why—when all of this was supposed to be… nothing.

Because you were cruel. Young and gorgeous… and cruel.

And she…

She was just an old woman… weak, with a lot of fear circled her chest.

Fear of you, of herself.

Fuck!

And if you said that word again… She’d let it all crumble once more.

“Well, look who finally came back.” The voice came from her left, slick with charm and mischief.

Tony Stark.

Wearing a expensive suit that screamed arrogance and taste. His smile was the same lazy, dangerous smirk as always. But his eyes were too sharp, like he’d counted every second of her absence.

“I was beginning to think the opposition had kidnapped you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried in American history.” She said flatly, taking a small sip.

The drink burned on the way down.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space as he always did. Agatha didn’t step back—she never steps back—but her body screamed to get away.

“Or maybe,” Stark said, with a lopsided grin, “you were just kidnapped by some instincts...”

Agatha slowly turned her head, feline in motion, raising a perfectly bored eyebrow.

“If that’s your attempt at flirting, Tony, you’re rustier than I remember.”

“Just trying to figure out why our favorite candidate disappeared for nearly two hours during such a crucial dinner for her own campaign,” he glanced around the room, then looked back at her. “What could’ve been so urgent that kept you so occupied?”

Her jaw tightened, the blood felt like it rushed up to her temples.

"This is none of your business, Stark," she said, holding his gaze, holding her posture. "Stay out of things you don’t understand."

"I understand enough," he leaned in slightly, and the tone shifted—lower, dirtier. "And what I don’t know… I imagine."

The nausea rose like a dry wave.

"Tony," she cut in, firm, "Stop."

But he didn’t.

"It’s just… you seem different. A little off your axis, I’d say. I know you, Agatha."

"Of course you do." She shrugged, playing it off. "You’ve always been a great parasite, haven’t you?"

He smiled, unfazed by the hostility.

"Look at that. Still got venom in that tongue, I see."

Then came the pause. Heavy, lazy, poisoned and for a moment, his smile faded.

"I don’t deserve to be treated like this," he said, calm, but with a melancholic undercurrent. "Not after everything I did for you."

Agatha stared at him, cold sweat on her spine.

"Tony, you promised."

"Well," he smiled again. "Seems plans have changed."

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him, like she could kill him with the weight of her contempt.

But she couldn’t.

"A dinner," she hissed through clenched teeth. "That’s all you’re getting."

Tony looked pleased.

"Friday, then?"

She didn’t answer.

Just turned on her heel and walked away. Her wine glass trembled in her hand.

She moved as fast as she could. The nausea clawing up her throat made her want to throw up. Dealing with Tony as part of her past had always been in the plan—but still, Agatha wasn’t a robot without feelings.

She stopped in a more isolated corner of the room and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the future.

On her victory.

She had given everything to get where she was. She had risked so much.

And it couldn’t fall apart. Not because of Stark, or Barkley, or…

You.

Especially not you.

"You’ve been running from me since you got here."

Lilia’s voice came from behind, thick with her usual sarcasm and a hint of red wine.

Agatha took a breath, lifted her chin, and turned to her friend.

"I’m avoiding you, not running."

Lilia smiled with her mouth, but not with her eyes.

"Oh, great! Because that’s so much healthier!"

"Tony Stark’s looking at you like he wants to rip your suit off with his teeth, and you’ve got that face of someone who’s seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have."

"Maybe you really have." She said it while looking at Agatha in a strange way that made her frown, but Lilia ignored it, of course.

"You know he’s not gonna stop, right? Stark. He’s convinced you’re either his next trophy."

"I don’t want him."

She was tired of saying this a hundred times to everyone who asked.

God…

She despised him.

"I’m not saying you do. I’m just saying… three years, Agatha. You haven’t let anyone near you since Thanos died. Maybe it’s time."

"For what?"

"To fuck, for fuck’s sake." Lilia took a dramatic sip of wine. "Even if it’s charity for your own body. With Tony or any other idiot."

The nausea hit before Agatha could even form a response. Her stomach twisted, literally.

She tried to breathe, but the memory was already there.

Thanos.

The empty nights.

His weight on her.

Too-hot skin, thick sweat, the sharp smell of booze and some cologne that was always too strong.

The way he touched her like he was performing a ritual. With no affection, no care. Like she was just a body next to the bed and nothing more.

For years, she thought the problem was her.

Cold. Hard. Impossible to love.

But now… now she knew it wasn’t that. Because tonight, with you—the girl she swore to keep at arm’s length—something different happened.

She remembered the sound of your breath near her ear, the way your body fit against hers with hunger and tenderness all at once.

The way she dominated you without you even needing to ask. No. Agatha did it because she wanted to. Because your little face was too pretty to not be marked by her.

Your surrender.

The way you called her mommy, voice trembling and submissive and how it set off something inside her she didn’t even know existed.

She felt more with you than in twenty-five years of marriage to a man she never loved.

And worse: now that she knew what it was like to be touched with real desire, there was no pretending anything else would do.

"You’re quiet," she noted. "Which for you is basically a confession." She raised her brows. "Is there someone, candidate?"

God… Agatha had forgotten how annoying Lilia could be.

She swallowed hard, trying to hide her expression.

Agatha rolled her eyes and exhaled, giving up.

"You’re drunk."

Lilia was still watching, of course she was.

"And you look completely fucked," Lilia shot back, grinning with wicked glee. "I know you can’t even picture Stark touching you." She admitted it in a tipsy mess, but it was sincere.

Agatha didn’t reply, she didn’t need to.

Silence was Agatha Harkness’s loudest confession.

Lilia leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Whoever it is… the one who left you like this. With that face like something finally cracked…" she raised her glass. "I hope they’ve got a pretty name and a real address."

Agatha turned her face away, but a name was there.

Pounding inside her.

Yours.

[…]

The doorknob turned with a soft click.

Agatha entered the room in silence, slipping off her shoes with the automatic care of someone who’d done this a hundred times in hotels that never felt like home.

The room still smelled like perfume and freshly used sheets.

Your perfume.

The one she bought for you.

So you’d smell the way she wanted, like an extension of her taste, her desire.

The soft light from the corner lamp barely traced your form, lying on your side, one leg uncovered, your hair in a wild mess over her pillow.

"Look at you," she murmured, voice rough, tinged with alcohol and something darker. "Sleeping like a saint, while I…"

You slept like you had no demons to face, like you hadn’t turned someone’s night into an emotional earthquake.

Agatha closed the door with a gentle push and leaned her back against it for a moment.

She didn’t finish.

Her eyes drifted up, taking you in with a venomous mix of frustration and envy.

How could you do it? How could you mess everything up and then sleep like this? Like guilt didn’t cling to your bones?

"You don’t feel the weight of anything, do you?" She said, slowly walking toward the bed. She took off her blazer, tossed it onto the chair, getting naked in front of you again. "Must be nice, living like that. No conscience. No scars."

She stopped beside you. Watched. Your face was peaceful, and soft.

Long lashes rested on warm skin, and your slightly open mouth held an indecent flush.

Agatha sighed, feeling the anger melt, as it always did when she got too close to you.

She knelt by the bed. Her fingers hesitating, reaching forward to touch your hair with almost reverent gentleness.

"You’re a problem," she whispered, more to herself than to you. "But… fuck, what a beautiful problem."

She stroked a loose strand.

Then another.

It took her a while to get up, to decide it was enough. Without making a sound, she circled the bed and lay down beside you.

The mattress gave under her, her body sinking into the warm softness of the sheets still carrying the scent of the two of you.

She didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

But she lay there, eyes open to the ceiling, feeling the weight of every choice from the night burn against her skin.

Your scent on the pillow.

Your warmth beside her.

Your old whisper still echoing in the back of her mind:

'Mommy'

Agatha closed her eyes, finally surrendering and slept.

~*~

Hmmm... What about you guys creating theories already? I mean, If I were you, I would...

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @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 @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff

[claramelooo]

Hi, mother! I rarely send anon msgs but, can we please get a tiny tiny preview for the next chapter? : (

Hey, love! I'm feeling very honored to receive a ask of yours!

Chapter 10 will be narrated by Agatha's narrator, so you will see her version of the facts. I hope it is up 💜

I'm still revising it, so, it may be adepts at little changes

[claramelooo]

Hi, dear author! I know this is too random but do you read webtoons? If not, can you check this out? "Lipstick Devil" by rinucomics

Hi, love! Hope you are good!

AND YES!!! OMG!! I really love to read mangas, manhwas and manhuas!! All GL obviously! I read Lipstick Devil and found it genial!! I'm a fan!

By the way, if you have any to recommend me, I am accepting! Mommy is lacking lesbian content 🫠

[claramelooo]

You outdid yourself with chapter 9. I was speechless. Well worth the wait. Now I just have to see how patient I can be for next Thursday… literally on my knees waiting for the next one

Love always,

V

THANK YOUUU SO MUCH, V!!

It's a little hard to build a narrative with Agatha being so stubborn at times. Trust me when I say this was just the beginning.

By the way, I did wonderfully well on my test today and you guys are the ones who get the reward! Are you ready to receive 3 chapters in one week??? 😋💞

I wait you there!!

Luv you, little moths 💜🌎✨