claramelooo

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (20/20)

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

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

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

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

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

Fate

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

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

But it was a different kind of pain.

A good pain. A living memory.

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

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

As you moved your hands, you felt it.

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

And you smiled back.

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

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

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

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

Even in the bad weeks.

Even in the heaviest silences.

This scene never changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when your Mama noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

And disappeared.

Your eyes widened.

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

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

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

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

Vanity of vanities, Rio.

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

This was real.

They were here.

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

Rio arched a brow, pretending to be offended.

“Oh. I’m the vain one, Agatha?”

“If the shoe fits…”

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

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

It was all so… familiar.

So yours.

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

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

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

But a real one.

Loose. Warm. So honest it trembled.

Rio looked at you and raised a playful eyebrow.

“Falling in love, are we?”

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

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

And then…

Something sparked in your eyes.

“What happened to Wanda?”

The silence spread slowly, like smoke.

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

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

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

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

“That means…”

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

“That means her fate is in your hands.”

Your chest tightened. Your mind spun.

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

But knowing this… Knowing you could.

Knowing you had that power.

That control.

It lit a spark.

Something dangerous. Warm. Almost… sweet.

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

“Do you feel it?”

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

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

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

“Of being chosen.”

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

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

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

A quiet preparation for this moment.

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

That’s when Rio approached from behind.

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

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

The touch wasn’t possessive. It was protective.

A physical reminder that you weren’t alone.

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

You closed your eyes.

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

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

You felt anger. So much anger toward Wanda.

For everything she did and took.

For making you feel small. Insignificant. Replaceable.

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

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

A deeper desire. A more dangerous one.

The desire to stay. To remain. To belong.

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

You were fury and mercy.

You were the poison and the cure.

The punishment and the miracle.

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

[...]

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

It was a good routine to have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was poetry in the hiding.

Freedom in what didn’t need to be explained.

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

The student. The friend. The survivor.

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

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

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

She nodded in understanding.

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

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

Knowing what had happened.

Knowing who you had become.

The presentation room was packed.

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

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

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

She didn’t smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smaller on the inside.

Shrunk by guilt, maybe. Or regret.

You heard her calling your name softly.

Once.

Again.

And again.

At first, you ignored her.

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

But she kept going.

And you turned.

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

A look you’d never shown her before.

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

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

“Girls,” she called.

Your eyes turned to her.

“It’s your turn.”

You took a deep breath.

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

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

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

At least on paper.

You didn’t look at her.

You didn’t have to.

This story was yours now.

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

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

And began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

You stopped.

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

And what are you made of?

The question slithered inside you like an ancient serpent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your skin prickled. But your body stood firm.

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

But inside you, a temple was being built.

You inhaled.

Lifted your eyes.

And your voice, low and fatal, rang out:

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

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

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

The final slide appeared.

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

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

You fell silent.

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

Lilia sat like a sphinx.

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

"You’re actually good. Truly impressive."

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

She was strict. Surgical.

She didn’t praise out of politeness.

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

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

But then the bell rang, shattering the spell.

The students began to disperse like leaves in the wind.

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

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

The work was done.

And now you could go home.

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

You took a deep breath.

Finally.

The peace that comes after giving your all.

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

A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

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

You turned on your heels, eyes cold.

Oh. My. God.

How dare she?

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

Ouch.

You knew that stung.

But well… it stung you too.

The betrayal, the lies and the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Billy.

You remembered his eyes.

Dark. Deep. Haunted.

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

And now you could see what he saw.

That son of a bitch.

What did he have to do with her?

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

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

And it was true.

You were alive.

More aware.

Stronger.

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

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

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

You looked away.

Not out of weakness.

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

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

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

You stared at her in silence.

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

You said it with confidence — and it was true.

But inside, you were shattered.

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

Deal with it.

You turned your back and disappeared into the crowd.

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until a familiar voice came from behind the couch:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little puffball.

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

What…?

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

Your eyes widened.

“What the fuck is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

They laughed at your enthusiasm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s an important night!”

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

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

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

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

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

There were so many. All colors.

And you decided to tease her a little.

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

“Or what about neon—?”

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

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

“I got you.”

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

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

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

It was dramatic.

It was perfect.

Pure red carpet.

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

[...]

You were sweating inside the car.

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

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

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

"Honey, breathe."

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

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

"You look stunning."

A brief kiss, warm like melting wax.

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

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

But the door opened.

And the world exploded in light.

You stepped out alone.

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

They didn’t know your name.

Much less who you were.

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

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

"Hey!"

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

You turn—and there she is.

Beautiful.

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

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

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

Yelena laughs.

"Oh, stop. But thank you."

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

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

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

You swallow hard.

You know why that happens.

Now you know it’s what a Source is.

Pure, eccentric energy.

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

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

"Yelena."

You both turn at the same time.

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

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

Her voice doesn’t rise. But it demands.

Her gaze briefly sweeps over you. Assessing. Cutting.

Then returns to Yelena.

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

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

You can’t help it.

You look back at Yelena.

Then toward where the woman disappeared.

Then back at Yelena with raised eyebrows.

And venture:

"Girlfriend?"

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

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

"Oh." You blink. "Wow."

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

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

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

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

You widen your eyes.

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

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

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

Not when your mommies stepped onto the red carpet.

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

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

And right beside her came Rio.

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

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

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

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

It was pure exhilaration.

And you knew.

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

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

Your entire body tingled.

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

Or drop to your knees right there.

The cameras went wild.

Flashes exploded like fireworks.

But you didn’t see any of that.

You only saw them.

Agatha turned her head slightly.

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

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

The most beautiful sound in the world.

You felt your legs weaken.

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

"Fuck..." you whispered without realizing.

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

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

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

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

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

Because, in that moment, you knew:

You belonged to those women.

Forever.

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

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

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

You needed to splash your face and calm down.

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

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

1.

2.

3.

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

Wanda.

Shit.

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

Fuck this.

“I chose it.”

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

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

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

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

You forced your eyes not to waver.

This was Wanda.

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

“I don’t think. I know.”

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

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

The taunt stung. Burned.

But instead of flinching, you smiled.

Slow.

Almost cruel.

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

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

Wanda stopped inches from you.

The air vibrated between you.

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

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

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

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

But you were no longer an open book.

She leaned in, her face close to yours.

Her breath brushed your lips.

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

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

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

Silence fell like thunder.

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

Something she swallowed dryly.

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

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

But you felt it.

Felt her gaze burning into your back.

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

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

You leaned between them, exhausted.

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

But it was more than fatigue.

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

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

“You were perfect,” the older woman murmured.

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

You didn’t reply. Just closed your eyes.

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

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

There.

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

“Oh yes, darling.”

In an impulse you lifted your torso off the bench.

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

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

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

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

But when you crossed the threshold, you froze.

There, facing the bed, stood a mirror.

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

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

In its reflection, you saw something strange.

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

But their reflections weren’t exact.

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

And it came… from you.

You looked at your hands. Nothing there.

But in the mirror, you glowed.

A soft click sounded behind you. The door closing.

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

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

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

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

Agatha took your hand.

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

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

And as they spoke… you felt it.

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

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

Now, binding all three of you.

Agatha pressed her lips to your temple.

“The bond is sealed.”

You shuddered.

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

And then… something snapped.

Something inside you that was still human.

Something that bled.

That feared.

Something that no longer existed.

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

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

You looked into the mirror one last time.

And you saw it.

Your eyes were no longer the same.

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

Something utterly terrifying to human eyes.

But perfect in their world.

You had become immortal.

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

Where some see fear, others find peace.

And where others give up… you stayed.

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

And that’s the beauty of living.

There were no fireworks.

No music.

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

You were no longer free.

You never would be again.

Three hearts.

One curse.

And the most beautiful of destinies.

~*~

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

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

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

Tag List <3

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

[claramelooo]

Da hell! Of course she is!! 🫠🥵

thanks to @xactodreams for pointing this parallel out in the tags of my previous post of the i'm in charge gif

[claramelooo]

Oh. I guess I can be poly for 3 Aubreys 👀💚

[claramelooo]

chapter 16 and 17 hand in hand playing bite and blow with me.

starting with chapter 16: ouch! it was a perfect balance of pain and pleasure. throughout the fic we follow reader in a constant process of surrender, but in this chapter it hit hard, there was a lot at stake.

i read the chapter twice and each time something spoke louder in the dynamic. the first time i was completely anxious to know what was going to happen, what agatha and rio were going to do with reader. i was worried and at the same time excited by the moment, adrenaline running high, and that's what drove my reading. the possessiveness, ferocity and reaffirmation of their dominance was something surreal, suffocatingly pleasurable, i'd say.

they'd punished reader before, but it was completely different. the first time, they were worried, disappointed, even furious, but it seemed like they were more upset at having to punish reader than with her herself, you know? it was their job to put things in order. it didn't seem like they were getting any pleasure out of the punishment, or any satisfaction. reader knew what she had done, she knew it was for her own good and that everything would be fine. by chapter 16, they were definitely getting satisfaction out of everything, the submission, the humiliation, the pain and the sex, everything that involved breaking reader into pieces.

they were completely shameless in their actions and words, i knew they had it in them, but when it actually happened... damn! they were merciless, cruel, explosive and it still felt like it wasn't even 10% of what they could be or do (that scares me and cheers me up equally, help?). i wasn't expecting such dirty talk, reducing reader to hole, calling her things like “whore, bitch in heat, dumb, slut”, yelling at her and all that, it seems we've moved on to the next stage! i should have known you weren't kidding when you put that leash on her at the beginning...

a lot has happened between agatha, rio and reader, they're getting closer, more connected and more intimate, so it makes total sense for situations to escalate and for them to be open to more intense relationships. at the same time, an emotional attachment has also been created between them, an affection, caring? reader is their baby, so suddenly she's treated so harshly in the midst of so much fragility, i imagine it's going to mess with her head. and that's what i ended up paying more attention to during my second reading (after coming out of the horny trance). what these hot pies have in beauty, they have in manipulativeness! of course that the best way for them to deal with her precious baby at a time of so much doubt, fear and disillusionment is to fuck and humiliate her until all thoughts disappear along with her dignity and lucidity.

reader's surrender in this chapter was so well constructed for god's sake. she had already gone through the process of trusting strangers she admired, of lowering her shields to let herself be cared for and protected, of telling them about her traumas, of trying to access and connect with them, of creating an emotional/magical dependence on them and then her perfect castle starts to crumble? some strange kids come up to her and tell her that the women who changed her life for the better are really just using her and that she's ready to be discarded at any moment and lose everything again? ah, the punchline, that they're witches, just like her teacher and a famous actress, and that they're part of a centuries-old scheme to suck the vitality out of others. yes, sir, i'm ready to order, i'd like to order therapy 24-7 for the rest of my life BYEEEEEEE

the worst part wasn't even coming back to her reality, but losing things she'd never felt before, that's too painful. so she finds herself in a position of wanting to know the truth, being afraid and at the same time wanting it all to be a lie in order to continue being happy. that's the moment when she accepts that she wants to be happy now without thinking about tomorrow, that she wants to have what she needs, but that she's also driven to it.

the kidnapping? desperate and distressing, but brilliant. reader? fuck, she's living hell on earth, every day a new nightmare, she's been sucked straight out of the cradle of her traumas. wanda? a bold, greedy, unscrupulous and POWERFUL bitch. you'd have to be pretty fucked up to take on the kidnapping of agatha and rio's girl, and i admire her courage. she's a villain, and i feel she's a good one, maybe not the kind you love to hate, but the kind that honors the title, you know? a villain worthy of our witches! even though i want her head, i'm dying to follow this new part of the plot (this story could be infinite btw).

my initial intention was to write an ask for the two chapters, but 16 was too long, i'm so so so sorry! i just have to thank you for such a great story. ❤️‍🩹

many things have been unlocked.

i hope you are doing good. have a great week, my dear!

see ya!

Hey, dreamer!! Are you good, my sweet?

Well, should I pray before or after to read the bible? Lmao

You have a good eye as fuck, honey! They were furious, actually! Like??? "How you dare to listen other people even they are right!???"

They are so manipulative, but that's because it's the only thing they know. that's how they've lived their whole lives and it doesn't make it any less wrong, obviously.

Wanda is powerful, so fucking powerful... But she so emotional that she can't use her power rationally, and it makes her weak. This bitch is so fucking sadistic that she choose the most painful drain method. No sex, no kiss, no love. (Be warned)

But still, she has a flaw, a break point inside of her that if you press it, she will self destruct herself. Be a child in a village and see her mother to be burned in front of her, isn't nice. And then, she was "adopted" by group of witches. She had it now. She can't lose it. Never. She can't be alone again. Never.

For that reason I thought a good idea a spin-off with Wanda. She is too complex to be explained inside of story in which she isn't the mainly character.

Don't say sorry, honey. I'm very bible lover here haha.

Luv you and luv your perspective!!!

See you, honey!

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (19/20)

Heeeey, my beloved readers!! Well, this chapter is so fucking intense... I don't even know how starts to describe that. So, it's better you guys read it hahaha 😂

Enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Warnings: angst, blood, hate sex, anal sex, sex and sex (did I ever said sex?)

Summary: after you wake up you demand explanations, but of course the plan doesn't go as you expected.

Curse

Darkness was the first thing you felt when consciousness returned.

A deep void, like falling endlessly, trapped between reality and oblivion. Wanda’s words still echoed in your mind, blending with the whispers of Alice and Billy.

"You're being used."

The sentence was poison, seeping into your thoughts, corroding every shred of certainty you had.

A source.

That’s what you were, wasn’t it?

Just a source of power, a reservoir of energy to be exploited. That’s what they said. But if that were true, then why were you here? Why were you wrapped in warmth and softness, instead of cold and loneliness?

Your hands gripped the soft sheets beneath you. Sheets? Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding against your ribs.

You were awake.

Alive.

Your eyes opened slowly, and the faint glow of ambient light spilled into your vision. The room around you was familiar—the white walls with dark accents. So elegant, so refined.

Their room.

Shit. You missed this—the unmistakable scent of spices mixed with something floral.

And then, you felt it.

Hands.

Hands gliding gently across your skin, tracing your arm as if to make sure you were still there.

A tender touch, a possessive one.

Your body was cocooned in warmth, protected by presences you knew better than anything else in the world.

"There, there, little one. You're safe now." Agatha’s low, raspy voice brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Her tone was a mix of relief and control, as if she were reclaiming something that should’ve never been taken away.

Rio was on the other side, her touch just as present, running through your hair, along the curves of your face.

"Your mommies are here now, darling." Her whisper was both a promise and a reminder that no matter what anyone said—no matter what you were—you were still theirs.

The warmth around you vanished the moment you pulled away.

Their touch still burned on your skin, but now it was different—it wasn’t comfort. It was a reminder. A reminder that everything you felt, everything you were, had been shaped by them.

Rio's eyes widened as you slipped out of her arms. Her face flickered between surprise and hurt, but Agatha was the first to recover.

"Sweetheart, please—"

"Don't call me that!" Your voice cut through the air like a blade. "Don’t you dare call me that!"Anger bubbled inside you—hot, suffocating.

Your chest heaved, your heart pounding as if trying to break free from your ribs.

The room that once felt safe now seemed claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in on you.

You swayed slightly, dizzy from the sudden movement, but kept your posture stiff.

They were both watching you, waiting, like you were a child throwing a tantrum.

"You lied to me." Your voice was lower now, but so much heavier than shouting. It carried something far worse—disappointment. "You made me believe that I was... that this was real. My feelings... It was all just a spell, wasn't it? A cheap trick to keep me close. That’s all it was, right?"

Agatha opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, carefully choosing her words.

Rio, always the less calculated one, stepped forward. "It’s not like that—"

"No?"

You laughed bitterly, taking a step back."Then explain it to me, Rio."

Her name sounded foreign. It felt wrong to call your Mama that.

"Explain why it feels like I'm dying when I’m not with you! Why I wake up drained after a night’s sleep, like a part of me has been ripped away! Is that just a side effect of this shit?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rio looked away.

Agatha sighed, suddenly looking older than ever.

“Fuck.” Rio muttered under her breath, silently cursing Wanda. "Please, sweetheart… sit down. You’re still weak." The green witch asked gently.

You obeyed—not because you wanted to, but because your body needed to.

"We… we never meant for this to happen—" You let out a sarcastic laugh, your head pounding.

"Oh, of course. Because the plan was to drain me dry until I dropped dead!" You were furious. So angry your teeth clenched tight.

Agatha breathed in deeply, searching for patience. She’d need it. You were her babygirl—she should know how to handle you. But she was shaken too.

Exhausted.

Rio closed her eyes for a moment, like your words had physically hurt her. When she looked back at you, there was a raw honesty in her gaze. Almost helpless.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Rio admitted, her voice tight, her hands wringing together like they were looking for something to hold onto.

"At the beginning… yes. You were a source. Your untouched energy was something we couldn’t ignore. But then, you became—"

"Everything." Agatha finished softly. The weight of exhaustion hung on her shoulders, making every word feel heavier. "So much so that the plan didn’t matter. Power didn’t matter. At some point, you stopped being a means to an end."

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. "And I’m supposed to believe that?"

"I love you."

Just like that.

So sudden, it stole your breath.

So sudden, you took a step back.

Rio’s confession came as a whisper, but it thundered in your mind.

"I love you," she repeated, firmer now. "No matter what they told you. No matter what you think about us... I love you. And so does your Mommy."

Your throat tightened. The temptation to surrender, to close your eyes and let yourself be held again, was nearly unbearable.

But no.

They couldn’t just say those words—those three fucking words you so badly wanted to hear—and expect everything to be forgiven.

You shook your head, eyes falling to the floor in disbelief.

They unbalanced you so easily.

Fuck.

"It’s not that simple," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. "You can’t just show up in armor on a white horse and say that. Not after everything."

Yes. They could.

Your heart beat wildly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Emotion.

Ready to fall.

They loved you. Your mommies. The women who saved you—and held you captive at the same time—from a cruel, hard life.

But you knew you had to resist.

Because it hadn’t been easy for you. None of this.

The one with blue eyes had a shaky breath, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or just exhaustion.

"Then tell us," Agatha spoke, her voice low but steady.

"What do we have to do for you to forgive us?"

You stared at them, eyes sharp.

They were drained, weary, almost pleading.

They weren’t in a position to demand anything.

You took a deep breath, your decision already made.

"On your knees."

The order was clear. Irrefutable.

Agatha kept her gaze fixed on you, as if she could intimidate you, bend you, make you submissive again with her presence alone. But no longer. You were no longer that defenseless girl who clung to them for safety without question.

"What?" Agatha’s incredulous voice came out hoarse, spitting the t, laced with wounded pride.

You tilted your head slightly, looking down at her. "I’m sure your ears still work fine despite your age. On your knees. Both of you."

Rio closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling heavily. She was tired, yes, but you saw something else in her—redemption. A genuine need to be forgiven. To have her little girl back in her arms.

Unlike Agatha, who always needed to be in control, Rio was willing to bow if that’s what it took to bring you back to them.

The artist was the first to give in. Slowly, she slid down to the floor, her eyes locked on yours—dark chocolate, burning with desire and despair. A shiver ran down your spine.

That was the power they had over you.

The same power that kept you captive and enchanted, even now, when you should be hating them.

Agatha, however, hesitated. Her fists clenched at her sides. Small flickers of purple energy vibrated beneath her hands, a reflection of the storm raging inside her. You noticed the faint tremble in her fingers.

She was resisting.

You stepped closer, shrinking the space between you. "What’s the matter, Mommy? Is this too humiliating for you?" Your voice was low, almost teasing. "Because it was for me. When I found out what you did. When I realized I couldn’t live without you, but you could live without me. Without pain. Without despair."

Agatha’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing.

"You used me." Your voice was thick with a mix of rage and need. "You tied my heart to yours, made me dependent on something that was never real. But you? You remain free. You think that’s fair?"

The silence stretched.

Finally, with visible reluctance, Agatha dropped to her knees. You watched every small movement—the way her shoulders tensed, the unevenness of her breath. Seeing Agatha Harkness yield to you was intoxicating.

You crossed your arms, chin raised. "If you want my forgiveness. If you truly want me back. You know what you have to do. Bind your hearts to mine. Feel what I feel. Hurt like I hurt."

Rio swallowed hard, her expression vulnerable. "If we do this... there's no going back. We’ll be bound forever."

"Exactly." You looked down at them, a slow smile creeping onto your lips. "And only then, will I decide if I forgive you or not."

You waited. Watched as Rio looked at Agatha, and something passed silently between them—something you couldn’t quite decipher, but it didn’t matter.

You had already won this battle.

The silence broke with the sound of glinting metal sliding from its sheath.

Rio raised the curved dagger, the ancient blade gleaming in the dim room light.

"Blood for blood," she intoned, her voice echoing like an ancestral chant. The blade whispered across your palm with a wet kiss. You didn’t flinch. The pain was sharp, sweet, necessary.

Her eyes were fixed on you—devoted, lustful, and surrendered. The witch looked ethereal, dressed in shadows and power, her hair slicked to her face with sweat.

So beautiful it hurt.

She didn’t hesitate. Drew the blade across her own palm, a precise, ceremonial cut. Blood spilled in thick, dark red streams, pulsing with raw energy. She bit her lip and moaned softly at the pain.

Or was it pleasure?

Then it was Agatha’s turn. Her pale, elegant fingers gripped the dagger, and the hesitation was palpable. The witch’s pride was her armor—one now shattered.

She sliced her palm firmly. She didn’t moan. She didn’t falter. She simply breathed deeply and let her blood mingle with Rio’s, dripping to the ground, sealing the first phase of the ritual.

You watched from above, your body on high alert, breath trembling, latent power buzzing on your skin like electricity.

Fuck.

Sexy as fuck.

The crimson red contrasted perfectly with their skin. Your mouth watered, and you couldn’t understand why it was affecting you this much.

Rio crawled toward you, her knees sliding across the cold floor. Every movement was soaked in reverence and lust. Her gaze was submissive and hungry, her mouth slightly open, blood still dripping from her hand. When she reached you, she said nothing.

She just looked at you.

Like you were her goddess. Her executioner and her salvation.

You barely noticed when Agatha, still kneeling, took your left hand—the one with the scar from the day you cut yourself with glass on set.

Rio watched, her fingers tracing the scar's outline with devoted tenderness. "Aggie was so greedy that day," she murmured, her voice husky, almost a moan. "Sucking every drop of your blood..."

Her touch on your finger made you shiver. The heat, the power, the desire… it all swirled into a delicious and dangerous storm.

"Now it’s Mama’s turn."

Then she brought your hand to her lips.

And licked.

She licked with hunger, with devotion, like she was devouring you. The blood. The past. The pain. She drank it all in.

"Bound. Forever," Agatha growled, more to herself than to you.

Rio pressed her wounded palm against Agatha’s, then against yours. The blood mixed—hot and alive.

"Three hearts. One curse."

The pain was lightning. You fell backward, your spine colliding with the marble altar as you saw everything:

Agatha, as a child, hiding her tears, trying to be brave as Evanora prepared to burn her alive.

A young Rio, accepting her fate, seeing her own face transformed into Lady Death for the first time.

You, curled inside a closet, listening to screams that never ended. Wishing your mother would come back.

The connection was a volcano. An abyss. A womb.

“Fuck!” you moaned. “What is this?” Your mind was foggy, a mixture of lust and confusion.

Rio smiled wickedly. “That, darling… is what happens when three souls decide to bleed together.”

She was panting, her eyes glassy with power and longing, her hand still pressed to your skin.

Magic vibrated around you—purple, green, black—a sensual mist that tinged the air, made the floor quake, and your skin burn. Every beat of your heart ached… because now, it no longer beat alone.

Agatha approached, her blue eyes wild, almost feral. She pulled your body downward.

And you fell to your knees, now just as surrendered as they were.

"You little plague…” she murmured, voice low and hoarse, full of reverence and restrained fury. “You poisoned us with your own pain. Made us addicted to your care. Who’s the real witch between us?”

“You chose to start this,” you whispered, drawn to them by something primal, still dizzy from the vision of having them both at your feet. “Now finish it.”

Rio slipped her knees between your legs, her bloodstained fingers caressing your bare thigh. “Oh. No. You misunderstood.” The taller one said, her words as soft as a snake ready to strike.

“We’re going to do more than finish you, little one,” she purred, her smile feline. “We’re going to start over. Do it all again.”

Your Mama's fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, a caress heavy with promises.

You gasped, surrendering fully to her touch.

Agatha came from behind, her mouth pressed against your neck, biting in that blend of brutality and softness that only she could master—a possessive gesture that made you moan.

The heat of her body against yours was hypnotic. You could feel her nipples, hard as stone, against your back.

The elder witch’s fingers wrapped firmly around your throat, forcing you to look straight ahead—right into Rio’s hungry eyes.

“Never free again,” Agatha whispered, her voice sounding like a pagan prayer, an ancient spell murmured against your hot skin. “Not you. Not us.”

“Three hearts,” Rio added, and her fingers slid between your legs with a slowness that was almost wicked, as if each second of that surrender had to be carved into you. “One curse.”

You arched, your body igniting like incense on coals—burning, fragrant, unraveling in pleasure.

The room pulsed to the rhythm of something older than desire itself.

The scar on your finger throbbed.

But now, it wasn’t pain.

It was ecstasy.

It was magic.

It was belonging.

It was love.

Three hearts had been sealed. An unbreakable, eternal bond. A fate stitched together with blood and lust. This time, three hearts had bled. Three hearts now bound to one another, tangled in a knot even time wouldn't dare undo.

Rio tightened her grip on the back of your neck, pulling you forward firmly—then held out her cut palm before your eyes.

Blood. Dark red. Thick. Warm.

It shimmered in the ritual light like sacred wine. It dripped, heavy, toward the already stained floor.

Your mouth opened on instinct. You were salivating.

Hungry.

Like a starving dog. Like a worshipper before an offering.

“Do it,” your Mama commanded, her voice hoarse, laced with impure reverence.

And you obeyed.

Your tongue touched the wound with a nearly desperate thirst. The taste was metallic, alive, a silenced scream. You moaned as you swallowed, a muffled and primal sound, like that of a wounded, devoted creature.

Rio watched, chest heaving, eyes locked on you—on how your face transformed as her blood slid down your mouth, dripping from your chin, staining the floor.

What a delicious mess you were.

Agatha pulled you back and turned your face with silent authority. Her eyes burned with a mix of jealousy and pure desire.

She licked the blood from your lips with the precision of someone who knew every taste you carried. And when her tongue invaded your mouth—hungry, possessive—you lost your mind.

Your moan echoed across the altar like a profane prayer—long, trembling, needy.

You began to grind against the carpeted floor, aching for something hard and thick to ride.

Agatha brought her own hand to your mouth, and this time you didn’t need to be guided. You already knew exactly what to do.

Your tongue attacked your Mommy’s palm. The blood just as thick, poisoned by the darkness of impure magic.

You moaned at the taste of sin on your tongue.

“My good girl…” she groaned low, just as needy as you were.

From that moment on, there was no turning back.

No choices. No freedom.

Only them.

Only you.

Three hearts.

One single curse.

Fueled by reckless courage, you pushed Agatha, making her sit back on her heels.

“Get on all fours,” you ordered, your voice deeper than you remembered it could be.

You saw your Mommy’s eyes flare with fury, her jaw clenched—you knew she wouldn’t give in easily. Not yet.

But then, she obeyed.

Her mature body bent forward, proud and vulnerable, like a sacred and profane offering all at once. Her round ass, dressed in luxurious garments, turned perfectly toward you.

Panting with pure anticipation, you positioned behind her, your hands grabbing her waist with the intensity of someone trying to tear out truths.

“Speak,” you demanded, your fingers digging into her skin, your hips pressing firmly into hers. “Tell me how it happened.”

She gasped. Almost moaned. But tried to hold herself together. Agatha knew exactly what you meant. How was the moment they decided to bind you to them. Forever.

“When… you ran away that day on set…” her voice broke. “When… you went after Josh… we snapped. I snapped.”

You smiled at the memory and began caressing the waistband of her clothes, threatening to pull those useless fabrics off her.

You traced the seam of her outfit, making her tremble. “Speak clear, Mommy.”

“We wanted… an excuse,” she confessed, her fingers curling against the floor. “An excuse to hurt you. Just a small cut. Just enough to bind you to us.”

Oh.

There it was.

That small confession that set your chest on fire.

Without patience, you pushed her hips up, yanking down her pants and panties together. And all you could see was your Mommy’s pale, milky skin, begging to be touched by you.

You pulled her closer, your bodies colliding hard. “And what happened then?”

She moaned loudly, losing control for a moment. “Fuck… you were already cut…”

You froze for a second, heart pounding against your chest. “What did you say?”

“When we saw you… that night… your finger…” Agatha turned slightly, eyes glistening. “You were already hurt. It was a sign. That you were meant to be ours. Woven just for us.”

Your heart stopped.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You couldn’t even begin to describe what those words did to you.

It was as if something tore open inside your chest—but instead of pain, there was feverish warmth, something insane, between ecstasy and despair.

You heard those words like an ancient prophecy. Like every time you cried alone in the dark, every scream stifled in your pillow, all those years believing no one would ever choose you—they had all just been the prelude… to this.

To them.

To that damned and magical knot now burning in your flesh.

And the worst part?

You love it.

Your heart beat too fast, way too fast—not from fear, but from twisted pleasure, rooted in the filthiest corner of your soul.

You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or moan.

If you wanted to run… or crawl back to it.

Because if this was a prison… It was the most beautiful, the warmest, the most intoxicating one you’d ever known.

It was love.

It was madness.

And it was the kind of thing you swore you'd never accept. But now you were here, knees on the ground, the taste of blood on your lips and tears in your eyes from sheer fear and emotion, hearing Agatha say you were made for them.

And part of you wanted to scream yes.

Yes, I was.

Yes, you broke me before you even touched me.

Yes, I was born to be yours.

To bleed for you.

To die—and be reborn—by your hands.

It was sick. It was wrong.

And it was everything you ever wanted.

Agatha licked her own fingers, as if reenacting the moment. “I couldn’t resist. I sucked the blood dripping from your fingertip… and the second it touched my tongue…” She gasped, her eyes rolling back. “You became ours. Forever.”

You grabbed her hair and pulled gently, forcing her to look at you. “And Mama?” you provoked. “Did she take part too?���

Rio, who had been silently observing everything, approached from behind like a ravenous shadow.

"I drank what was left on your skin while you slept," she murmured, her fingers sliding over your hip, urging you to invade Agatha's pussy with your fingers.

"We knew it was cruel." Her Mama flicked her tongue along the curve of your ear. "We knew it was selfish. But... we didn’t know it would hurt this much..."

You felt their bodies pressed against you, like a temple set ablaze.

But now, this temple was all yours.

They had marked you. But now, you were the one in control.

You struggled to breathe as your Mama ground against you from behind, the curve of your ass rubbing perfectly against her clit.

Caressing the flesh in front of you, you whispered, "What do you want, Mommy?"

Agatha gripped the plush carpet, her skin prickling under your wandering hand.

"Honey, Mommy needs you... needs your fingers..."

You smiled, slow and wicked, as your fingers traced Agatha’s soaked entrance, feeling how she already pulsed for you.

"My fingers?" you repeated, dragging your fingertips in torturous circles without penetrating her yet. "Just that?"

Agatha bit her lip, her hips twitching against your hand, but you held firm, denying her what she craved most.

"Please," she moaned, the plea rough and broken.

Rio chuckled darkly behind you, her hands gripping your hips hard as she rutted against your back, your ass grinding her clit.

"She’s so wet for you, baby," your Mama purred, teeth grazing your shoulder. "I don’t think she can wait any longer."

You finally relented, sliding two fingers into Agatha in one deep, firm thrust. She screamed, her body arching like a drawn bow, nails clawing the carpet.

"Yes, my good girl..." she panted, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

Rio didn’t waste time. Her hands slid to your waist, holding you steady as she rolled her hips, grinding against you in a filthy rhythm. You could feel her heat, the slickness staining your back, and it only made you hungrier.

"You’re controlling her so well..." Rio murmured, her voice a growl in your ear. "Make her moan louder. Make her beg."

You obeyed, quickening your pace inside Agatha, your fingers curling to hit that spot that made her tremble.

"M-More!" Agatha sobbed, legs shaking. "Honey, please—"

"What else do you want, Mommy?" you teased, adding a third finger, stretching her wider.

"You!" she near-howled, eyes glazed with pleasure-tears. "I need all of you!"

Rio laughed, dark and satisfied, before biting your nape. "She’s so desperate... So yours."

You knew Agatha was close. Her body was taut, her moans louder, rougher. And when you finally pressed just right, she shattered.

Her orgasm hit like lightning, her body seizing violently, fingers tearing at the carpet like it was her only anchor. You didn’t stop, fucking her through it, prolonging every wave until she was whimpering, oversensitive and twitching.

Behind you, Rio was just as lost, rutting against your back frantically, her moans muffled against your skin.

You smirked, triumphant, as Rio finally tipped over the edge, her teeth sinking into your shoulder to stifle her cries.

"Now, mommies need to have fun too, don’t they?" Rio slid her bruised hand between your thighs, squeezing just to feel the slickness there.

She laughed, dark and honeyed, as her fingers plunged into you without mercy. "So dripping for us, my devoted little slut..." She pinched your swollen lips, making you gasp.

Agatha, still lying beside you, rose with that predatory grace only she possessed. Her blue eyes burned with renewed hunger.

"You think you can dominate me, honey?" She raked her nails down your thighs, leaving red marks. "Think you can reduce me to this? A whimpering, begging bitch who’s yours?"

Your heart raced. You tried to answer, but Rio was already moving, straddling your face with that wicked smile.

"No, no. No more talking." She lowered her hips, smothering you with her soaked cunt. "Our turn now."

Her scent flooded your senses—salty, sweet, hers. You opened your mouth instinctively, tongue lapping at her folds as Rio rode your face in slow, torturous rolls.

"That’s it, baby... lick properly. Like a good girl."

Meanwhile, Agatha settled between your legs, her long fingers sliding through your slick with cruel calm.

"You left us so hungry..." She pushed two fingers into you at once, no warning, making your back arch. "Think it’s fair we suffer?"

You moaned against Rio, the sound muffled by her heat. Agatha smirked, picking up her pace, her fingers hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"We want to hear you beg, darling." Rio yanked your hair up just enough for you to gasp. "Do it."

You panted, drooling, lips swollen from effort. "P-Please—"

"Please what?" Agatha crooked her fingers, hitting that spongy spot inside you, making you scream.

"Fuck! D-Don’t— Don’t stop! Please, mommies... use me!"

They exchanged a look above you, satisfied.

"There she is..." Rio slammed back down on your face, faster now, her hips slapping your chin. "Good girl."

Agatha, meanwhile, added a third finger, stretching you until pain bled into pleasure.

You were a sweaty, needy mess.

Their scent, Rio’s weight on your mouth, Agatha’s fingers ruining you—it was too much. Your body shook, muscles clenching, your mind reduced to pure instinct.

"Gonna cum, aren’t you?" Agatha snarled, her fingers now brutal. "Then cum. Cum like the obedient little bitch you are."

Rio locked her thighs around your head, her own moans pitching higher. "Cum with Mama, filthy girl."

And you obeyed.

Your orgasm hit like a hurricane, body seizing violently, your cries muffled by Rio’s cunt as she came too, her release dripping down your face.

Agatha didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging out every second until you were sobbing, overstimulated and twitching.

Finally, they stilled.

Rio slid off your face, collapsing beside you, while Agatha slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her mouth to suck your taste off with a smirk.

"That was... very good." Rio exhaled with a half-sated smile. "But Mama wants more." She knelt on the floor again, crawling over the carpet until she loomed over you.

"Up, pet. On all fours." She patted your thigh three times, positioning you exactly where she wanted. "Mama wants to try something, sweetheart."

Rio shot a wicked grin at her wife, who rose and went to their dresser, pulling out—

A strap.

Black.

Thick.

Massive.

You gasped, your ass instinctively lifting, and Rio cackled.

"So responsive..." She stroked your skin. "Mama wants to claim you every way possible." Her lips brushed your nape with devotion, goosebumps erupting down your spine.

Agatha sits at the edge of the bed, legs spread like a flower. A sharp slap lands on your ass. “Crawl to your Mommy.”

You obey.

Now face-to-face with her swollen, glistening cunt, your tongue slips out instinctively, ravenous for her again.

Rio smacks your ass hard, leaving the flesh quivering. “Look at this bitch already offering her ass without being told,” she laughs, stroking the red mark with her fingers. “Gonna beg for this cock, aren’t you, pet?”

You moan, arching deeper, your body betraying your need. Agatha, seated on the edge of the bed with her thighs spread, slaps them twice.

“Crawl here, slut. Come clean Mommy’s pussy before you take your Mama's cock.”

You obey, dragging yourself across the carpet like a bitch in heat. When you’re close, your tongue darts out automatically, worshiping her swollen lips.

“That’s it, my greedy little whore,” Agatha gasps, fisting your hair and grinding your face into her. “Get that tongue in my ass too, you filthy thing. I want you everywhere.”

Fuck.

The women are relentless.

You feel yourself throbbing, something inside you begging to be consumed.

Taken. Claimed.

As you obey, frantically licking between her lips, Rio positions herself behind you. The sound of a leather harness tightening makes you shiver.

You feel Rio’s fingers trace your rim, sliding one inside slowly, making you clench and swallow her perfectly.

“Shh, that’s it, sweetheart. So good,” Rio praises, stroking your soaked pussy, drawing another moan. She chuckles, the sound like music. “See? When I tease you here, your little ass opens right up. Your whole body’s begging for it.”

Instantly, you grind back, taking two of Rio’s fingers.

“Look at the size of this cock for this needy slut,” Rio taunts, rubbing the thick black strap against your dripping entrance. “Gonna cry when it’s all the way in, huh?”

Agatha yanks your hair, forcing eye contact. Her gaze is glassy with lust. “She loves it, my love. Bet her tight little ass is clenching around nothing… desperate to be stretched, aren’t you, baby?”

All you manage is a broken “Yes” before Rio slams into you, ripping a raw scream from your throat.

��FUCK YES!” Agatha shouts, grinding her clit against your face. “Stuff that tight little ass! Make her feel who’s in charge!”

Rio grips your hips and pounds mercilessly, every thrust bottoming out. “You like that, baby whore? Like being reshaped around my cock?”

Fuck.

Your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Fuck. Fuck. God. Yes! Please—use all my holes!” You scream against Agatha, your tongue still working her automatically as your body is destroyed from behind.

“That’s it, my pet. Suck Mommy’s clit like the good little cunt-slut you are,” Agatha moans, nails digging into your scalp.

Rio picks up the pace, hips slamming into you. “I wanna hear this bitch scream! Scream, slut! Scream who’s fucking you!”

Fuck.

No.

This is too much.

You feel like you’ll die.

The thick cock plunging in and out, splitting you open.

Rio’s rhythm is relentless—every thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes your legs shake. You’re being devoured by them, torn between Agatha’s tongue and Rio’s strap destroying you from behind.

It’s too much.

It’s perfect.

“MAMA! MAMA’S FUCKING ME!” you howl, tears streaming.

Agatha loses her mind, teetering on the edge of a violent climax. “YES, FUCK! STUFF HER LITTLE ASS! BREAK THIS WHORE WIDE OPEN!”

When the orgasm hits her, it’s like an earthquake—her body convulses, but she quickly composes herself and climbs off the bed.

Rio lands a brutal slap on your ass, flesh jiggling. “Enough playing, pet. Get on the bed and spread those legs,” she orders, pulling the black strap free with a wet, filthy sound that makes you whimper.

You obey instantly, crawling to the center of the bed, legs spread, body still trembling. Agatha returns, adjusting a shimmering purple strap around her hips. The contrast is divine—Rio, brutal and domineering; Agatha, elegantly cruel.

“Look at me,” Agatha commands, gripping your chin. “That ass belongs to Mama, but Mommy wants your cunt.”

She rubs the purple strap’s head against your swollen lips, and you don’t hesitate, opening your mouth to lick and suck like a good girl.

“That’s it, my greedy little slut,” Agatha gasps, tangling her fingers in your hair. “Get it nice and wet for Mommy to wreck that tight little pussy.”

Rio, impatient, is already behind you, the black strap dripping with lube and your own slick. “Let’s fill this little witch from both ends,” she snarls, lining the tip at your ass again.

Agatha doesn’t wait.

The moment you release the purple strap from your mouth, she presses its head to your entrance, circling slowly. “Ready to take both, love? Think you can handle it?”

Fuck.

You’re not.

Fuck.

Is this really happening?

Fuck.

All you choke out is a “Yes”—you couldn’t say anything else—before Rio rams the black strap into your ass with a brutal thrust, making you shriek. Agatha doesn’t hold back—once your body adjusts, she drives the purple strap into your pussy, inch by inch, until you’re utterly filled.

“HOLY FUCK!” You roar. God, this is too good!

“FUCK, LOOK AT HER TAKING BOTH!” Rio shouts, gripping your hips hard.

Agatha moans loudly, eyes fluttering shut. “My God, our girl’s so fucking tight,” she whispers, starting a slow, torturous rhythm. “Tell Mommy how good it feels. Tell me.” Her voice is sly, coaxing a needy, drawn-out whine from you.

Your tongue surrenders the space in your mouth, proving what an obedient bitch-in-heat you are.

“Yes, Mommy! Yes! Fuck—so good!” You sob, eyes rolling as both straps hit your sweet spots in sync.

Rio, of course, has no patience for gentleness. She pounds hard and fast, each thrust driving Agatha’s purple strap deeper into your G-spot.

“That’s it, my love! Wreck her ass while I ruin that pretty cunt!” Agatha moans, digging her nails into your thighs. “I want her coming on both of us!”

You’re lost in a storm of sensation—the delicious burn of Rio’s black strap splitting your ass, Agatha’s purple strap grinding your deepest spot, their voices snarling filth in your ears.

“Who owns you, huh?” Rio growls, smacking your ass hard, snapping you back to awareness. “Who’s your queen? Your goddess?” She speeds up.

“YOU!” you scream, clawing the sheets. “You, Mommies!”

Rio yanks your hair back, forcing your head up. Agatha sinks her teeth into your neck with a satisfied growl.

“Oh, Mommies! It hurts! Fuck! It hurts, but it’s so good!” Your mouth runs wild, your brain erased by their dominance.

You’re a dumb slut.

But you’re their dumb slut.

"That's it, our little slut," Agatha gasped, picking up the pace. "Now fucking cum! Cum on your mommies' cocks!"

There was no resisting.

How could you?

All this time, everything you'd done—every act of obedience—had been the spell controlling your mind. But now, more than ever, you wanted to obey.

Not because of the spell.

Because you belonged to them now. And they belonged to you.

Three hearts.

One curse.

Your body erupted in a violent orgasm, your walls clamping down on their straps as if trying to keep them inside you forever. Rio and Agatha didn’t stop, fucking you through your climax until their own moans grew louder, rougher.

Finally, they pulled out at the same time, leaving you to collapse face-first onto the bed, a mess of fluids dripping from your wrecked holes.

You fell back against Agatha’s body as she gathered your limp, exhausted form, cradling your head against her chest.

"Our good girl," she murmured, pulling you into a clumsy kiss. "You have no idea how much Mommy missed you, darling. Mommy loves you so much..."

There it was.

Her confession.

And the smile she gave you was so bright.

So real.

You would never dare doubt those words.

Then Rio wrapped around you as if you were made of glass. The melancholic artist, so cruel just minutes ago, now looked at you like you were the most precious painting she’d ever created.

She brushed the sweat-damp hair from your forehead with fingers still smudged in dried blood and whispered against your skin:

"My little princess."

You closed your eyes. And for the first time... there was no weight.

No exhaustion.

Just warmth.

And the absurd, almost terrifying sensation of being whole.

Rio rocked you gently while Agatha fetched a damp cloth, cleaning between your thighs with extreme care, wiping away the blood, the mess. You whimpered softly—not in pain, but in comfort.

In devotion.

"You were so good," Agatha whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "So strong."

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.

How could you feel like this after everything? After the pain, the madness, the blood?

Whole.

You felt powerful.

And it wasn’t borrowed, like those times you’d faked control.

This time, it was real.

You had surrendered. You had been claimed. And yet, here, with their hands tending to you... you felt like you’d won.

Rio smoothed warm lavender-scented cream over your marked skin, massaging the tender flesh between your thighs where the night’s intensity still pulsed.

"Sore?" she asked, and you shook your head, pouting.

"Mmm... but I liked it."

She grinned, wide and bright, as if you’d just whispered the sweetest secret in the world.

"You're so brave... It's hard to try new things like this for the first time. Fear can get in the way. But you're special, aren't you?"

The smile she gave you was laced with pride, with a love so deep you nearly forgot how to breathe.

Agatha lay beside you, pulling you both into her arms. Her embrace enveloped you completely—a nest, a sanctuary.

"I knew," she murmured. "From the very first day. That you were a special girl. So smart. So creative. You'll have the world." Mommy promises.

You nestled between them, kissing Rio’s shoulder and gripping Agatha’s hand tight.

Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the heat of their bodies, to the mingled scents of magic, damp earth, and lavender.

Rio kissed your forehead. Agatha tangled her fingers with yours. And you, between them, sighed like someone who had finally come home.

There was no more pain. No more doubt.

Just this.

This twisted love.

This eternal spell.

This prison built from the most perfectly perverse materials—desire, fear, madness... and care.

And you accepted it.

Accepted it like swallowing poison knowing it was the only thing that could ever heal you.

Accepted it because this curse... was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

It was the touch that warmed your skin even on the coldest nights.

Their gaze that stripped you bare only to dress you in something better, something stronger, something truer.

The sense of belonging you’d spent your whole life searching for—and only found here, on your knees at their altar, marked in blood and pleasure.

It was wrong.

It was dangerous.

And yet, it was everything.

It was everything you’d ever wanted.

~*~

Well, in their defense, if you hadn't asked for this... you'd have your holes untouched.... Okay, maybe not 😞

Tag List <3

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

[claramelooo]

Ohh. My dreamer. It's not just the walls that you will climb haha 😆

See you ❤️

While I don't want Woven Fates to ever end, I want to know how it will end!!!

Omg!! You're amazing writer!!

I thought so... Woven Fates was my most complete work. With a lot of reference and mysterious, it was not easy, but it worth!

I am revising the chapter 19, putting the finishing touches on. and if I'm drinking wine, you can be sure it's going to be hot... Hahaha 😉

Luv, honey!!

See you tomorrow!

💜💚

[claramelooo]

While I don't want Woven Fates to ever end, I want to know how it will end!!!

Omg!! You're amazing writer!!

I thought so... Woven Fates was my most complete work. With a lot of reference and mysterious, it was not easy, but it worth!

I am revising the chapter 19, putting the finishing touches on. and if I'm drinking wine, you can be sure it's going to be hot... Hahaha 😉

Luv, honey!!

See you tomorrow!

💜💚

[claramelooo]

Well, we should be prepared for both I guess (?) lmao 💕

hey me and my partner saw you from across the bar we want to kill and eat you

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (18/20)

So.... Are you guys ready for it??? Haha 😆

Remember that nothing is black and white! Feelings are complexes and and they don't always need a justification to be felt. okay?

And yes... our series is ending, so please, enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: magic torture, attempt energy drain, fighting and angst. Proceed with caution.

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After finding Wanda's whereabouts, the women fight and Lady Death decides to appear.

Love

The room seemed smaller each day. The walls, once familiar, were now invisible bars keeping you there, isolated, lost in endless, spiraling thoughts.

On the first day, your mind was restless. Wanda’s words hammered in your head, an infinite cycle of uncertainty and confusion. What was true? What was a lie?

You felt anger.

Not just toward them, but toward yourself for not being able to understand, for not knowing what to believe.

The echo of Wanda’s voice still vibrated in your mind. Every word she spoke was an open wound, bleeding doubt into you.

"They made you their little whore."

No, that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. You knew them. You knew their touch, their heated gazes, the way they said your name.

It couldn’t be false.

But… what if it was?

You got up from the bed, pacing around the room like a caged animal. The cold floor beneath your bare feet was the only point of reality you had in that moment. You tried the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Your heart pounded with a mix of desperation and irritation.

You knocked on the door, called for Wanda, demanded answers. But your voice echoed emptily in the room, unanswered.

The silence was the worst part.

Over time, your anger began to dissolve into something more dangerous. Something sticky, dense—madness turning into a poison that seeped through your mind.

"What if it’s true?"

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to hate Wanda. For planting those thoughts in your head. Believing that your mommies were the villains of this story was painful, but it seemed… obvious.

And yet, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Agatha adjusting the collar of your blouse, Rio patting your bottom to lull you to sleep.

If it was a lie, it was the best lie you’d ever lived.

Night came, and the room was dark, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You curled up in bed, hugging your knees, feeling the cold creep into your skin.

You missed them.

And that hurt more than any doubt.

On the second day, anger turned into doubt.

"What if they’re doing all this to protect me?"

The question repeated itself, over and over, an insistent echo inside your chest. You tried to push it away, to throw it aside, but it always came back, crawling through the corners of your mind, taking up space among your already chaotic thoughts.

You wanted to hate them. Wanted to feel only betrayal. Wanted to cling to the simplest version of the story—the one where none of this happened. Where you were still in their mansion in Pacific Palisades, in their garden, in their kitchen, in their bed.

Disappointment dragged you down into the mattress, your stomach twisting with nervous nausea. You just wanted to forget. Forget them. But you couldn’t. Because even in disappointment, you still thought of them.

Still missed them.

The emptiness was a constant reminder. It was in your empty hands, once always intertwined with theirs. In your lips, which no longer knew who to call for. In your chest, which felt too small to contain the longing.

You forced yourself to eat some of the food Wanda had left in the room, but everything tasted bland. The food sat heavy in your stomach, as if your body rejected it. As if their absence had drained not only your will but even your most basic needs.

So, you tried to distract yourself.

Wandering the room, you touched objects, searching for something—anything—that could bring comfort. Your high school photos were still there.

And you smiled, remembering how horrible it was to wear braces, how weird you looked. Your trophies and first-place certificates from competitions and tournaments.

But none of it was enough. No happy memory could replace their warmth.

It wasn’t until nightfall, when the room was once again swallowed by darkness, that you realized what was really happening.

You weren’t just confused.

You were lost without them.

On the third day, you could no longer think.

Your body ached as if something was breaking inside you. Your breathing was weak, your lips chapped, and your skin, both hot and cold, burned like embers.

Something inside you was shattering.

It wasn’t just longing.

It was a deep desperation, an expanding void sucking everything around it. You trembled, an unbearable cold consuming you as your mind fixated on a single thought, a single obsession.

Them.

Their scent, the sound of their voices, the warmth of their touch.

Them.

You no longer knew where you ended and they began. No longer knew who you were without them. And deep down, you started to wonder if you even wanted to know.

Your cracked lips parted weakly, your voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Mommies..."

The plea escaped before you could stop it, almost unconscious. A hopeless call, floating in the empty air.

Then, the door opened.

Wanda rushed in, her gaze scanning the room urgently, her expression carrying the weight of someone who had anticipated trouble. But she wasn’t prepared for what she found.

The tray of food she had left untouched. The scent of sweat and fever in the air.

And you.

Curled up in bed, your eyes open yet unfocused, your breath shallow. Your body looked fragile, thinner, exhausted. You trembled, even beneath the covers. Wanda quickly approached, sitting beside you, her brows furrowed.

"You need to eat," she said, trying to keep patience in her voice.

But as she leaned in closer, as she really looked at you…

Her heart stopped.

She touched your forehead and felt the burning heat of fever. Your pupils were dilated, your lips trembled, and even in your delirium, your mouth kept moving, murmuring something faintly.

Wanda leaned in, trying to understand.

"Mama... mommy..."

That was all you could say.

A shiver ran down Wanda’s spine.

"Hey, look at me," she tried, pressing your cheek between her fingers, but you didn’t even react to her touch.

Your gaze wandered, lost, as if you were somewhere else.

"Wanda..." your voice came out weak, barely a breath. "Will they come back for me?"

The question hit her like a punch.

Wanda clenched her jaw.

"They’re not good for you," she said firmly, almost irritated.

Your eyes welled up, your chest tightening as if those words had truly hurt you. You curled up deeper into the sheets, your fingers clenching into trembling fists.

"But… I don’t know how to exist without them. I can’t—" The confession was a pained whisper.

Wanda remained silent.

She shut her eyes, analyzing you.

Something in the air, something in the very structure of your existence felt off to her.

She pressed two fingers against your wrist. Your pulse was erratic, weak, as if the very thread of your life was unraveling.

Panic began to creep in.

"It’s not possible…" she murmured to herself, her eyes widening in realization.

Her fingers trailed to your chest, where your heart beat faintly, shakily.

Bound.

They had bound your heart.

This wasn’t just any spell.

It was the Erebus Bond.

Wanda held her breath.

An ancient, forbidden spell. An unbreakable tie that intertwined someone’s essence with another’s.

And then, she saw it.

You, pale, fragile, calling for them.

Like before.

Panic flared inside Wanda.

They had done the impossible.

And now… you were paying the price.

[...]

The night in WestView was cold and silent—the kind of silence that precedes a storm.

And the storm came.

The front door exploded inward with a deafening crash, shards of wood flying through the air. Rio entered first, her presence radiating pure violence, her eyes burning with a predatory glow. Her hand still carried the trail of destructive magic she had used to clear the way.

Behind her, Agatha walked in with eerie calm, her heels striking the floor in a rhythmic cadence over the wreckage.

The house smelled of beer, sweat, and the past. A place that was never a home.

Never for you.

A scream echoed from the kitchen. Rushed footsteps. A figure emerged in the hallway.

Your father.

The years had given him wrinkles, but they had not erased the brutality in his eyes. The same brutality you knew. The same that shaped you.

"Who the hell are you?!" he growled, moving toward the dresser near the TV.

Rio tilted her head, a twisted smile on her lips.

"Oh. He grabbed a gun," she murmured to Agatha, almost amused.

The click of the shotgun echoed through the room, his hands steady on the grip, the barrel aimed directly at the two women.

"I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get off my property before I—"

Before he could finish, Rio snapped her fingers.

The gun was ripped from his hands by an invisible force and crushed mid-air as if it were made of paper.

Your father barely had time to react before Rio flung him backward with a single gesture. He flew across the room like a ragdoll, colliding against the wall, knocking down frames and shelves as he crashed to the floor.

One of your brothers appeared at the top of the stairs, alarmed by the noise.

"What the fuck is—?!"

Agatha lazily raised a hand, and he was silenced in an instant. His feet lifted off the ground, his body arching into an impossible position, as if invisible hands were twisting him from the inside out.

"Where is she?" Agatha asked, her voice low, almost a whisper. But laced with steel.

Your father coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he tried to crawl away.

Rio kicked him hard in the chest, pinning him to the floor.

He gasped, spitting more blood. "I... I don’t know what—"

Rio crouched, her fingers dripping with green energy as they grazed his skin.

He screamed.

"Lying," she murmured, tilting her head like a predator analyzing its prey.

Another brother appeared at the doorway, wielding a knife. But before he could take a single step, Agatha closed her hand in the air.

He fell to his knees, eyes wide, his skin beginning to darken.

"Let’s try again," Agatha said, crouching beside your father, her eyes glowing with something cold and cruel. "Where is she?"

Your father coughed again, trying to laugh. "I don’t know who you’re talking about. But she sure as hell isn’t here…"

Agatha sighed, standing up slowly.

She looked at Rio.

"What a shame for you."

Rio smiled.

The house was still trembling with the remnants of magic when Rio finally released your father, letting him collapse onto the floor like a broken doll. He was still breathing—barely.

The green witch snapped her fingers, then your father and brothers were send to another place—to hell, maybe, to pay for everything they did to you.

Agatha took a few steps back, her eyes scanning the room, her brow furrowing in confusion. Something was wrong. Something didn’t fit.

"She was supposed to be here," she murmured.

Rio wiped her hands on her coat, still riding the adrenaline of violence, but Agatha’s tone made her pause.

"What is it?"

"I felt it. You did too. She was here. I could hear…" The witch bit her lip, her eyes closing for a moment. "Her heart… was here."

Rio frowned. Now that Agatha mentioned it…

She had felt it too.

A call, an echo of pain and despair. As if your presence was imprinted on the walls, in the shadows, in the heavy air of the house.

"But that makes no sense," Rio growled. "If she’s not here, how can we feel her so strongly?"

And then the answer came.

Sudden.

Cold.

Agatha gasped, her eyes widening as the truth revealed itself.

Wanda.

Wanda was manipulating their emotions.

Creating a false bond.

"That bitch…" Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with hatred. She looked at Rio, and for the first time that night, there was something in her eyes beyond cruelty.

Panic.

They were wasting time.

Your body was falling apart without them.

"We have to go. Now," Rio declared, already spinning on her heels, fists clenched.

The two exchanged a look.

There was no time to lose.

If they took any longer, you wouldn’t be alive for them to find you.

The streets were swallowed in an unsettling silence. The moon cast distorted shadows through the alleys, and every step Agatha and Rio took echoed through the empty city.

They were desperate, frustrated, and every second lost was a knife plunged deeper into their chests.

Then, Agatha saw you.

The world around her stopped.

You walked down the sidewalk with a woman at your side. The same shape of the eyes, the same curve of the smile.

Your mother.

Your eyes shone as you looked at her, and a soft smile adorned your lips. A smile Agatha knew well. A smile that belonged to her.

You looked… complete.

Her blood boiled.

She didn’t think. She didn’t rationalize. She just acted.

"You bitch!" Her voice cut through the night like a blade, filled with fury and something even more dangerous—jealousy.

The hatred was immediate, intense. A feeling that burned through every inch of her skin. Her heart roared in her chest, her steps turned rapid, wild, as she charged toward the woman at your side.

The same woman who abandoned you and forgot you, while all she did was love you.

How dare you?

How dare she be there, at your side, smiling, when you should be begging for her?

Agatha raised her hand, her magic seething at her fingertips, ready to tear that woman apart until nothing remained—

But a strong arm held her back.

"Agatha, stop!" Rio shouted firmly, using all her strength to keep her in place.

Agatha turned her face in fury, but then she realized.

Something was wrong.

The woman’s gaze.

Empty.

Yours too.

The smile on your lips… wasn’t yours.

Wasn’t real.

A shiver ran down Rio’s spine. Her eyes scanned the street, her heart pounding.

And then she saw it.

Other versions of you.

With your mother.

Walking. Smiling.

Spreading through WestView like a damn plague. Repeating like a damn loop.

Rio felt rage boil inside her. Her fists clenched, and she wanted to kill. She wanted to destroy.

"Wanda…" Agatha spat the name like poison.

It was a game.

An illusion.

A cruel provocation.

"That bitch is toying with us," Rio hissed, spitting on the ground, her eyes burning with fury.

Wanda wanted them like this.

Lost.

Consumed by anger.

But what Wanda didn’t know was that there was no emotion Agatha and Rio didn’t know how to use to their advantage.

"So she thinks she can toy with us? With what’s mine?"

Agatha took a deep breath, her eyes blazing violet, her hands warming with the power gathering there.

The woman was ready.

[...]

Your room was shrouded in crimson shadows. The energy pulsed around you, pressing against your body, invading your mind like sharp claws trying to tear something away—something that couldn't be taken.

You screamed.

It felt like your skin was unraveling in invisible flames. Every nerve burned, every thought was crushed beneath a brutal force.

But even as the torment spread like an overwhelming wave, something inside you remained untouched.

Your heart.

Bound to them.

Wanda’s energy intensified, her eyes glowing with desperation and frustration. She stepped closer, teeth clenched, hands hovering over you, trying to find the exact thread to pull—

But there was no thread.

The bond wasn't something that could be undone. It wasn’t a common curse, a crude tether that could be severed with brute force.

It was something deeper.

Older.

Stronger.

And it didn’t belong to her.

Your body arched as a new wave of pain tore through you, your nails digging into the sheets, your vision blurring, your mind fracturing.

You could feel Wanda inside you, searching, trying to rip out any trace of them. But every attempt only made the bond tighten, made your chest ache harder, made your soul rebel against the intrusion.

“Why?” Wanda murmured, her voice trembling. “Why did they do this?”

You couldn’t answer. You could barely breathe.

“Why can’t I?”

The question echoed through the room, laced with something Wanda would never admit—jealousy.

She, the Scarlet Witch, the most powerful sorceress to ever exist, couldn’t touch what Agatha and Rio had done.

And it consumed her.

Her hands trembled as she pulled back her magic, looking at you with something that teetered on the edge of despair.

You were wrecked. Almost lifeless.

But still, you didn’t belong to her.

And Wanda hated that.

She sat on the antique-textured sofa, the spellbook in her lap as she searched desperately for something—anything—that could break the bond between you.

The room was an exact replica of the house you grew up in, but the air inside was thick, charged with magic.

When Agatha and Rio stepped through the door, their instincts were already on high alert, ready to tear apart anything standing between them and you.

Until they saw their younger sister, her eyes red—not just from the glow of her magic, but from something deeper. Something more human.

Pain.

Rio unsheathed a deadly dagger, moving like a predator about to slit its prey’s throat. But before she could strike, Wanda’s voice cut through the air—raw, devastated:

“Why can’t I touch her?”

The words were spoken with anger, yes. But also with desperation. With a sorrow that made Agatha hesitate for just a fraction of a second.

Wanda stood slowly, her breathing unsteady, her eyes locked onto the two women.

“Why can’t I use her?” Her voice cracked, and then, as if her soul was unraveling, tears fell. “Why?”

Rio gripped the dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Because she’s ours, not yours.” The growl left her lips, thick with fury.

Wanda shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her, her eyes glistening with tears.

“This is all so ridiculous.” She swallowed hard, struggling to keep herself composed. “You cast a spell that even I can’t break. You tied her soul to you. Her heart.”

“You don’t understand.” Agatha folded her arms, her voice cold as steel. “You never could.”

“Then make me understand!” Wanda exploded, stepping forward. Her magic crackled, red and alive, as if every cell in her body was on the verge of implosion. “Tell me, Agatha, Rio. What is this?”

Agatha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her disheveled hair, while Rio still trembled beside her. Whatever was boiling inside her was about to spill over.

“This is belonging,” Agatha said, her voice low, firm, cutting.

For a moment, Rio said nothing. Her fingers loosened around the dagger, her breathing turning uneven. Then, as if every wall inside her collapsed at once, her voice came out in a raw, trembling whisper:

“This is love.”

The confession hung in the air like an irreversible spell.

Rio’s green magic dissipated around her, yielding to the weight of the truth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes shining with something Wanda had never seen in her before—vulnerability.

Wanda laughed again, but it was a broken sound. She ran a hand over her face, as if trying to peel this reality off her skin.

“Love? You think this is love?” Her tone was a mix of disbelief and agony.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, cold as ice.

“You’ll never understand because you’ve never loved anyone but yourself.” The words struck like a dagger—precise and cruel.

Wanda’s face twisted as if she’d been punched. The air seemed to leave her lungs. Her own name, her own history, weighed on her like invisible chains.

She closed her eyes, her voice coming out in a shattered whisper:

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“My family,” Wanda murmured, and the pain bled through her voice like an open wound.

Agatha took a deep breath, closing her eyes. And she saw her—

That young redheaded girl, green eyes trembling with tears and fear. That little child who was too young to understand what she was and how to deal with it.

Agatha had always been there. Helping Wanda tame her demons.

Perhaps she could even risk saying she knew Wanda better than anyone.

“This twisted shit isn’t love, Wanda!”

The silence stretched across the room like a thread about to snap.

Wanda stared at the two women in front of her, her breathing unsteady, tears streaming down her face.

And then, something inside her seemed to crack.

“Oh. And do you know what that is? Binding a poor girl’s heart? Keeping her for yourselves. Shutting me out.”

The word lingered in the air like an unspoken curse.

Rio scoffed, but the sound was tense, filled with something even she didn’t want to name.

“Grow up, Wanda! You’re not a fucking child!”

The Scarlet Witch trembled, her power flickering around her. She felt the weight of those words, felt the weight of the truth she refused to accept.

Because deep down, she knew.

She had always been alone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Wanda trembled, her eyes red and swollen, her power still crackling in the air but aimless. She didn’t know what to do anymore.

“You talk as if you know what loneliness is. But you have each other. You always have. And now, you have her.” Her voice broke when she mentioned you. “And me? What do I have?”

Rio clenched her teeth, feeling her head throb with what she considered nothing more than Wanda’s tantrum.

“Fuck you. This isn’t about you.”

But Wanda stepped forward, her anger flaring once more.

“Isn’t it? Then why do I feel like this? Why does it hurt? I did everything right! I did everything I was supposed to! And yet… I’m still alone!”

Agatha rolled her eyes, crossing her arms impatiently.

“She isn’t a prize to be won, Wanda.”

"No?" The redhead laughed, bitter. "But she can be an object? A toy, ready to be controlled by you, right?"

The words fell between them like a sharp knife. The air in the room grew heavier, as if the world had held its breath.

Agatha remained still, her eyes widening for a brief moment before turning as cold as ice.

Rio, on the other hand, reacted instantly.

"Shut. Up."

But Wanda didn’t stop.

She never did.

She had always had strong opinions, ready to be spoken no matter who they hurt.

"What’s wrong? Don’t want to debate how cruel I am now? Don’t want to talk about how I’m evil, controlling, when that’s all you ever do?!"

Rio stepped forward, grabbing Wanda’s pale throat, fury seeping through her amber eyes.

"You know what? I’m done playing the big sister. Now. You’re going to pay."

Wanda, her eyes glowing scarlet, remained rigid, fists clenched at her sides. On the other side, Agatha and Rio stared her down like predators guarding what was theirs.

"Do you really want to do this?" Wanda broke the silence, her voice laden with exhaustion and something deeper. Something wounded.

Agatha tilted her head, blue eyes glinting with an icy shine.

"Honey… this was never a choice."

A crackle in the air.

Wanda didn’t have time to react before a purple blast struck her chest, hurling her backward. Her body crashed into the wall, cracking the plaster around her.

She groaned but had no time to catch her breath before strands of green energy coiled around her wrists and ankles.

Rio.

The artist—or the green witch—walked toward her, eyes burning like blazing amber stones. Her hands were raised, wrists rotating in elegant circles as the magic tightened around Wanda’s body, pulling her to the floor.

"You never knew what it was like not to be in the spotlight, did you?" Rio whispered, her voice heavy with old resentment. "You always had to be the favorite, the special one, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff. And now... now you finally know what it’s like to be cast aside."

Wanda gritted her teeth, her eyes burning crimson.

With a scream of fury, a surge of energy shattered the green bindings, dissipating Rio’s spell.

Wanda lunged forward, her scarlet aura pulsing like a furious heart. With a flick of her hand, Agatha’s purple magic began to unravel, sucked into the crimson sphere vibrating between the Scarlet Witch’s fingers.

Agatha felt the drain, her bones growing heavy as if her very essence was being torn away. She gritted her teeth, raising her hands to weave ancient symbols in the air, trying to seal the energy Wanda was pulling—but it was like trying to contain an ocean with her hands.

Rio didn’t hesitate. Moving in a blur of green, she wove ethereal chains around the redhead, attempting to trap her inside a circle of runes—a spell designed to contain cosmic forces.

But Wanda already knew this trick.

With a mere blink, she shattered the magical prison in a wave of pure chaos, the symbols dissolving like broken glass.

The force sent the brunette witch crashing into the wall, the concrete cracking from the impact.

Agatha seized the distraction to strike.

Her fingers moved swiftly, shaping violet formulas in the air. A blast of energy shot toward Wanda, but the redhead dodged at the last second, throwing herself to the side and launching a sphere of chaos at her mentor.

Purple and red clashed, creating an unstable dimensional vortex. The air crackled, the ground trembled, as if the very universe hesitated before such a battle of primordial forces.

But Wanda didn’t stop. She was hungry. She was absorbing Agatha, consuming her magic, growing stronger with each passing second.

Rio, still recovering, watched it all with weary eyes. Wanda was stronger. There was no denying it. If things continued like this, Agatha would fall.

She couldn’t lose her.

And they couldn’t lose you.

Closing her eyes, Rio abandoned resistance.

She let the shadow in.

Her body went rigid. An inhuman heat coursed through her veins.

And then, green gave way to absolute black.

The room seemed to darken. The atmosphere grew heavy, suffocating, as if space itself was folding around Rio.

Her eyes opened—but they were no longer hers.

They were endless abysses, black voids that devoured any trace of humanity. Her jaw had turned entirely to bone. Small horns sprouted from the top of her head.

The laughter came low, almost tender. A funeral melody, sharp and cruel.

Wanda hesitated. Something inside her screamed to stop.

"Wanda Maximoff," the voice of death was calm and serene. "We met so soon, didn’t we?"

Terror crawled up Wanda’s spine, something primal inside her screaming to run.

She had faced cosmic entities, manipulated the laws of reality…

But this?

This was different.

The figure before her was not just Rio. Not just a witch.

It was something older, hungrier, more inevitable.

Lady Death raised a hand, and the snap of her fingers echoed like the last breath escaping condemned lips.

"You had so much left to live for… What a pity."

It was a whisper drenched in delight, as if death savored every moment of her dance with the living.

The world around Wanda shrank. The red wavered.

For the first time in a long time, her own power felt small.

She tried to fight back. Scarlet flames flared in her hands, but Lady Death’s darkness coiled around them like venom, draining their heat, their chaos, her very existence.

The pain was cold as a blade.

Wanda gasped, staggering back.

She felt like she was dissolving. Like she was being erased from reality itself.

The air felt nonexistent. She struggled to breathe. To fight for her life.

Agatha, who had been watching with fascination and a latent care, felt her stomach turn.

She knew this version of Rio.

In the past, the woman had wiped out an entire village just because Agatha had discovered her true essence.

Lady Death feared Agatha would abandon her. But how could she? If the woman in front of her was the most beautifully dark.

Agatha knew.

Lady Death didn’t negotiate.

Had no mercy.

Obeyed no one.

She was sovereign over being and non-being.

And now, her gaze was fixed on Wanda.

"Darling," Lady Death murmured, raising a hand in an almost affectionate gesture. "You can’t cheat death."

The smile that followed was a hollow promise of compassion.

"Shh, just let go."

Wanda gasped, her body already beginning to dematerialize.

But then—

A spell cut through the air.

Ancient runes glowed gold, spreading like chains around Lady Death.

Lilia’s presence filled the room.

"Stop."

Lady Death’s eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and amusement. She turned slowly, as if assessing the intruder.

"How dare you?"

Her voice was pure condemnation—the fury of something that should never be defied.

But Lilia didn’t back down.

She simply took a deep breath and pointed directly at Agatha, as if to say, "handle this."

And Agatha, with a sudden tightness in her chest, knew it was now or never.

Dealing with her wife in this form was like walking on eggshells—as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Lady Death remained motionless, darkness pulsating around her—a ravenous vortex ready to consume Wanda whole.

But Agatha ignored it all.

She ignored Lilia, ignored Wanda gasping for air, ignored even the crushing weight of death that enveloped the room.

All she saw was Rio.

The woman who had bewitched her long before any magic.

The woman with whom she shared eternity.

The woman who needed her now more than ever.

With delicate care, Agatha stepped forward. Her movements were slow, measured. She could feel the tension thrumming through the entity before her, feel the raw power that made Lady Death something beyond mortal comprehension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because beneath that mask of bone, beneath those abyssal eyes and that suffocating presence—she was still Rio.

Her Rio.

The witch lifted her hands, unhesitant, and touched that inhuman face with a reverence that ached.

Her fingers brushed against the chill of death.

And she did not recoil.

“You need to come back to me, my love.”

Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk, a whisper slipping through the veil between realities.

She felt it when Lady Death tensed, sensed the exact moment the sovereign creature hesitated.

But she did not stop.

Agatha’s fingers glided tenderly over ossified skin, her gaze locked onto the bottomless voids that sought to devour everything around them.

The woman who terrified and fascinated her all at once.

“For me...” she repeated, her voice turning into a hoarse murmur.

And then, the final blow:

“For our little girl.”

The darkness wavered.

The hollow eyes flickered, as if something within them trembled between the present and a distant time.

The chaos around them shuddered.

Death hesitated.

Because there, at the heart of eternal night, on the threshold between destruction and return, there was something stronger than any power Lady Death could wield.

There was love.

There was the memory of sleepless nights whispering magical rites at the bedside.

There was the touch of tiny hands clutching their fingers—trusting, demanding.

There was the sound of her laughter, echoing like music in the depths of Rio’s mind.

And Lady Death, so absolute, so unyielding, faltered before it.

The bony jaw quivered.

The sharp fingers, which held Wanda’s fate in their grasp, trembled.

The shadow of a name formed at the edge of her consciousness.

Your name.

And then, like the tide retreating, the pitch-black abyss began to unravel.

First, the shadows around them.

Then, the eyes.

Brown.

Rio’s deep chocolate eyes shimmered back to life beneath the darkness, like a reborn constellation.

Her body swayed, magic dissipating in silent spirals.

And then, with a trembling gasp, Rio collapsed into Agatha’s arms.

Agatha held her close, heart pounding, her forehead pressed against Rio’s, as if anchoring her there. As if ensuring she would never lose Rio to herself again.

Behind them, Wanda panted, her lungs ablaze as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes still glowed scarlet, but the spark of her usual confidence dimmed with every passing second.

Her hands trembled as they instinctively went to her neck, massaging the skin as if she could erase the sensation of Rio’s fingers—or rather, Lady Death’s—squeezing, crushing, consuming.

She swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood.

Then, a voice shattered the moment.

“Argh. For God’s sake. Go get the girl already.”

Lilia.

Her lazy drawl cut through the air like a whip crack.

Agatha blinked, the abrupt return to reality fogging her thoughts for a moment. She still held Rio against her chest, feeling her breath—warm and shaky—against her collarbone.

The familiar scent of her skin was still there, hidden beneath the aura of death. The weight of her body was still real, still human.

The world settled back into focus.

And there was Lilia, watching it all with a bored expression before rolling her eyes and throwing herself onto the couch with irritating elegance.

“And what are you doing here?” Agatha finally managed to ask, her voice still raspy from the energy drain Wanda had inflicted on her.

“Helping, obviously,” Lilia retorted with a smirk.

“You could’ve arrived a little earlier, don’t you think?” Harkness shot her a cynical smile.

Lilia shrugged, irreverence dripping from every movement. “I like to make an entrance.”

Agatha huffed, too exhausted to argue, but before she could respond, a movement caught her attention.

Wanda, still wrestling with her wounded pride, forced herself to stand. Her body protested the effort, her muscles screaming as if each fiber were being torn from the inside out.

But nothing hurt more than the humiliation.

They had won.

They had shattered her illusion.

The redhead clenched her fists, grasping at the remnants of her conviction.

“You can’t!” she burst out, frustration and desperation lacing her voice. “She must be used as a sacrifice!”

The word hung bitter in the air.

Sacrifice.

As if it were simple. As if it were inevitable.

Rio, still trying to reorient herself after being consumed by Lady Death, lifted her gaze to the youngest.

What she saw made her falter.

Wanda didn’t look like a vengeful goddess, nor even a formidable enemy.

She looked like...

A child.

A lost child, desperate to cling to something that made her feel less alone.

A shadow of a tear shimmered in her green eyes. Wanda shook her head, fiercely, denying it even to herself.

“We’re supposed to stay together. No one can come between us. We are family,” she insisted, but her voice wavered on the last word.

She tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes.

Lilia exhaled slowly, as if trying to dispel the weight of something that had long since settled in her chest. Her eyes—normally filled with irony and indifferent charm—were dull, tired.

“Wanda.” Her voice was firm but not cruel. “You need to understand that we are different people, okay? We disagree with you. We can all be happy, the four of us, and still have separate lives. And you should be happy about that.”

Wanda blinked, as if struggling to process the words. Her gaze darted between them, searching for something—anything—to prove that it wasn’t true.

“But I am!” she cried, urgency spilling from her voice. “I swear! I would never truly hurt any of you. You know that, don’t you?”

There was something painful about the way she sought their validation.

Her face was paler than usual, her green eyes wide, her breathing shallow.

She looked desperate.

Afraid.

Like a little girl who, after letting go of her mother’s hand in a crowd, suddenly realized she might never find her again.

Lilia bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze flickering away for a moment.

She looked thoughtful.

The silence between them grew heavy, thick. The air felt warmer, suffocating, as if something unseen were pressing against their lungs.

Then, at last, Agatha broke the silence.

“Sometimes, you hurt us... indirectly.”

The older witch didn’t raise her voice, but each syllable cut Wanda like a blade.

Wanda blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Agatha hesitated for a brief moment. Her gaze softened, but there was an underlying firmness in her posture.

“Wanda... What you did to Améli—”

“Agatha, don’t you dare!”

Lilia interrupted abruptly, her voice laced with something she rarely let slip: vulnerability.

Agatha looked at her, her own expression weighed down by an old ache.

But Wanda didn’t want silence.

She wanted answers.

Her eyes burned with fury, and a surge of scarlet energy crackled around her fingers.

"No. Speak! Tell me!" Her voice trembled. "I want to know why you think I’m a monster who hurts you when all I’ve done is protect us!"

Silence.

Then, Lilia murmured.

"Amélie."

The name was spoken with a weight that Wanda didn’t immediately understand.

But Lilia did.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if the name itself were a physical blow.

"She was mine," Lilia continued, her voice thick with longing and pain. "And you took her from me."

Wanda’s stomach twisted.

Her heart, which had been pounding until then, gave a strange thud inside her chest.

Suddenly, breathing seemed difficult.

Wanda looked up at the ceiling, trying to connect the name to a person.

Oh.

"The nun?" she asked, a mixture of disgust and confusion in her voice.

She remembered the girl and her robes. She remembered how devoted she was to the place that stood against everything they were. So when she saw Lilia interested, she thought it was for something greater.

For a bigger plan.

But no.

Lilia loved her.

A nun.

A love forbidden in infinite ways.

Lilia blinked slowly, her eyes shining with something Wanda didn’t immediately recognize.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fury.

It was pain.

Raw, throbbing, suffocating pain.

The silence that followed was worse than any outburst of screams.

Then, Lilia laughed.

Not a laugh of mockery, nor one of irritation.

It was the sound of something breaking.

Of a heart that had been shattered so many times it no longer knew how to stay whole.

She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

"Is that how you saw her?" Lilia continued, her breath becoming uneven. "As a symbol of something you despised? As an enemy that needed to be eradicated?"

She took a step forward, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Because to me, Wanda," her voice cracked, but Lilia didn’t stop. "To me, she was everything."

Wanda blinked, feeling something bitter rise in her throat.

She wanted to respond.

Wanted to defend herself.

But she couldn’t.

Because, for the first time, she really looked at Lilia.

At the way her body trembled, at the way her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back something on the verge of spilling over.

And then, as if she couldn’t hold it back any longer, Lilia broke down.

Thick tears streamed down her face, and she ignored them completely.

"You killed her," Lilia whispered, her voice heavy with the weight of resentment. "You took her from me without hesitation. Without even wondering what she meant to me."

The air in the room grew dense, oppressive.

Lilia took a deep breath, her trembling fingers running through her graying hair. The tears escaped without permission, hot and thick, tracing a salty path down her skin.

Wanda couldn’t look directly at her.

"I… I didn’t know, Lilia. I—" Her voice faltered, eyes burning. "God. I would never hurt anyone—" She wiped her face with the backs of her hands, desperate, as if she could erase what she had done.

But the truth was, she had hurt.

So deeply.

For a girl.

For a girl who had meant nothing to her.

Wanda didn’t understand.

"Then what was it?" Lilia asked, her voice choked with nearly unbearable pain. She struck her own chest hard, as if trying to tear away the emptiness Amélie had left behind. "Why does it hurt so much?"

Her eyes met Wanda’s, but there was no love in them anymore. Only a chasm of grief and disappointment.

"She was my happiness, Wanda."

Wanda felt her chest tighten, her lungs failing.

"And you ripped her away from me."

The silence that followed was mourning in itself.

She ran her hands through her red hair, trembling. Despair crawled inside her, draining any remnants of control.

"Alright. I can fix this." Her voice sounded rushed, almost childlike. "I can fix this. Tell me anything, Lilia. I’ll do it. Let me make it right."

Lilia laughed.

Low, bitter.

"Make it right?" Her voice rose into a scream that made Wanda flinch. "Do you really think you can make it right, Wanda?"

Wanda faltered, her heart begging for a way out.

"Please, Lilia…"

But Lilia no longer heard pleas.

She exhaled deeply, wiping away the last of her tears with her fingertips. There was an eerie calm now, something resolved, definitive.

"We should stay away from each other for a while." Her voice was firm but not cruel. "I am so angry at you right now… Fuck. Like I’ve never felt before."

Wanda held her breath.

Lilia had loved her.

And precisely because of that, the pain was so overwhelming.

She didn’t know if she would ever be forgiven.

And that was the sentence that broke Wanda.

Panic flooded her red, swollen eyes.

"Please, Lilia." Her voice trembled, thick with despair. "Hurt me. Curse me. Hate me. Give me any punishment you want."

Her shoulders shook.

"But don’t leave me."

It was the end of the world for Wanda.

She had tried to avoid this fate at all costs. Had done everything, everything, to prevent being abandoned.

But in the end, all of her choices had led her to the same place.

Lilia looked at her for a long time.

A time that felt like an eternity. In a hoarse, exhausted voice, she replied:

"I don’t need to punish you, Wanda."

Lilia took a small step back, her gaze soft but unwavering.

"You know, leaving is also a way of loving. You helped me learn that."

She took a deep breath.

"Today, it’s my turn."

And without another word, Lilia turned and walked out the door.

The silence left behind was deafening.

[...]

In the next room, your trembling, almost lifeless body gasped for air, and your eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking against the soft light bathing the space.

Alive.

You were alive.

…or just dreaming?

Your breathing came in small tremors, your body heavy, weak, but your senses picked up something your mind had yet to fully grasp.

The warmth of hands caressing your skin, a gentle, reverent touch, as if afraid you might dissolve between their fingers.

Soft whispers, tender, words barely reaching the world but wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket.

"Finally, my little girl."

The sound of the voice was melodic, filled with a love that made your chest tighten.

Your trembling body finally began to relax under those touches. You blinked slowly, your vision still blurry, and saw their silhouettes. Their forms right there, so close, so real…

You tried to murmur something, but your lips felt too heavy, and all you managed was a shaky sigh.

It didn’t matter. You didn’t need to say anything.

Warm arms wrapped around you, both fierce and tender at the same time, holding you as if trying to protect you from the world itself.

And maybe from themselves.

"Mommies are here now, sweetheart."

The sound of those words made something inside you release.

Everything would be okay.

The answers could wait. The questions didn’t matter anymore at that moment.

Now, you just wanted to enjoy this.

So you melted into their embrace, sinking into this warm feeling.

So… so warm.

It felt like you were delirious — and maybe you were, given your current condition.

But something deep in your mind guessed this is exactly how a person feels when they are loved.

~*~

Ufff, it seems we have a family case over there, huh... (call Cristina Rocha, pls)

Btw, this chapter is the need to you know that you will have a spin-off of Wanda Maximoff in Woven Fates :)

Tag List <3

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

[claramelooo]

I love when she is so bossy 🫠

i need her so bad y'all

[claramelooo]

I still haven't recovered from trauma of this movie. You'll pay me, French! I guess I'll watch again... 🫠

[claramelooo]

My middle name is Amélie....by extension that makes me Amélie, and that means I was loved by Lilia, soooo caso cerrado 👩‍⚖️

HAAHHAHAHA DON'T PLAY WITH MEEEE!!! REALLY??? Omg, I got my Amélie! 🥺❤️

I hope you loved it, dear.

And caso cerradooo, definitely! Haha 😆

[claramelooo]

Woosh!! That last chapter was EVERYTHING.

I realized a few chapters in that this was going on. I blame my adhd for picking up on the small details. Anyway…

Wanda being upset that Rio and Agatha have found someone they care about, while also using them as a ‘source’ is a brilliant move. Wanda would want the illusion to remain in place, while Agatha and Rio are fine with changing things up. Deep down, I gotta think they at least care for R, especially given the intimate moment that Agatha and R had before Alice chose to fuck things up.

Ohhhh. You're super right!! Omg, so intelligent...

Wanda seems doesn't want the things change and it's not even for a romantic reason or anything like that (because she killed Amélie so...) I guess Wanda thinks R is a distraction from the real objective here (and she really is.

She may also be jealous of her sisters. After all, she has never experienced a feeling like that of Lilia and Amélie or AgathaRio and R. Maybe if she found someone, she would stop being such a fucking pain in the ass (maybe a spin-off with Wanda? I dunno...😢

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (17/20)

Hey!!! What's up??

Let's calm down a little? Haha I know how excited you are, but today chapter is to lighten my beloved ones who still had doubts about R being more than a source. She really is!

I really loved this chapter. So sad, but so beautiful...

And don't blame me, blame my pms! (mommy is needy 😢)

Warnings: angst chapter! Proceed with caution.

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio seek Lilia to give her answers.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

Amélie

At the beginning, you were just a project.

A source of energy, young and vibrant, ready to be drained to the last drop. Until your skin paled, until your breath turned into a faint whisper, and your eyes closed forever.

They prepared you carefully for this.

The plan was simple: seduce you, shape you, enchant you, make you more and more vulnerable. Make you fall in love with the illusion, lose yourself in their touch, surrender without resistance. And then, at the right moment, they would take everything.

Agatha and Rio had handpicked you, they had felt you. Wanda and Lilia agreed without hesitation. They knew what to do. They knew your last breath of life would be the sweetest.

The purest.

Rio would be the last to drink from you.

The last to hold your soul in her arms and carry it with her forever. Because that was her destiny.

Death.

The last touch, the last kiss, the last goodbye. Rio had always been there, at the threshold between the end and the eternal.

But now…

That simply can’t happen anymore.

They can’t let you go.

Now, you are not a sacrifice.

Now, you are theirs.

Only theirs.

Rio’s studio used to be a sanctuary of chaos and solitude, where she externalized the rebellious waves of emotions that devoured her.

Vidal’s fate had always been complicated.

She hadn’t asked for it.

Carrying the souls of others on her shoulders, feeling their stories, their pain, their last words embedding into her… it was too much. But death never has a choice. Only duties.

And even if Rio tried to escape, pretend she was nothing but flesh and bone, just a woman with paint-stained fingers and eternal dark circles under her eyes, she knew the truth.

Every stroke, every brush, every color carried something beyond reality. Her paintings wept. Whispered. Shattered in sighs and sins that weren’t hers.

It was a burden. A destiny.

Until you.

Most nights, she arrived home at dawn, hands and clothes dirty with paint, eyes tired, chest heavy. Agatha would already be asleep—or pretending to be. Always one step ahead, always distant enough to never be attached to anything.

It didn’t matter. Neither of them needed more.

Until you.

Until Rio discovered what it was like to come home and hear hurried footsteps on the wooden floor, feel arms wrapping around her waist before she could even drop her bag. The warmth of your body against hers, the soft sound of your voice saying, "You were late today."

She didn’t know she needed that.

Didn’t know how good it was to have someone waiting for her.

Agatha, on the other hand, never saw herself as someone who belonged to another.

She had always belonged only to herself.

To her intelligence. To her ambition.

That was how she survived for centuries. That was how she built her empire, stone by stone, blood by blood.

Evanora made sure of that.

Her mother forged her like iron in fire, breaking any weakness before it could even form.

Love? Love was a distraction. Love was a chain, an anchor dragging fools deep enough to surrender to it.

And Agatha would never be a fool.

She watched her sisters burn, saw mercy being punished, saw how those who loved too much always ended up in ashes.

So she made herself strong. Made herself unbreakable. And for a long time, she believed that’s exactly what she was.

Until Rio.

Because Rio didn’t court her with promises or ambition. Didn’t try to conquer her with power plays or seduction.

Rio was free.

And Agatha hated that.

Hated the way the woman laughed without guilt, how she spoke nonsense without fear of looking ridiculous. How she looked at her without fear, without the desire to control or be controlled.

Hated the way, beside her, Evanora’s words didn’t feel so heavy.

At first, Agatha wanted her just to spite her mother. To provoke. But then, without realizing it, she found herself lost in those brown eyes and silly smiles. In the warmth of Rio’s arms, in the way she expected nothing more than what Agatha already was.

She fought it. For two decades, she fought. Because she wasn’t capable of love.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

And then came the truth.

Because the woman who enchanted her with easy laughter and casual touches…

Was death itself.

The shock was paralyzing.

Evanora would have laughed. Oh, how she would have laughed!

The brilliant, ambitious daughter, heir to her legacy, seduced not by power, but by the one force in the universe that even magic cannot contain.

Agatha saw her break.

Saw the sweet and calm Rio obliterate everything around her in an instant.

Not out of rage.

But out of pain.

The truth burned, and as much as Agatha wanted to deny it… she knew.

Agatha loved Rio.

Loved the chaos that came with her, and over time, grew to love what she represented.

So when you entered her life, Agatha thought it would be easy and sweet, like strawberry cake.

She knew what to do.

Knew how to manipulate, how to shape, how to take whatever she wanted from you without you noticing. That’s what she did. That’s what she had always done.

And then you relaxed into her arms and called her mommy.

And for the first time in centuries, Agatha hesitated.

You weren’t supposed to unsettle her, but you did.

You weren’t supposed to make her heart pound in her chest, but you did.

You weren’t supposed to make her want more than just possession, but you did.

She felt ridiculous for liking it, but she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t deny the way her voice softened when you said it, the way you fit so naturally in her lap, the way your eyes shone when she praised you.

She tried to deny it. Ignore it.

But every touch of yours was different. Every time you looked at her, without fear, without reverence, something inside her trembled.

Control slipped through her fingers like fine sand.

The first time you called her that, it was a slip.

The second, a test.

Now, it’s inevitable and completely natural.

Now, she doesn’t want to hear you call anyone else that.

Before you… they were empty.

Now, they are overflowing.

And that changed everything.

[...]

The bedroom lighting was dim, and they prowled around you like wolves. Anger exploding in their hearts. Agatha knew that your shabby little friend was a young witch.

Lilia had already warned her.

That’s why, when you asked for permission to go out with Alice after class, it felt like a punch to the stomach.

She could have said no.

You would have obeyed without question.

Because you were good. The good girl of your mommies.

But Agatha didn’t want to.

Something inside her weighed on her, something unsettling and unknown. You were young. You had the right to have a life beyond them. Beyond this.

So, she let you go.

And she never regretted a decision more in her entire existence.

In mere minutes, Agatha explained the situation to Rio, the unease burning in her mind like an omen. Something was wrong. Something had been building up for weeks.

Wanda, always watching, always questioning, always wanting to know why they were taking so long to “lend” you to her and Lilia.

Why the delay?

The answer was simple.

It wasn’t going to happen.

That’s why, that day, when Wanda appeared at the mansion, sniffing the air and saying how much you reeked of Agatha and Rio—it was enough.

Sharing you with Wanda was out of the question.

Rio went back to Los Angeles; she knew Agatha might be right. She had seen this happen once before. And it didn’t end well.

So they cornered you.

Cruel. Sensual.

"Go on, pet. What else did that little whore say about us?"

The touch was gentle, but the words were chosen to hurt.

You weren’t supposed to believe other people.

You weren’t even supposed to question them.

"She said… you only want to use me." Your voice trembled in a whisper. "That I’m just a source…"

The words cut through the air like a sharp blade.

For a moment, the world stopped.

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

Agatha blinked slowly, brows furrowed, head tilted.

Rio remained still, her expression unreadable, but a muscle in her jaw twitched.

The room seemed to fold around you, suffocating, heavy.

Alice was a young witch. Inexperienced. An insect compared to them.

And yet, Alice knew about the sources.

Alice.

Not Wanda.

Not Lilia.

Alice.

But Alice wasn’t supposed to know.

Because that truth existed only between the four of them.

Rio, who had never shared the burden of fate with anyone beyond them.

Agatha, who held her secrets with firm hands and a cruel smile.

Lilia, sarcastic like Agatha but level-headed.

Wanda, intense, ruthless, loyal… Or at least, that’s what they thought.

One of them had betrayed. And the puzzle that had remained intact for centuries shattered right then and there.

Rio was the first to move.

Her dark eyes glowed like a black hole about to consume everything. She stepped forward, the scent of a storm rising in the air.

"Which one was it?" Her voice was a sharp whisper. "Who opened their mouth?"

Agatha’s gaze slid to you, your exhausted figure on the bed, your body still marked by the traces of last night.

She massaged the places where the whip had passed, her hands light and warm, like those of an ancient witch.

She caressed each mark with reverent touch.

"My love," she murmured, spreading a little more ointment on the inside of your thighs. "We’ve seen Wanda do this once before."

Rio paced back and forth like a caged animal.

"But that was centuries ago!" She said, arms crossed over her chest. "And Lilia said she forgave her." Rio pondered, avoiding her wife’s gaze.

"Lilia is too sensible." Your mommy’s hands were on your back. Massaging, caressing, and she smiled when you let out a small sound at how relaxed you were. "She has never put herself or her own will above us."

Rolling her eyes, Rio huffed. "Love…"

She had always been against Agatha’s desire for immediacy. If she suspected someone in a situation, Agatha wouldn’t stop until she had proof. Even if the person was innocent.

Agatha sighed, pulling away from you. The warmth of her touch vanished in an instant, and she got up from the bed, crossing the room with the lethal calm only she possessed.

"I’ll talk to Wanda tomorrow," she announced, her voice as sharp as glass.

Rio let out a brief, incredulous laugh.

"Talk?" She tilted her head, her eyes burning with something close to hatred. "And you really think she’ll admit it?"

Agatha turned to face her. "If it was her, I’ll know."

Rio studied her for a moment. "And if it wasn’t?"

The witch smiled, slow and sharp. "Then someone will pay all the same."

Rio ran her tongue over her teeth, crossing her arms. Her throat was dry. "I’m not like Lilia, Agatha. I won’t forgive."

The subtext was there.

Cruel and clear.

The last time this happened, it almost destroyed them. Almost tore them apart.

Agatha stepped closer, aligning her body with Rio’s, the candlelight shadows dancing over them like silent witnesses.

"I know, love. And that’s why you’re perfect for me."

Their eyes met, and in that instant, an understanding was sealed between them.

They had played this game for centuries. Survived every blow, every ambush, every broken alliance.

But this time was different.

This time, you were at the center of the board.

[...]

The set was alive with the sound of cameras, directors, and extras in their proper places. But Agatha heard nothing. Saw nothing. Time had flattened into a single thought: Where the hell are you?

Minutes before the break ended, a subtle unease made her check her phone. A habit. You always answered. Always came to her. Always obeyed.

Message sent. No response.

Her fingers slid across the screen, calling your name from the contact list. The phone rang four times before going to voicemail.

Agatha waited. Took a deep breath. Called again.

Nothing.

Her jaw clenched, and a weight began to settle in her chest, dense as molten lead. Irritation burned her skin like a persistent fever, but there was something else beneath it—something deeper, darker, something she refused to name.

She felt the tension in her shoulders when an assistant rushed past her. Without thinking, her hand shot out, gripping the woman's arm firmly.

"Where is she?" Agatha’s voice was low, but there was a sharpness to it, something that made the assistant blink in alarm.

"Who?"

Agatha’s patience was a thread about to snap.

She inhaled through her nose, teeth grinding as her mind processed the absurdity of the question. "The intern." The title felt weak in her mouth. Inadequate. "I need to review the script. And she’s not here."

The assistant hesitated, discomfort plain on her face. "I... I haven’t seen her. But I can find Yelena to review—"

Agatha dismissed her with an impatient gesture, her hand moving to her temple as her jaw locked even tighter.

The break ended.

The cast returned.

The extras returned.

The director returned.

But you didn’t.

The unease crept into her bones, replacing anger with something heavier, more unbearable.

That was when her assistant approached.

An uncertain gaze, hesitation in her steps.

She extended her hand. In the center of her palm, cold and silent, was your phone.

"The security guard found this..."

Agatha tore her eyes from her own screen, where she had been trying to call you for the umpteenth time.

The world stopped.

Her gaze fixed on the device, and something inside her tensed like a trap ready to spring. Her fingers wrapped around the phone, gripping it as if she could squeeze answers out of it.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

A second. Two. Her heart stuttered in her chest, erratic.

Fear.

The recognition of the emotion made her nauseous.

She lifted her eyes suddenly, her voice sharp as an ice blade:

"Where is Wanda?"

The woman’s agent barely glanced up from his phone, his expression vaguely distracted. "She went out for lunch."

And in that instant, Agatha knew.

Tension shot down her spine, a distant thunder before the storm.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles turning white.

"Fuck."

The sound was nearly lost beneath the ringing in her ears.

Her eyes darkened.

"Cancel today's scenes." Her voice didn’t rise, but the weight in it was undeniable. "Everyone is dismissed."

She didn’t wait for a response.

She didn’t notice the confused stares around her as she turned on her heel and stormed out, her purple coat billowing behind her.

Her fingers flew to her phone.

Calling Rio.

Her car was parked just outside, but the keys felt heavy in her hands.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the door.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Agatha gripped the steering wheel tightly, her breath quickening.

"Pick up, damn it."

The call was finally answered.

"Agatha."

Rio’s voice was steady, but Agatha recognized that hint of concern, as if she had been expecting this all along.

"Meet me at Lilia’s house."

There was a brief silence on the other end. No questions. No hesitation.

"I’m on my way."

Agatha hung up without further explanation.

Her heart pounded, her chest tight with a mix of fury and dread.

If Wanda had anything to do with this, Agatha was going to kill her.

Lilia was sitting at her desk, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of her nose as she graded her students’ exams. The tip of the red pen struck a firm line through an incorrect answer, and she sighed.

That was when the front door slammed violently.

The sound echoed through the house, rattling the windows.

Lilia closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling a slow breath before saying, without even turning around:

"That was a bit much, don’t you think?"

Rio’s boots echoed against the wooden floor, each step like thunder ready to crash.

"Where. Is. She?"

Rio’s voice was a low growl, something primal and dangerous.

Lilia pushed her glasses up, finally looking at the woman standing in front of her. Rio was tense, shoulders rigid, dark eyes burning, fists clenched at her sides as if holding back violence by a thread.

But Lilia didn’t look surprised. Or scared.

She merely tilted her head slightly, her gaze analytical.

"You’re breaking into my house for this?"

Rio’s jaw clenched. She stepped forward, her shadow swallowing Lilia whole.

"I’m not in the mood for games, Lilia." Her voice was quieter now, more lethal. "She’s missing."

Lilia blinked slowly.

"And you think I’m involved?"

Rio narrowed her eyes, moving in like a predator scenting its prey.

"I think… you know something."

Their eyes locked in a silent duel.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

"Rio," Agatha warned, urging her to step back.

She entered the apartment, noticing the broken door, but even so, she grabbed it and fit it back into place, using her magic to repair the damage her wife had caused.

"I didn’t know you were a carpenter as well as a witch," Lilia mocked, slipping out of Rio’s grasp to sit on the couch, irritated.

"I apologize for that. But you understand what’s happening here, don’t you?"

"Understand?" Lilia scoffed, lighting a cigarette with the lighter on the coffee table.

Long centuries and she had never managed to kick the habit.

"Understand that you two got more attached than you should have?" She pointed the cigarette at both women. "I understand. It’s happened before, hasn’t it?" Lilia let out a hollow laugh, something almost melancholic behind it.

Agatha and Rio both took deep breaths, sinking into the plush cushions.

"But you should know I have nothing to do with this."

"Lilia…" Agatha began. "Where is Wanda?" Her tone was patient, too calm. She knew yelling at Lilia would only slow things down.

Lilia took another drag of her cigarette before answering. The orange glow briefly illuminated her face before she exhaled the smoke slowly, eyes locked on Agatha.

Silence stretched.

Time pulled tight like a thread about to snap.

Rio moved first. Her body leaned forward, hands landing heavy on the coffee table with a dull thud. "Answer, Lilia." Her voice was low, carrying an unspoken threat.

The other woman merely raised an eyebrow, looking bored.

"And what if I don’t know?"

"You know." Rio growled.

The laugh Lilia let out was short, devoid of humor. Her gaze drifted briefly, landing on an invisible point in the room. As if she were seeing something the others could not.

It was Agatha who spoke first, not raising her tone, yet making it impossible to ignore: "I don’t want to play with you tonight."

Lilia finally looked at her.

Her eyes gleamed under the dim light of the room. "But you always know how to play, Agatha."

Her name, coming from Lilia’s lips, sounded like a sharp blade sliding against skin.

The air grew heavier.

Rio felt her shoulders tense. It wasn’t an explicit threat. Not yet. But the game was being set before them, and the scent of danger was palpable.

"Her phone was found on set." Agatha continued, ignoring the provocation. "And Wanda disappeared at the exact same time."

"Coincidence." Lilia murmured, tapping the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray’s edge.

"Coincidences don’t fucking exist." Rio shot back, her patience crumbling.

"You’re right." Agatha admitted, making Lilia and Rio stare at her in disbelief. "We got attached more than we should have. Honestly, I didn’t even know that could happen to women like us…" Agatha trailed off, her eyes lost in the ashtray on the coffee table, watching the gray smoke dance in the air.

"Yeah… it can." Lilia breathed, sadly.

Agatha lifted her gaze, her eyes now firm and unyielding. "I don’t want the same thing that happened to Amélie to happen to her."

Oh.

The name was a punch. A dry crack in the air. A weight settling in Lilia’s chest, constricting each heartbeat.

Her face changed completely. The closed expression, the mask of disdain she always wore, shattered in an instant.

"Don’t say her name." Lilia’s voice was cutting, but there was something fragile beneath it. Something even she couldn’t hide.

The silence that followed screamed. It filled the room, creeping between the three of them, suffocating like an invisible presence refusing to leave.

Amélie’s name wasn’t just a name. It was a specter. A painful memory that had never found rest.

Lilia ran her tongue over her teeth, impatient. She took another cigarette, lighting it with the tip of her fingers. The flame flickered before dying, but the name still echoed in the heavy silence.

Amélie.

Agatha noticed the tremor in her friend’s hands as she brought the cigarette to her lips. "You still feel it, don’t you?"

Her voice came low, almost soft.

Lilia exhaled the smoke slowly. "What?"

Rio crossed her arms, her expression hard. "The absence. The guilt."

Lilia laughed. But it was an empty sound, dry, devoid of humor. "Guilt?" She repeated, testing the word on her tongue, as if it were something bitter. "Every single day."

She closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself to feel. And then, the memory came.

The golden hair—half blonde, half brown. Lilia never really knew for sure.

The soft texture.

The scent of eucalyptus shampoo, a common aroma, but on her, it was different. Unmistakable.

The white veil pinned to her head.

White.

Pure.

Amélie was light.

And Lilia?

"But no amount of guilt I feel. No stupid regret for not fighting for her, for us… will bring her back."

Agatha didn’t reply immediately. Her gaze landed on Lilia’s cigarette, on the way she held it, as if it were a shield. But it was useless. The past always found a way to reach them.

"Did you forgive her?" Agatha asked.

Lilia laughed again, but this time, there was pain in the sound. "Did I have another choice?" She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. "I was the one in the wrong. I betrayed you all. My family."

Agatha leaned forward. "Is that really what you think?"

For a moment, only silence answered. Then, finally, Lilia spoke, and her voice was a rough whisper:

"Fuck... of course not. I loved Amélie."

Her throat tightened, her lips trembling, but she kept going:

"I loved her."

Tears streamed from Lilia’s tired eyes. She had seen so many things, met so many people. But no one, no one, had ever compared to her Amélie.

"Of course you did." Rio spoke, her voice mirroring something she understood all too well. "You were never the same again, Lilia."

Lilia shook her head, letting out a shaky sigh. "She was so young. It was unbelievable that someone like her would waste her years inside that damned church. But fuck that." She shut her eyes, a weak chuckle escaping at the memory of the girl and how devoted she was. "I’d give anything to have her here with me."

Agatha blinked slowly, absorbing every word. It was like looking into a mirror.

If she let Wanda destroy everything… she’d end up like Lilia.

Or worse.

Because this time, she would watch Rio fall apart along with her.

Agatha took a deep breath. "Lilia…"

It was a plea. A silent request.

The older woman sighed again, her chest still heavy, but something in her seemed different. Maybe it was the weight shared between sisters. Maybe it was the unspoken understanding that their support for each other was non-negotiable.

Lilia stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, watching the ember die.

"Wanda has too many dealings in WestView." She gave them an answer, but lifted her head to look at the women already at the door.

"Do you really think you can stop Wanda?"

Lilia studied the two women before her. The intensity in Agatha’s eyes. The ferocity in Rio’s.

The love and loyalty they shared, binding them in a way that neither time nor darkness could break.

For an instant, she saw something she thought had been lost long ago: hope.

Rio growled. "If she thinks she can touch her, she’ll have to go through me first."

Lilia smiled—a small, almost imperceptible smile, but genuine.

"Then good luck."

And with that, Agatha and Rio left, leaving behind the smoke of Lilia’s cigarette and the sweet memories of a name whispered in the air.

Amélie.

~*~

And who is Amélie? Well... I can tell you this story someday.

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[claramelooo]

My mind is working a lot with Maya 😮‍💨

[claramelooo]

Happy New Woven Fates Chapter Day to all who celebrate

HAHAAHAHAA TOMORROW IS COMING!!!

Omg, I love the way you are locked, Jesus 😂

(Will be posted between 1am-10am (Brasilia time zone, BRA))

Pay attention!

[claramelooo]

Omaigoosshhhh you likes one of my ficssss !!

I don't know who you are, but, I only consume works with soul and potential. You are amazing!!!