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likae · 24 days ago

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Timeless Love

starring : lilia calderu x fem reader

sypnosis : an unexpected invite to traverse the road left you and lilia in a dilemma. lilia feels she has to go—fate’s call, if you will. you reluctantly let her go, as it weighs heavily in your heart. it’s only when the moon shines outside that a bond breaks. not to worry, it will soon be rekindled by time.

content : both reader and lilia are married. angst. welcomed hope. your love for each other transcends that of time.

word count : 1526

author’s words : guys, i love angst so much (if you can’t tell already.) i hope you guys enjoy reading !

When the morning started with a woman who wailed as if she came out of a soap opera and a teenager you assumed to be her kid, you had an inkling today wasn’t going to be quiet. What you hadn’t expected, however, was for your wife to be roped into this “walking The Road” nonsense. By Agatha Harkness, no less.

The amount of frustration and anger that seeped into your being couldn’t possibly be explained through words. Lilia, who never failed to calm you down, gently placed an arm on your waist to soothe you. Regardless, you ushered the covenless witch and the nameless child out the door, feeling a tad bit bitter by the thought of your wife venturing on The Road. The invitation had been far too careless, as if they had never thought that you and Lilia’s lives together were far too precious to risk for this supposed “prize.”

Silence enveloped the store, your forehead creasing in stern disapproval. Lilia stayed quiet, instilling discomfort within you. “Lilia?”

She met your eyes, and it told you something weighed on her mind. And that was more than enough to tell you that you wouldn’t like what she was going to tell you next. And she herself knew you’d find the idea distressing.

“I feel as if I have to go, baby,” she softly said, taking your hand in hers.

“For what reason?” You snapped. She took her time to breathe in and out.

“A faint memory from the reading I did with Agatha,” she started, meeting your eyes. “I don’t quite remember what it is, but something tells me I have to go, baby.”

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “For that witch? I’d understand if it was some damsel in distress but Agatha Harkness?!” She squeezed your hand—her eyes filled with utmost fervor. You took a moment to collect yourself.

“Lilia…,” you sighed, shoulders slumping. “It’s dangerous to go on The Road. You know that better than I do.”

“I know, baby. I know. But something tells me…” she trailed off.

Your gaze softened, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. Torn between keeping your lover safe and allowing her to go, you tucked a loose curl behind her ear and cupped her cheek. “If you feel that you need to go… go.”

She gave you a small smile and embraced you in a tight hug. You felt as if something heavy had been placed on your shoulders, but you tried not to think too much of it. “Do not be reckless, Lilia. Prioritize your own safety.”

She giggled a little, releasing you from her grasp. “Look at my girl encouraging me to be selfish.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why am I even letting you go?” You muttered.

She scoffed playfully, making her way to the boiling kettle to pour herself some tea. The aroma of the imported tea leaves hits your nose, calming your nerves just a little. You see Lilia pause for a moment before reaching for the pen and paper lying on the coffee table. Your gaze never left her, unsure if you made the right decision. She wrote something down on the paper before folding it in half and placing it back down. She gave you a small smile, and you gave her one back too.

“Are you leaving in the afternoon?” You whispered, approaching her.

“It appears so,” came her quiet reply.

You tried to appear unbothered, but you knew she had already noticed your change in demeanor. The Road may have been just an old tale before, but it sure isn’t anymore. Lilia took a sip of her tea as the quiet in the room filled the air.

“We can spend the rest of our time doing whatever you want, baby,” she said in her teacup before taking another sip.

“Just want to spend time with you, Lils,” you hugged her side. She gave a silent reply by putting her arm around your waist.

Even when you held Lilia tighter, time still ended up passing by. It pained you to see her leave as she reached for her shawl. She gave you a kiss on your forehead and reassured you over and over again that it’ll be fine.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you more.”

And with that, she left. An echo of her presence stayed glued to you, but you tried to shake it off. “She’ll come back,” you thought.

The stars twinkled outside to remind you that the middle of the night had fallen. You dragged your feet on the floor before your eyes caught sight of the cracked vase sitting on the windowsill. You and Lilia had put off replacing it, promising to get it done later. Truthfully, you both never had the plans to—being procrastinators and all. You sighed as you gently picked it up.

You made your way to the living room but stopped when a chill ran down your spine. It shook at your bones, nerves, and everything in between. Then, like it had been practiced before, you felt an intangible tether snap as if it had no choice but to let you go. Something told your soul that your other half departed from the present in that split moment.

An ear-splitting shatter tore through the air, followed by a dull ache in your palm. You cast a fleeting glance on your hand to realize you had dropped the cracked vase—a deep crimson colored your palm, tainting your already wandering thoughts. Your hands started to shake, tears threatened to fall, breathing became harder, and a pit started to form in your stomach. Your eyes darted between your bloodied palm, a golden picture frame, and the cerulean drapes; yellows, reds, and blues meshed into an incomprehensible figure burning itself into your vision.

Lilia.

In that split moment, it felt as if the wind got knocked out of your lungs. Her name barely left the space between your lips. You feared that if you said it any louder, the intimate space of your and Lilia’s shop would give way, crushing you and your soul beneath it. Your vision blurred, and you blinked to let tears escape you. You shifted closer to the coffee table, gripping its edge tightly as if it could ground you as you lowered yourself to sit on the ground. Sobs left your very body while reality settled in.

A piece of paper fell on your side—the same one Lilia left on the table. You sniffed, taking it between your fingers. You remembered the smile she sent your way that morning as her favorite tea traveled through the air. You hadn’t bothered seeing what she wrote, assuming it had been one of her indecipherable writings—the kind she only ever seemed to understand.

Tracing the edge of the folded sheet, you carefully opened it. The way the letters took shape—every bend, every curve—had been so Lilia. You read it. Your heartbeat stuttered, rereading what you had just read: a private letter just for you. But, strangely enough, she seemed to recount events that happened on The Road. Did she experience another gap of time before leaving? And when your eyes reached the last line, the word “goodbye” was the only imprint you could focus on.

“Goodbye for now.”

A cry ripped through your throat, hugging the piece of paper. Denial set in, trying your very best to fight the thought of losing her forever.

Forever?

Lilia could never truly leave you. She seemed to remind you of that fact—the remaining remnants of her tea leaves, the cards stacked on the kitchen counter, and the remaining perfume that lingered in the air. You breathed it in, hoping your shaky breathing could help you. But still, you trusted Lilia. Lilia had a reason to go. You may not fully understand—the words of the letter not fully reaching you just yet—but you knew that she had a reason.

And whatever reason that is, you believed in her.

Your eyes trailed to the sentences just before “goodbye,” and it read:

“We’ll see each other again soon, baby.”

And you felt reminded of something.

Time runs in a circle—a loop. It ends, and it begins. Again. And again. And again. In every breath, every thought, every beat of your heart, you will inevitably fall in love with her, as she does with you. You will inescapably experience grief and pain. Again. And again. And again.

Like a never-ending story.

But oddly, just like what Lilia had written, you felt reminded of something. That the love you both shared and the pain you both feel transcends that of time. That even the present cannot cage the past nor the future. That you, and you alone, are more than enough for her to live through it all. Again. And again. And again

You let out a shaky sigh and looked at the letter again. A strong resolve settled in your heart: if grief was the price you had to pay to love her in every lifetime, then you were more than willing to accept it.

If this was the end, may the beginning come greet you sooner.

p.s. : hiya ! have u eaten and slept well? i hope u have! pls take care of urself as always!! i hope u enjoyed reading :3 !!

#agatha all along #lilia calderu #likae #lilia calderu x fem!reader #lilia calderu x reader #likae’s archive #patti lupone #agatha all along fanfic

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likae · 29 days ago

Note

Bewitched

starring : agatha harkness x fem reader

sypnosis : an infamous witch welcomes herself in to westview. you find yourself letting go of your negative emotions for her. time and an unfound tune finds itself welcoming her into your heart. one-sided? so you thought, until you find yourself falling asleep.

content : absolute pining. a chunk of angst but funny and lighthearted moments topple over it. fluff. enemies to friends to bestfriends to lovers.

word count : 8,119

to anonymous : hello! thank you so, so, sooo much for your request. u have no idea just how much joy leaped out of my chest when i saw my inbox containing a message for me. i hope you enjoy reading, and i hope you like it.

author’s words : guys… this might’ve been common sense, but i failed to understand beforehand that you could only reply to inbox messages once, hence it disappears away. a lesson learned for me, indeed. also, requests may take a while for me to write, so please keep this in mind before sending it to the birdie! i am also incredibly grateful and overwhelmed by the amount of love and support i received on my previous fanfic. i didn’t expect it, and i am in tears [sob], tysm u sweeties.

You stepped out to the block, saying goodbye to the kind cashier with two full bags in hand. Your muscles were already straining with how full and heavy it was. You sighed heavily, brushing hair strands away from your face using your forearm. The sunlight was getting to you: the heat, the brightness, and that itching feeling down your throat. You drank water in hopes of it going away earlier, but to your dismay—it hasn't.

You begrudgingly take a look at the street, mentally preparing yourself for the eight-block walk you were going to take. You muttered annoyances under your breath, truly wishing your car hadn't broken down two days prior. You took a deep breath and started to take those steps, reminding yourself that you had a place to be. Reaching the end of the sidewalk, you took a sharp turn, grimacing against the sunlight that hit you even harder than it did earlier; the lack of awnings in this part of the street getting to you.

Squinting against the sunlight, you made out two figures in the distance. As you took a step closer, the whispers that filled the air reached your ears. You slowly came to a halt—the dry air clinging to your skin more than it already was. And you felt it: that sickly, stifling air that could swallow you whole. Whispers resided in all of Westview; murmurs took place where they shouldn't. The burning gossips that fell from the residents' tongues rang loud and clear in your ear—and frankly, you couldn't quite blame them.

"Seriously. None of the people who forgave her are in their right minds—especially that one girl who's practically become her best friend," one whispered, gesticulating her point.

"I really pity her. I mean, for all we know, she could be bewitched by the witch!" Another joked, cackling at what she deemed a funny remark.

You froze—the wind getting knocked out of your lungs. It was an ugly feeling—one that didn't paint a pretty picture. Having been one of the victims of the Westview hex years ago, you understood where they were coming from and why they felt the way they did. Yet, a part of you wished that more people would try to get to know her better—especially, and very especially, because she was trying.

One of the chatty gossipers noticed your presence and elbowed the other—their voices becoming quieter. Their figures shrank a little, huddling closer to each other. You gave a kind smile, wiping the sweat from off your forehead using your sleeve—nerves overtaking you. Stepping forward, you approached them.

"Hi!" You warmly greeted. They jumped a little out of their skin, unsure what to make of the situation. You were going to extend your right hand to shake theirs, only to be bogged down by the heavy bags you were carrying. You let out an awkward chuckle, averting eye contact. The two women also let out awkward chuckles before one of them started speaking.

"Hey, um... we're so sorry about—," the taller of the two frantically spoke before you cut her off.

"No, no, no—please. It's okay! I assure you that I understand," you rushed to speak. The two women stayed stunned—surprise written on their faces. You lowered your head, trying to make out words you haven't quite thought of yet.

"I, uh… I know it's not my place to say anything, especially with what's happened. I very much understand the pain you went through. I just hope that, one day, Agatha's sincerity reaches you both. Just as it did me," you started; the mention of her name earned visceral reactions out of them.

You took a deep breath and continued. "I truly do think she's trying her best. Believe me—I see how hard she's been working to make things right," you paused, picking up every thread of courage you possibly could. You looked up to both of them, meeting their eyes. "And, if you would like, there's a party we're hosting later this afternoon. No funny business, promise! It's just a little fun gathering. I just hope you'll give her a chance—no matter how small it may be."

They both spared hesitating glances at each other as if they both had the same thoughts on the matter. They looked at you again, meeting them with nothing but hopeful eyes. The taller woman gave a small smile, sparing a look at the splash of loud colors the bags you carried had. She formed words with her mouth, but none came out as she glanced at the shorter woman—an unsaid ask of permission. The shorter woman sighed, her eyes flickering between you and the bags. "You need a ride, dear?"

The invitation had taken you aback. It was a friendly offer—one that safely stayed away from rejecting your party invitation and one that seemed like an attempt at friendship. You hesitated, contemplating on the spot to choose between two words: yes or no. Before you could choose, however, you caught a glimpse of the other woman wearing an earnest look on her face. To that, you can't possibly refuse.

You smiled and accepted the offer. The taller of the two beamed at you and opened the door to the backseat. She motioned for you to go in, and you warmly thanked her, sliding in the leather car seats. The car door let out a small thud having been shut. You laid the heavy bags on the floor—your back easing and muscles relaxing. A small sigh left your lips; the heat and exhaustion slowly creeping up your body.

Both women climbed into the front seats, and before you knew it, the car whirred alive. The air conditioning blasted on, and it hit you like the first sip of water during the summer heat. Both women already seemed to know where you were heading, taking the road that led to Agatha's house. You couldn't help but smile a little; they were strangers, yet they knew where you spent most of your time. But you suppose it would make sense: chatterboxes do need material to work with.

You closed your eyes, and that uncomfortable feeling in your throat became even more noticeable. You let out a small cough, and yet it didn't make it any better. You let out consecutive coughs, failing to relieve that itch every single time.

"You okay?" The taller woman spoke. You gave a small nod.

"Did you walk all the way to the store, dear?" The other woman spared a glance at you through the rearview mirror.

"Yeah!" You said rather enthusiastically, earning a stern look from her. You stopped yourself from giving a cheesy smile—a floaty feeling overtaking you, having thought of your favorite person. You coughed yet again.

"You might be coming down with something, sweetie," the taller of the two spoke. You blinked your eyes a few times before it settled in. You hadn't given being sick a single thought. No, that couldn’t be! You were fine just earlier; it would be absurd to suddenly get ill.

After some time, the car came to a stop. You looked out the window and found yourself to be greeted by the greens and gravel of Agatha's yard. You quickly thanked both of the kind women, exchanging awkward goodbyes as they eyed the front door rather stiffly. You grabbed your heavy bags and bade them goodbye once more, rushing to get to the front porch.

You opened the front door, being affectionately greeted by Señor Scratchy. You wooed sweet nothings to the cute bunny, hopping up and down in front of you. Your muscles begged for relief, so you made a beeline to the kitchen counter, plopping the heavy bags with a loud thud.

"Whoa, whoa. Careful now," a voice from behind you spoke. Butterflies immediately erupted in your stomach—a feeling you have learned to suppress. The air subtly shifted as the space radiated her energy—the energy you found yourself drawn to. "I wouldn't want my counters to be riddled with scratches," she stood beside you—eyebrows furrowed—inspecting the surface you had just assaulted with the bags. Ignoring the fuzzy feeling forming in the pit of your stomach, you couldn't help but laugh. "Why, hello to you too, Agatha."

"Why, hello, hon." Pang! A pet name. That darned pet name. That same floaty feeling from earlier took over your body, unable to contain a cheesy smile this time. She took a look at the items in the bags, meticulously looking through each and every one of them: party decorations, food, toiletries, etc. You didn't stop staring, fully focused on how immersed she was.

A part of her hair falls to the side of her face—effectively covering your view. Without much thought, you took it upon yourself to tuck it back behind her ear—leaning closer. Your fingers brushed her skin, and electricity shot through your body—suddenly reminded of how close you were. She didn't react, her focus reeled in by the items you bought for her. Not to mention, physical touch wasn't exactly something new to the both of you. You had your fair share of affectionate moments. You just didn't know when your feelings for her shifted between that of a friend to that of a woman you were so in love with.

Your fingers lingered a little longer than needed in her hair, softly pulling away when realization dawned on you. Agatha stayed quiet, murmuring a chorus of "found its" and "hms." You turned around, berating yourself to chillax, being met by Señor Scratchy again, his nose twitching in greeting. You got down on your knees and laid kisses on him, softly cooing praises over how adorable he was.

A chuckle erupted from behind you.

"What are you laughing' at, hm?" You asked coolly—albeit having failed, as the corners of your mouth curved upwards.

"Nothing," she teased. You quirked an eyebrow up, a gesture of challenge, your hands still squishing Scratchy’s cheeks.

Agatha smiled and continued to unpack the bags. "I know my text was out of the blue, so thank you for running to the store, hon. That was very kind of you."

Trying to fight an incoming smile, you kissed Señor Scratchy one last time before getting up off your knees. "Of course, no problem at all!"

She glanced your way with a smile and took one of the party decorations you had bought. She walked over to the other side of the counter, eyeing the space above the kitchen cupboards. You couldn't help but admire just how much effort she was putting into throwing this party. You walked over to the place you were at earlier—where a phantom of Agatha stood. You propped your elbows up on the counter, chin resting in your hands.

Agatha spoke again, "Also, why were you hitching a ride with those two? Didn't you drive to the store yourself?" Your fingers stopped tapping to an unheard beat on the sides of your cheek, essentially frozen mid-tap.

A beat.

"Hon?" She turned around to look at you, party decoration still in her hand.

"Yeah, no, uh, they were kind enough to offer me a ride to your place," you offered a small smile. Taking your elbows off the counter, you find yourself urgently looking for something to do, your eyes catching sight of the messily laid out napkins.

"'Ride to my place?' What about getting to the store?" She queried—unamused.

"Uh... y'know! Just, you know!" You beat around the bush, wishing she wouldn't press further—especially since she wouldn't like the answer. You arranged the napkins neatly, hoping these white sheets would offer you refuge.

"Hon." Her voice flattened, and that was exactly the tone you wished she wouldn't use.

"I walked! No big deal!" You put your hands up comedically for your defense, hoping she would find the situation funny.

"You walked? In this heat?" Exasperation seeped out of her voice. So much for comedy. "Hon, I would've just driven to the store myself if that was the case!"

You rolled your eyes. "You were out making friends—with Sharon too! That's good! I'd rather you do that." Your voice seemed to carry thicker layers than indicated—something Agatha caught on to. Her eyes flickered with worry as she set the decoration down on the counter—gently—and stood opposite you, taking your hands in hers. You knew she noticed something was up, so you didn't pull your hands away from hers.

"Something up, hon?" You averted your gaze, only for her to cup your cheek, softly asking for you to look at her. You hesitatingly looked at her blue eyes—the very same that see through you. You were going to deny it, but her eyes prodded for honesty.

You sighed.

"No, it's just—you're doing great! Just, y'know... gossips... and stuff...," you mumbled, voice getting quieter by the end of it.

Agatha's eyes immediately pooled with heartache. And that hurt you. "Hon, I told you to—"

"No!" That one came out too strong, earning a surprised blink from Agatha, her hand lightly leaving your cheek.

Immediately correcting yourself, you spoke gently. "I mean, no! I'm not distancing myself from you, no way!" Visibly wincing from sounding too adamant, you smoothed it over with a series of lines.

"Besides! More people have come to love you, not just me. In no time—and I don't doubt it, not one bit—everyone will see you in a different light." A hopeful glimmer shined in your eye—something Agatha grew accustomed to. She just didn't know the uneasiness that settled in when you said the word "love," having been reminded of your own affection for her.

A moment of silence passes. Her face was a mixture of hope and worry at the same time. She seemed to take her time in collecting her words—her breathing pattern altering: sharp, shallow, sharp, sharp, shallow.

“Besides!” You abruptly spoke, “I have a feeling those two will come around. They just need time; we all do.”

She softly touched the in-betweens of your fingers, finding a place of her own there. Her fingers slid into yours without much resistance—her thumb drawing circles.

"Hon, you know I would take your love over all of Westview's combined. Yours is all I'll ever need," her eyes sparkled with seriousness. Your heart melted; her words of assurance reaching that part you've kept away from her: that gnawing worry that things would go south. Your mind has this pressing wish that Agatha would be able to live in a place where she felt accepted. Loved. Something she wasn't quite familiar with. And it hurt you. Westview has always been your home; you hoped it would be Agatha's too.

Agatha changed the patterns she drew on your knuckles, a subtle reminder to focus on her, knowing you had gotten caught up in your thoughts. You snapped out of it and met her eyes once more. Written behind those heartfelt eyes was an open letter of fondness written for you, reminding you of her adoration constantly. Just... not the kind you had hoped for. Your feelings seemed to dig deeper than friendship.

You gave a small smile. "More people are loving you." You broke eye contact and instead focused on how comforting the figure eights she drew on your hand were. You prolonged a blink—preparing to change the topic. "And we have a party to set up, don't you think?"

You pulled your hands away from hers, and she frowned. You laughed. "Don't pout those pretty lips, hon." You hoped that she wouldn't pry any further, purposely using her go-to nickname. You didn't want to dampen the mood, knowing that it was just one of those days. The days you got caught up in your feels. What a heartache.

You grabbed the closest bag and pulled it closer to you; rustling filled the air. You took a handful of smaller decorations; an idea plagued your head over where to put it, eyeing the kitchen table. She seemed to get the hint.

"Whatever." She got up, picking up the party decoration she set aside for you earlier. "And I don't like those two! They're the same jerks that—," she began, recalling an old tale she kept close to her heart. A grudge it truly was.

You sighed and dramatically rolled your eyes, laying out the purple-colored decor in the middle of the table. "Agatha, if you want the residents of—" She cut in. "—Westview to love you, you have to love them first."

You whipped your head in her direction, mouth agape. "Did I get that right, hon?" She sheepishly grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. You huffed in feigned annoyance at having your line stolen.

"Aw, now. Don't pout. I can't help it if, inevitably, that phrase rings in my mind loud and true." She finished decorating one part and walked over to the bags to choose a different decoration. "A certain someone says it every chance she gets, y'see."

You feigned irritation. "Ugh! I do not!”

"Mimimimimimimi." She retorted. You couldn't help but laugh at that. But still, that was your line!

The entirety of Westview was caged in a sitcom play; one that nobody gave approval to. When the hex came down, it was like air filled your lungs again. Like freedom was at the very end of your fingertips, slowly making its way to your soul. Even breathing had been hard for a period of time, but it has come back to you now; the ability to choose came back to you, and that was all that mattered.

It hadn't been easy at first. Recovering from your mental prison—the role you were forced to play by a specific witch—was no easy feat. For a time, even you found yourself despising witches. Two of them, to be exact.

Everyone tried to find their rhythm in life again, coping by cursing at witches and feeding into that negative emotion they carried. Actually, not everyone. A select few seemed to stand on neutral or optimistic grounds; you hadn't been one of them.

Admittedly, days were filled with craze, and nights have been filled with frights. Yet, everyone tried not to speak of it—an unspoken consensus. Time had passed, and perhaps some citizens had found their tempo to living again. Until she came back around. And that was more than enough for this newfound beat to falter; most lost their footing with the sudden dissonance—you included.

When Agatha Harkness stepped into Westview again, news spread all through town; warnings were being uttered. It had reached everyone's ears, and they couldn't help but be cautious. Many had found themselves leaving, afraid of another curse to be placed upon them; fear struck others, and the rest remained indifferent. And you? It clawed at your brain. Restlessness grew deep within your heart, dread taking root. Anger bubbled inside you—hatred coming along with it.

But a day had passed. Then two. Then three. Then the fourth. But nothing happened. More news had spread, something about Agatha offering peace and intent apologies. It was... alarming. Not exactly the oppressive, demeaning witch you had in mind. But still: apologies just won't cut it.

You were apprehensive about stepping outside your home; the possibility of bumping into her weighed on your mind. You had heard more reports—specifically from your neighbors—that she, indeed, went around bearing gifts and uttered attempted apologies, the message not really coming across that way.

Admittedly, she had stopped by your residence, ringing the doorbell thrice. It took you one look through the peephole, and that was more than enough to send you spiraling in that cold feeling of fear. You stayed still—petrified. You hoped she would pass by yours without a single thought, pretending you weren't home, the eerie silence between you and the front door occupying the space within. It was quiet.

Until she spoke.

"I know you're home."

The blood in your veins froze. Your hands shaking—recounting every detail against your will when you were trapped in magic.

A short span of silence passed.

"Silence isn't going to make your lived-in space vacant," humor showing in her voice.

An itch clawed at you—one with incredulity.

"What? You using' your magic to spy on residents now?" You humorlessly retorted.

“You tell me. Is the car sitting in your driveway, the bright lights in your house, and the shadow I’m seeing behind the door magic?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

You haven't even met her face-to-face yet, but she was already getting on your nerves. All you wanted was to get back at her—no matter how pettily—completely forgetting about your initial fear. "Is this your attempt at an apology?"

"Not working?"

"No.”

"I'll try again."

And try again she did.

As the days passed, some people have gotten used to the witch's presence—a sign of acceptance. Most stayed opposed. Word has spread that she has been mingling with folks, opting to help around with mundane tasks; you're convinced to stay inside your safe abode all the more.

Your friendly neighbor, Sharon, spoke highly of Agatha. Saying something along the lines of her being a kind lady, but you swear half of the stuff the older woman recounted was dripping with sarcasm on the witch's part. You visibly rolled your eyes—something Sharon had to berate you for. She lightly hit your wrist with the scarf she carried. "You have to be kind," she scolded, dragging out the 'i' in 'kind.'

You played along with an 'ouch!' and rubbed your wrist with your other hand. "She can't even get your name right!"

"No, but she'll get it in no time," she offered.

"I got your name by the first time," you sternly rebutted.

"She's old," came her quick reply. You audibly laughed at that, and so did Sharon.

On the twelfth day, you couldn't push back on the grocery shopping any further. You dragged your feet on your wooden flooring, counting the steps you took to get to the front door. You breathed in deeply, whispering affirmations under your breath.

Grabbing your car keys, you made a run to your car, like it could offer you security. You collected your thoughts and drove to the supermarket, humming an unfound tune in hopes that it would calm your nerves a little.

You had just finished shopping, stepping out of the store with big, heavy bags in hand. You walked in quick, short steps; your eyes locked on to your car in the distance. Unfortunately, the tip of your shoe got caught in the asphalt, which made you trip. Bags fell from your grip, your patience hanging on a thread as your eyes caught sight of the splayed-out items. You couldn't help but let out a loud sigh, picking up a milk carton off the ground.

A figure loomed over your crouched stature, sparing a glance at whoever was standing to the side. What you didn't expect, however, was to see Agatha Harkness. Your body ran cold again, fear taking a life of its own. She must've noticed her eyes trailing to your shaking fingers. "I'm not here to hurt you, you know."

You scoffed, "That's what the red-headed witch said too." You started picking up your items quicker, fighting the involuntary shaking.

She let out a hum.

Finding threads of bravery, you couldn't help but let out a snarky remark, "Isn't helping the citizens of Westview kind of your thing now?"

She didn't say anything. Your outstretched hand reached over for one of the canned foods when all of a sudden your groceries started to float midair. Your eyes widened in surprise, turning your head to the dark-haired witch. "Hey!"

Her hands glowed purple, gently placing each object back in your bags. Fear struck you. Your eyes kept flitting between the items and Agatha, half-expecting some curse to be placed on you and your groceries. But she seemed serious in helping, the added weight in your hands becoming clearer. When she finished, you felt the weight in the bags heavier than it was earlier—unsure if you were still breathing. You stood there—shocked; she didn’t hurt you—that surprised you most. She gave a small smile. "Did you just... magic my groceries?" You stared in disbelief.

“What? Unlike what you… normal people like to think, magic isn’t all about curses,” she remarked dryly.

You scoffed, a comeback forming at the tip of your tongue, but you stopped; your shoulder tendons tugged tighter, an uncomfortable ache growing. And then a teasing look came on your face. “You want to apologize, no?”

She crossed her arms, weight shifting on one side of her leg. She raised an eyebrow—questioning where you were headed with this.

“Hmmm…,” you pretended to think, “what about… You do that floating thing with my grocery bags again, and you can consider yourself forgiven.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, like she was offended at your suggestion. Her mouth opened to say something but stopped herself; her eyes formed a striking thought. She heavily sighed, flipping her hair over her shoulder in incredulousness; it was clear she was fighting something within her—whatever that may be.

“C’mon… magic my grocery bags,” you poked—lightly testing the waters. Was she truly as friendly as Sharon made her out to be?

It seemed that she had to bite an inch of herself away as she closed her eyes for a moment. Then, with magic, the bags in your hand lifted to the air subtly—a sign to let go. You loosened your grip, completely enamored with the gravity-defying show. As the bags went up, up, up, your excitement couldn’t be contained.

“Oh my gosh! It’s floating! Look, it’s actually floating!” You looked to the witch—enthusiasm bursting out.

She fights a smile.

“What?”

“Just a little while ago you were so against magic,” she commented.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, it’s a nice change when magic isn’t used on you,” you shot back.

You turned your back to her, making your way to your car. Soon enough, you felt a presence walking by your side, although you never made a move to look. The bags crinkled with the light breeze, effectively filling the air with some noise—which you thank, unsure of how much quiet you could stomach before losing it.

You reached your car and opened the trunk, gesturing for her to place the bags. You tried not to feel too awkward about it, unsure what to make of her. The shaking of your fingers stopped, and she didn’t seem half-bad. You spared a glance her way, her hands glowing that same purple as she lowered the grocery bags.

“Am I forgiven?”

You paused. “You are.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Let me ask you something, though,” you started, leaning on your back trunk, which has now been shut. “Why are you staying around these parts? What’s with the sudden 180?”

She played with her hair, twirling it around her index finger; her lips pursed. “What’s it to you?”

“Everything,” you said rather impatiently. “It’s everything to all of Westview.”

She was going to say something before you interrupted. “The last time you witches came over, we suffered. We don’t need another hex-like tragedy. Do you even understand just how much it hurts to see you frolicking around?” You pressed further. She didn’t say anything, her eyes falling to the ground below. The sun shone more brightly than it did earlier—a shadow forming beneath her eyelashes.

Another breeze passed by, leaves whispering past your ear.

She didn’t say anything.

You sighed; that clearly didn’t answer any of your questions.

“Alright, then,” you said, pulling your back off the trunk. “I’ll ask another—why do you choose to stay?”

Agatha’s eyes met yours once more, but hers had this undeniable spark—one that seemed to have had an answer to this question the second she stepped into Westview. “No torches and pitchforks in sight—I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to stay.”

You blinked multiple times. “I’m sorry?”

She didn’t say anything again.

You shook your head.

“You need a better reason than that, no?”

As you spent more time with her, you started to notice that her patience was incredibly thin when she chose to make her smiles wider and her laughs even louder—underlying sarcasm evident in her voice; you just weren’t sure the older folks caught on to it. She was kind, yes, but she seemed to swallow her pride to get that across; her apologies were the same way, the words “I’m sorry” only falling out of her mouth when she pushed her pride aside—something you lectured her over. You wondered if this was a foreign thing to her—something she hasn’t quite gotten used to yet.

More residents warmed up to Agatha, and so did she. That wasn’t to say that the burning rage against her simmered down, however, as some remained indignant.

Over time, you found yourself visiting her place of residence, finding it in yourself to be more casual and less wary. Agatha welcomed you in—a bit awkwardly at first—but with time, it was nothing less than normal; both of you synchronized to this soon-to-be routine.

Just like today.

You barged into Agatha’s house, arms filled with snacks. You caught sight of Señor Scratchy’s white tufts in the living room carpet, a sign that Agatha hadn’t done house chores yet, which you found unusual because the ticking clock on the adjacent wall read 11:38 A.M.; her house chores were usually done by 11:00. You closed the front door with your left foot.

Thud!

That clearly wasn’t the noise of the front door closing.

“Agatha?” You called.

No answer came.

You walked over to the kitchen counter and dumped the snacks you had brought, listening to the loud clattering from a different room—one you pinpointed to be the bathroom. You gently pushed open the half-open door. “Agatha?”

You were greeted with Agatha holding her arm under the running faucet, her eyes lifeless, not seeming to care much at all. Your eyes trailed over to the messy display of knocked-over plant pots on the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed, not quite understanding what was going on. She didn’t seem to notice your presence.

But then you see it—a fresh gash of a wound across her forearm.

“Agatha?!” Your eyes widened, grabbing her shoulder to inspect the wound.

It was only then that she seemed to come back—life coming back to her eyes. Her breath hitched in surprise.

“Let’s take care of this,” you said softly. You turned off the faucet and opened the second drawer under the sink. You’ve practically memorized the layout of her house—her items included—to know where her Band-Aids were kept. You grabbed one and gently placed it upon the wound, earning a strong hiss from Agatha. You noticed her strange demeanor—something cold and distant emanating from within her.

“Agatha?”

“What,” she said rather strongly, retracting her arm away from you.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t say anything, eyeing the cracked plant pots on the ground.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” And that set her off.

“You think I need your help?” A bitter taste left her throat.

You took a step back, a little surprised at the sudden aggression. While her face may be telling you she was angry, her eyes begged to differ—hurt having been the underlying emotion she was feeling. She looked away, looking at the broken pieces of pottery again. Her figure became smaller as she hugged herself with her arms, fighting a sense of vulnerability.

You tread carefully, choosing not to answer the question. “What’s with the pots?”

“Mrs. Hart,” she said dryly.

“Sharon,” you corrected sharply.

Her face hardened even more. “You care too much.”

“You care too little,” came your quick rebuttal. And just then, a flicker of susceptibility fell in her face.

That silence you dreaded oh-so-much filled the room.

Until she spoke.

“I’ve done many things,” she whispered. “Many, many, many things. And I’m not even sure what to do with myself because of it.” You weren’t sure how this conversation was going to turn out, but you knew one thing: Agatha’s ironclad walls were crumbling down.

She held herself tighter. “I’ve done horrible things.” She seemed to fight an incoming sob, and you felt your chest tighten. You opened your mouth to speak, but she cut in, her eyes glassy.

“Haven’t you heard?” She looked at you, her face softening. “People are saying you’re just as morbid as I am—that two birds of a feather flock together.” Her voice wavered, the last two words breaking.

You weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

“You should leave.” Her tone didn’t come across as authoritative—you could tell she meant nothing by it.

“No,” you softly spoke.

Her eyebrows furrowed, a desperate pleading look on her face as she hugged herself tighter. “What are you—”

“No.” You inched closer—reclaiming that step you fell back from. “Whatever it is they’re saying, we’ll be fine.” She heavily exhaled, but you gave her no time to speak.

“Who you were in the past is not the same Agatha that Westview is seeing,” you told her—a serious look in your eyes.

“You don’t know anything!” Came her exasperated reply.

“I don’t have to,” you insisted. “You’ve disproven my doubts about you time and time again. Whoever you were in the past… Well, you’ve clearly changed. I can see it.” You looked at her with gentle eyes, meaning every word you said.

Her eyes welled up. A tear slid past her cheek. And your heart throbbed. You inched closer—giving her time to back away if she didn’t want your touch. She didn’t move. And you hugged her. She pressed herself closer to you, hesitatingly at first, until she found it in herself to let go. Let go of the walls she put up. Let go of her pride. Let go of her fear.

You drew comforting circles on her back shoulder, softly humming a tune. You felt the collar of your shirt becoming colder—tears being caught by the cloth. You let a moment of silence pass, and you didn’t hate it as much this time. Your eyes landed again on the broken plant pots.

“Agatha?”

She gave a small “hm,” undeniably trying to mask her tears.

“What’s with the plant pots?”

A beat.

“Azaleas,” came her soft reply—too quiet to be heard if her mouth wasn’t sitting right next to your ear. She pulled you closer like she was afraid of letting you go. Though she only said one word, you understood what she meant; Sharon had probably invited her over to plant azaleas—her current hyperfixation. It was only then that you noticed the bag of fertilizer sitting in the corner, right beside the bathtub. Had she taken Sharon’s planting invitation that seriously? Your eyes trailed over to the sink, catching sight of another pot—one you couldn’t quite see earlier; a broken shard caught your eye. The unmistakable tinge of red on its jagged edges gave you a clearer picture.

“Be careful,” you muttered under your breath.

She gave another soft “hm.”

“With the pots, I mean. I don’t want you hurting yourself again,” you clarified.

A flat laugh fell from her lips. “You care too much.”

“Of course I do; I’m your friend.” And the hands that clung to your sides faltered. Her breathing changed, and you felt her relax against you—even more so.

“The entirety of Westview hates me,” she joked—ignoring the fact you called yourself her friend.

It was the first time. The first of many.

You laughed. “If you want the residents of Westview to love you, you have to love them first. Don’t you, Agatha?”

She didn’t reply, losing herself to your comforting touch.

“And Agatha?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s work on your apologies.”

Her posture straightened up—feeling slightly offended.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you reprimanded. You couldn’t see her face as she had her head over your shoulder, but you could easily tell she was rolling her eyes. You rolled yours too.

“Your apologies sound like threats,” you reminded.

“It’s not my fault you normals are so touchy-feely!” She argued.

“Agatha.” You deadpanned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, and she followed along with you.

When the clock struck 12:00, somewhere in the back of your head, twelve notes played at the same time, forming a discordant, yet melodious tune, the sound being drowned out by the witch’s joyous laughter. It was a loud sound—one you couldn’t quite hear yet. But, even then, you held her tighter. Tighter than before. Underneath the obnoxiously bright bathroom light, in the comfort of Agatha’s own home, and in her warmth, your heart started to beat to a different type of music.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, breaking you away from your reminiscing thoughts. You turned around to be met by Agatha, which you found a little funny, because you had just visited her in your memories.

“You alright, hon?” Her hand left your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you replied. Your eyes trailed over to the decorations you had both put up; the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, and even the corridor had been well-decorated. You smirked—a swell of pride in your chest. You glanced at the clock that hung on the wall opposite you, and it read 4:46 PM. Guests should start arriving soon enough

“Thank you, hon,” she quietly whispered.

“Hmm?”

“For helping,” her eyes searched for yours. “For helping me with… Westview. And for helping me decorate,” the last part coming off sheepish.

“Anytime, Aggie,” You smiled, nose wrinkling. “I’m just glad they’re your friends now. And!” You clapped your hands. “This is the first-ever party you’re throwing! It’s been, like, what? Two years?”

She awkwardly smiled, eyes twinkling, like she knew you had more to say.

“Two years! Wow… that’s incredible, Agatha!” You giggled.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Those apology and friendship lessons really helped me a great deal,” she reminded—a hint of amusement in her voice. You rolled your eyes playfully.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. You both exchanged quick looks, then back to the corridor, before walking over to the front door to greet the first guest.

“Hi, Sharon!” Agatha warmly greeted her, her smile reaching her eyes

“Oh, hello, Agatha! And oh!” Sharon gestured to the food container she was holding. “I brought fruit salad!” She enthusiastically announced.

“Oh, that sounds like a delight!” Agatha excitedly replied—not an inch of sarcasm in her tone.

This is the Agatha Westview is coming to love

You welcomed Sharon in too; she made her way to the living room, reaching for the candy bowl—a hint of familiarity to Agatha’s abode. Agatha leaves the front door open, resting her head on it with her arms crossed.

“Are you going to greet every single guest that shows up?” You playfully poked.

She glanced your way, a smirk falling on her lips. “They’re my friends. I definitely should.” Just then, a car pulled up, and you swear you’ve seen that car somewhere. You could make out two figures, and your eyes widened—it was the same two women that dropped you off earlier. The same ones that were gossiping.

Agatha seems to recognize them too, a bite settling in her lower jaw. You tensed up, cancelling out the sounds of soft gravel crunching as they made their way to the front door—albeit a little hesitatingly. You touched Agatha’s arm.

“Hey,” you softly started, “I invited them over, and I don’t think they’re here to cause trouble.”

Her eyes softened when she turned to look at you. “They’re trouble.”

“Aggie,” your voice gentle. “Trust me. Give them a chance too, please?”

She sighed, and time stopped for you in a split second when the walking became louder as they reached the front door. A heavy air settled between you four. You nervously smiled at the two of them, and so did they. Agatha seemed to take her time in greeting. The taller of the two women offered her right hand. “Juliana.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. The shorter of the two spoke too. “Alya.”

Agatha paused, then shook Juliana’s hand. “Agatha.” Her eyes trailed over to Alya, who also offered her hand. You sighed a sigh of relief, relieved to know that there wasn’t much tension. The two women offered apologies; their cheeks colored in pink. And, after some time, Agatha thanked them both for apologizing. She motioned them to come in—stepping off the threshold. They both stepped inside, admiring Agatha’s well-kept house.

An itch clawed at your throat, and you coughed. Agatha’s eyebrows crinkled, worry settling on her face. Alya looked at you and made a comment. “Still coughing, dear?

Juliana looks at you with that same worry from before, and you just smile, coughing again. Agatha steps closer to you, suddenly putting her left palm on your forehead. Her hand felt cold against your forehead, but at the same time you felt a little warm. Her eyebrows furrowed, a look of disapproval on her face.

“Hon, you’re sick,” she said with a little weight. You shuddered a little from the tone she used. You could tell she was upset you didn’t say anything sooner, but in your defense, you thought you were feeling better. That, and the fact you didn’t even realize your temperature was warming up.

“You should rest, hm?” It sounded like a question, but it really wasn’t.

“But—” you started, only to be met with a stern look on her face.

“Fine, fine.” You said begrudgingly.

“Go take a nap in my bedroom,” she said softly, eyeing the driveway. More people had arrived.

You smiled. “Okay.”

You could vaguely hear more chatter downstairs. Eyeing the foot of the staircase, you saw more people occupying the living room—the fellow Westview residents who have come to love Agatha. You opened the door to her bedroom, and an unmistakable scent invades your nose—her scent. It was as if a blanket of her very being covered you; even in her absence, you could feel her presence. You stepped inside, trying to make yourself comfortable, letting out a few coughs here and there.

Pulling at the heavy duvet, you climbed comfortably into her bed. You had been in her bedroom before, but she was always there when you visited. Undeniably, your eyes always searched for her, so you never took a closer look at her room. Your eyes wandered to the undisplayed possessions of Agatha: her trinkets, her photos, her notebooks, and the like. Your eyes landed on her vanity mirror—a bunch of multicolored sticky notes hanging on the right side caught your eye. They were the notes you left her during hard times; it was unmistakable.

Your heart melted, and your head got heavier. You sunk into the pillows below, its touch on your cheek grounding you. You took one last look at the sticky notes, only being able to make out black scribbles because of the distance. You smiled, and before you knew it, sleep took over you.

You awakened to the bed adjusting to an added weight behind you. It was a soft sinking, not at all sudden—an effort not to wake you. Before you could open your eyes, a hand gently touched your forehead; you shuddered a little from the sudden cool but immediately relaxed when you realized who it was: Agatha.

You made no effort to move or to make a sound as you were a little groggy. Her hand made its way to your scalp and ran her fingers through your hair soothingly. She repeated the same motion over and over and over again. You didn’t mind—her touch was something you could never reject.

You only realized then that the party was over. No sound came from downstairs—a sign that night had fallen. It was only silence. Not the kind of silence you despised; no, it was the kind of comforting silence that you loved. And you only loved it because it was the type of silence reserved between you and Agatha.

Your breathing slowed a little—just coming to. Your eyes stayed closed, losing yourself to Agatha’s touch. Suddenly, she stopped. You felt her pull away.

Silence.

You wouldn’t have minded it so much if you didn’t notice Agatha’s breathing pattern changing. Sharp, shallow, sharp, sharp, shallow—a huge telltale that she was deep in thought. You stayed still, not wanting to interrupt her inner thoughts.

More silence.

She shifted her sitting position behind you—still being quite careful over not waking you up. You had to fight a smile—how considerate of her. The rustling of the bedsheets filled the air. Then, silence again.

She took a sharp breath, an indication she was going to say something. But just like that, she heavily sighed. You were a bit dumbfounded, curious what she was thinking so hard about. She breathed in again. This time, a word left her lips, “I…,” before trailing off.

Even more silence.

It seemed as if she was testing words at the tip of her tongue—seeing just how much weight it carried. And before you could even comprehend it, you heard it. A soft and quiet whisper fell from her lips—one filled with too much affection.

“I love you.”

And your heart beat wildly.

You could barely hear anything else except your heavy breathing. And you heard those same twelve notes playing. The tune that played underneath the obnoxiously bright bathroom light. The tune that played in Agatha’s own house. The tune that played in her warmth. But it wasn’t discordant—no. This time, every note took its time to play, scaling higher and higher until it reached the twelfth. And when it did, it was nothing short of groundbreaking.

You sat up and turned towards her, eyes wide open, surprise written all over your face. Agatha’s eyes widened in response too, and you both stared at each other.

Deafening silence.

“What…?” You clumsily whispered.

Agatha stuttered, grasping at words; her calm, cool, and collected demeanor slipping off. She avoided eye contact and frantically searched for words.

You smiled. “I love you too.”

And she paused—as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears. Her eyes searched for yours, and you met her with nothing but absolute pure love. Agatha’s breath heaved. She was at a loss for words.

You took her hands in yours, softly tracing every inch of her knuckles, before interlacing your fingers with hers. Your eyes met hers, and you found yourself unfolding that letter of fondness she wrote in just her eyes alone. She looked at you—hesitatingly—and you replied in earnest: a love letter that can only be explained through your eyes alone.

“Hon…” But even she herself didn’t know what she was calling for.

You traced the lines of her fingers, giving her time to think. Your heartbeat was banging in your ears, being incredibly nervous. Your love for her overflowed your very being; you found it hard to process that she loved you too

She bit her lower lip, a mixture of too many emotions swirling beneath her chest. She exhaled, and her hand gripped yours tighter. “I love you more.”

Your mind spun, and the room followed with you. Your hands started shaking, and she held yours tighter. She smiled a little, as if she herself can’t quite believe the words she said. And when it finally sank in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I love you most.”

And, like music to your ears, she laughed too. “I doubt it, hon. My love transcends that of normals.”

You feigned being offended. “Are you calling me normal?!”

She giggled, spun you around, and pulled you closer toward her. Your back hit her front as the words she spoke—no—the word she whispered fell in your ears. “You’re extraordinary.”

Your body heated up, feeling a little embarrassed; a faint hint of pink settled on your complexion. Her gaze never left your face as if she wanted to embed your very presence in her mind. You looked at her again, regaining courage.

“I really do love you most.”

She smirked. “We have all the time in the world to prove that wrong, hon.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. This time, you pulled her closer towards you. You kissed her on the cheek.

She was inevitably flustered. And you smugly smiled. Agatha paused, trying to think of a rebuttal, but words failed her. And you reveled in it. Perhaps the residents of Westview weren’t entirely wrong. You surely have been bewitched by the witch—just not the kind they had thought.

p.s. : push me a lil and u guys just might get lilia-confesses-to-u-when-she-thinks-u-are-asleep too. [cackle] [cackle]

also, i hope u guys have been doing well ! pls take care of yallselves. :] !!

Can I request Agatha Harkness x reader? Some fluff? Agatha confesses to reader late at night when she thinks reader is sleeping

hehe, hiiiii, anonnn! absolutely! tysm for the cute req (and for the being the first req)! i’ll post it as soon as i am finished with it. >.<

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #likae’s archive #likae #agatha all along fanfic #agatha harkness x reader

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