no-phrogs-in-hats

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Watching the new season of Wednesday rn and thinking about everything I could write for a prank day oneshot with Larissa…

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

From Afar, You, My Shooting Star | Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word count: 5.9k

Summary: Request -- “Perhaps an Agatha Harkness x Reader angst fic where Reader and Agatha get together before Rio and part ways (for some reason), cut to the present and Agatha confronts her about it, and Reader says, “Who am I to compete with death?”

Tags: pre-canon | witch!reader | large time jumps | post-canon | angst | unrequited (requited) love | allusion to nsfw themes | young agatha harkness | nicky’s canonical story | ghost!agatha | complicated relationships | agatha harkness is selfish | self-esteem issues | she/her pronouns for reader | reader is also kind of delusional about things because she is so blinded by her self-worth | ending is open to interpretation

A/N: I took this request in a different direction, I think, than salt anon was thinking and I’m feeling a little insecure about this one. But, I loved writing it, which I normally don’t really enjoy writing about Reader thinking they’re not good enough for the main character. This could be a prequel for a multi-chap I've been spinning on, let me know if you’re interested in reading more from this universe from where we leave off!

song lyrics from "shooting star" by MUNA (the greatest band in the world)

AO3

⋆˙⟡

I heard there’s a few different people you’re talking to I wonder if you lose track of them some of the time I’m laughing ‘cause I know I only just met you But you’re already spanning skylines inside my mind 

  ⋆˙⟡

Strange, purple glitter had started sparking in the night during the winter sometime in your mid-20s, so long ago now that you couldn’t quite decipher which year was what. You had never seen anything like it before, and you snuck out of the cottage you shared with your mother and young sisters, tracing the faint scent of magic further and further into the woods until you stumbled upon a woman with dark hair in a clearing, wrapped in a dark purple robe. Her locks were wild in the frigid air, wrapping around the sharp planes of her face that you could only make out with each blast of violet light from her delicate hands. 

“See something you like, hon?” the woman called out, making you freeze, your worn boots squeaking on the thin layer of snow. She blasted another beam of purple light into a tree, making the bark crackle with the force of it. 

“What are you doing out here? You’re going to catch your death if you stay out in the cold,” you replied, not cowering away from the powerful woman but not stepping any closer. 

“Mmmm, that’s what I’m hoping,” she grinned like she knew something that you didn’t,  like she had a secret that you would never quite comprehend. 

A laugh startled out of you, which made the woman’s grin widen into something feral. 

“Who are you?” you called out, pulling your cloak tighter around your body against the chill threatening to make you shiver. 

“Agatha Harkness, dear,” the woman said, suddenly much closer to you, so close that you could see the bright blue of her eyes under the moonlight. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

She looked you up and down, taking you in, and you did much the same. She couldn’t have been much older than you, if at all, her lips full as they pulled into a predatory smile, her eyebrows dark and full like the hair getting caught in the corner of her lips as the wind whipped it around. 

“Where is your coven?” you asked, leaning into her enchanting aura, catching some of the purple magic as it heated the air between you. 

The corners of her lips flicked up in a smirk, and she brought a manicured finger up to her chest, drawing a little heart over the strings of her cloak. 

“Right here,” she said, syrupy sweet in a way that made your hair stand on end. “Right where they have always belonged.” 

“So you’re a covenless witch?” 

Her hand reached up to twist a piece of your hair around her fingers before tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t have to be,” she whispered, leaning in close enough that you could feel her hot breath on the shell of your ear. 

You backed up until your back was pressed against a tree, Agatha’s hand pressed next to your head, boxing you in. 

“Tell me, what color is your magic?” Agatha asked, her free hand tracing the curve of your throat with the long fingernails on her right hand. 

“W-white.” You stumbled over your words, tilting your head back to give her more access to the skin of your neck, shivering as goosebumps erupted in the path of her fingers. 

“I’ve never met a witch with white magic,” Agatha said, her voice curling around the words like she had just caught the prey she had been hunting for miles. “Will you show it to me?” 

Part of you screamed no, that you shouldn’t trust a stranger with your magic, not when she was looking at you like you were something to eat. But a larger part of you, the part that noticed just how brightly her eyes twinkled in the moonlight and the way her body turned into yours with each fidget, each wiggle, each shift as you tried to get comfortable under her unrelenting gaze. Something about her was magnetic, drawing you in closer, filling every nook and cranny in your mind with thoughts of her, of those god damned lips and what they would feel like pressed against you. 

“It’s–it’s not worth it,” you said, blinking at her as her face twisted into recognition. “It’s not worth anything at all.” 

You didn’t know why you said it, but whatever it was in Agatha that seemed feral, unhinged, wild, it softened with your admission. Like something slid together, unlocking a different part of her. 

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that,” she insisted, poking at your chest, making you turn your head and look away. She gripped your chin and turned your face, forcing you to look at her again. “Your magic is powerful, it’s strong, it’s how I could sense you from across the field. Why don’t you believe that for yourself?” 

You shook your head. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Your coven had told you over and over and over again that nothing good could come from white magic, that it was weak, useless, inferior to their rainbow of colors in every single way. But when Agatha looked at you, when she gripped your chin and made you believe the words she said, you couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, they had been wrong. 

“You’re a siphon,” you said, inferring from her ability to sense the power of others. “That’s a rare gift. Is that what happened to your coven?” 

Agatha rolled her eyes and pushed herself away from the tree, waving her hand in the space between you. “Those harpies had it coming.” 

“And you want my magic, too.” 

It wasn’t a question, but when her fingernail hooked under your chin, digging into the soft flesh until it stung, it became abundantly obvious that it should have been.

“No, I think you can offer me something much, much more useful,” she said, trailing the back of her hand up your cheek before flipping it to cup your jaw. “I think together we could be unstoppable.” 

With a tentative touch, you reached up to cup Agatha’s hand as it rested against your face, pressing it more firmly into your skin. It was not lost on you that the woman who stood in front of you, no matter how young she was, was going to be perhaps the greatest witch to ever exist. You could feel it in your bones that this woman would forge herself into something so exceptional that she would be nothing but a burning, blistering star shooting across the night sky, making her mark on every city she passed through, turning heads through every galaxy as she passed by. 

She was going to be incredible.

  ⋆˙⟡

The days turned into weeks, and each evening, you snuck away from your coven to meet her in the woods, away from the prying eyes of the witches who didn’t believe in your power. You stole a tent from your Aunt Jocasta, supplies from a sweet man named Marcus, and scribbled pages of spells from your coven’s Grimoire, tucked into the pocket of your frock each and every day that you came to visit. 

She would greet you with a smile, reaching for your hands and kissing your cheek, pulling you into a tight embrace. It was electric, this thing that was blooming between you both, her lips tasting like black cherry and something forbidden each time you stole a kiss under the stars. When she wrapped you in her arms, sweaty and sated as the lantern burned its midnight oil, you couldn’t help but feel like you had been gifted with something greater than you could ever truly appreciate. But you would never take it for granted, take her for granted. 

So when you stumbled into the clearing one spring evening, the air warm and the sun still hanging low in the sky, your heart clenched when you saw her talking with a woman dressed all in green. You had never defined what you had with Agatha; it was so new, so fresh, just barely unfolding beneath your fingers each time you twisted your white magic with hers, watching how it came to life under her skill, her power, her guidance. But it felt so fucking good that you never wanted to let it go, and you had hoped against hope that she felt the same. 

“She’s not enough for you, Agatha,” the woman in green said, reaching out to graze Agatha’s bare forearm with her long fingers, nails painted nude and long except for the two in the middle that were fitted with beige cuffs, instead. “You’re meant for greatness, and she’s only going to hold you back. Do you really think that you can undo a lifetime of magical repression?” 

“It’s not like that, Rio,” Agatha said, the name burning in your ears in a way that you would never forget. “She has a lot to work on, but that doesn’t mean that she won’t get there. There is potential there, and I know that I can build her into something incredible.” 

“Or, you could have something incredible already, Agatha,” Rio interrupted, not letting Agatha finish her thought. “The math is simple. You and a witch who is so far behind in her training that you will be set back years from your plans, oryou and the original green witch, Lady Death, a literal cosmic being. I know they don’t teach girls numbers yet, but you can’t tell me that doesn’t add up to completely different endings, sweetheart.” 

Something twisted in your chest painfully, and you squeezed the tender blooms in your hands that you had gathered for Agatha on your way through the forest– snowdrops, tiny, delicate white flowers that cracked through barely-thawed ground as a signal of the first hours of spring. Beads of water dripped down your wrists from the way that the once-living flora caved under the way your hands clawed into what you once thought was beautiful, letting them fall to the ground in a crumpled amalgamation of what they once were. 

How could you ever compete with literal death? The most powerful, inevitable force in the universe had her hand gripping Agatha’s arm, luring her into her waiting affections. Maybe in another life, in another situation, you would have been starstruck by the cosmic being standing just a few yards away from you in the softening field. But today? All you could think about was just how much you were about to lose. 

So, you turned on your heels and walked back into the forest, feet pattering as quietly as possible on the trail you had forged over the weeks of finding Agatha, leaving the bouquet of tiny flowers to rot on the forest floor. 

How could you ever be the one to hold back the greatest power of generations to come? 

   ⋆˙⟡

And tonight, when I closed that door, I wanted to turn back  But when I see a shooting star, I stay out of its path And that’s what you are, you’re so bright You burn my eyes, and you move too fast  So I say, “Goodnight, make it home,” like I’m making a wish On you, from afar You, my shooting star 

  ⋆˙⟡

Decades passed you by before you ran into Agatha again, though you could still see the sparkling purple magic traveling through the forest in the dead of night for weeks after that day you decided to close the door on Agatha and what you could have built with her. She never ventured into the village, never tempted your coven to fall victim to her succubus, but she waited just long enough that you almost caved. But the night you had finally decided to go back for her, to grovel at her feet and beg for her to find you enough to sculpt into her perfect little weapon, the scent of magic was gone, she was gone. 

The next time you saw Agatha, she was passing through your village with a tiny boy strapped to her chest. You tucked yourself behind a building and watched as she strode past, an aura of power thrumming in her wake that was so much thicker, heavier than it had been when you met her all those years ago as girls. Small, soft coos whimpered from the bundle of cloth on her chest, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the baby was hers, the woman in the woods that day when you realized that you couldn’t be the one standing in Agatha’s way on her path to greatness. 

Did she remember this village as yours? Would she still feel your white magic as it glimmered in your veins? 

“I didn’t know if I would find you here.” Her voice startled you, coming from behind you despite just watching her walk past, eyes still on her long hair as it spilled down her back. You gasped and clutched at your chest, making the disembodied voice laugh. “Meet me at our spot?”

It was a question, this time, but you both know it shouldn’t have been. She called, and you would answer every time. 

With hesitant steps, you followed her deep into the forest, watching as the witches who raised you tutted under their breath, shaking their heads as you let yourself be lured away from their wards and their protections with someone who wasn’t even bothering to hide her power, to hide her danger. 

“I had hoped you would have wanted better for yourself than this,” she said by means of greeting. “Why are you still here?” 

You drew closer and could see the tufts of soft, brown hair peeking up from the dark blue wrap on her chest. His tiny fists were curled around a piece of her long hair as he slept. 

“They keep me safe,” you answered simply, not going any deeper. “Why are you back?” 

“I’m a covenless witch; it’s in my nature to wander.” 

“The colonies stretch far and wide, Agatha. There is no way that you’ve returned to a place you’ve already hunted once before without reason.” 

Agatha smirked and reached down to sit on the warm, summer ground, crossing her legs and patting the grass for you to join her. 

“I wanted to see if you wanted to join me again,” Agatha admitted without much prodding. She looked a bit older now, dark circles under her eyes, no doubt from the dozing bundle against her chest. “I–We need someone to travel with us, to keep us safe.”

There was something she wasn’t saying, and it was clear on her face as she spoke to you. 

“You surely aren’t alone, are you?” you asked, scanning the clearing for the green-clad witch that had scared you off the first time. 

Agatha picked up on the undertones of your question and shook her head. “No, it’s just us now. Just me and Nicky.” 

As if on cue, the baby let out a sleepy sigh, like he was asking his mother to let him rest in peace. She smiled down at him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, lulling him back into sleep. 

“You know that my magic is useless to you, I cannot keep you safe,” you argued, your voice defeated. 

“What did I tell you about speaking like that?” Honey-coated venom laced her words, and you knew that tone all too well. 

“I know, I know. It’s a nasty habit.” 

Silence stretched between you both as you weighed her offer, her question. Was it just a travel companion she sought? Or was it you, specifically? 

“Let me show you the world,” Agatha nearly begged, one hand holding Nicky tight to her chest and the other reaching to hold your own. “I can’t give you adventure, but I can give you this, just for a little while. Journey with us, and I will teach you everything that I know.” 

She was softer, now, with the infant strapped to her chest, but you could still see that feral hunger in her eyes, hear it in her voice, the way that she craved for more and more and more. Your options were to stay in this coven and stagnate, never moving forward or growing into your power, or to follow the woman who had haunted your dreams for decades, for as long as she would have you, learning how to become a witch in your own right. 

The choice was easy. 

By the next morning, your few belongings and enough food to last a week were strapped to your back as you walked hand-in-hand with Agatha away from the village that had always been your home. There were hushed whispers and stares at the affection you shared with her so easily, so freely, but they could never touch you. You knew that Agatha would never allow any harm to come to you so long as it was your hand holding her son’s. 

For years, you went on like this, watching Nicholas grow into a little boy who was so much like his mother that it made you smile, but who had also grown your softness, your heart. Covens fell around Agatha like flies as she stole their power and their lives in one fell swoop. For a while, you stayed out of the con, but when she started soliciting help from the young boy, you knew your guilt couldn’t let him get sucked in alone. 

“Why does Mama do it?” Nicky asked you one night, his smile missing a tooth right in the very front. “Why does she kill those witches?” 

You wrapped your arm around Nicky and tried to answer him as best you could. “Your Mama has to keep us safe in the only way that she knows how.”

“Will I have to kill witches, too?” 

Your chest fractured in two, hearing the small question in his impossibly tiny voice. 

“No, baby boy, you will never, ever have to kill a witch if you don’t want to. Your Mama would never make you do that.” 

“Is that why you don’t kill them, either?” 

You nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Your Mama knows that my magic is different than hers. It doesn’t work like hers. So she lets me keep us safe in the way that I can.” 

And that was closer to the truth than you had been for the entire conversation. Because if you let yourself think about it too long, you knew that Agatha’s incessant need to drain witches and leave their bodies in her wake was not just to keep Nicky safe. Hell, it wasn’t even just to bolster her own power so that she could fight off any threat that came his way. You knew, because each night after a coven lost its life, you could smell the wisps of black magic, the shimmer of green as Lady Death made her visit. 

Agatha was leaving a trail of bodies behind her like etchings on the trees, letting Rio follow her through village after village, keeping an eye on the woman that she swore that she hated with each breath. With every stolen life, Lady Death came to collect her souls, and you could smell it as she drew nearer, watching Nicky as he slept in Agatha’s arms, sneaking closer and closer each night to her family from whom she had been exiled. 

The relationship that you had with Agatha was different than it had been before, too. Each time you tried to get closer, she would burn so brightly for you that you could feel it on your skin like the sun, and then pull away so quickly that you had no clue what had happened. She taught you like before, but there was something missing, something that you were in competition with that she never quite said out loud. 

What she gave was blistering in its brilliance, but it was never enough to truly make you feel secure, to truly make you feel like what you could offer her was truly enough. But you followed her dutifully, anyway. How could you not?  

  ⋆˙⟡

I know what you wanted because I wanted it, too To be in your light, consumed and erased  But your light doesn’t stay, you take it away too soon  Then leave me hung over the moon stranded in space

  ⋆˙⟡

The night that you could smell almonds and green glitter so close that you could taste it, you woke from your slumber just in time to watch as the woman in the green dress guided your, no, their boy away with the light of a torch held next to her head. You had known it was coming for a while, Death creeping closer each and every night that little Nicky coughed as he fell asleep, dreams filled with promises of his Mami. 

You should have woken Agatha, should have given her the chance to watch her boy go, but you knew that if she were to wake as their son was taken home, she would have pleaded for Rio to let him stay, would have turned the world upside down to keep him, and you couldn’t bear to see it. Nicky’s body was weary, having long outlived its time on this Earth, and so you laid back down, tucking your head back into the back of Agatha’s neck and waited until morning when you heard her cries to open your eyes to your new reality. 

Over the course of the next months, you had anticipated Agatha to simmer, to let herself rest in her grief, but even the day that she buried Nicky in dirt and stone, she was calling Death back to her side. She ran the con that very same day, dragging the one woman she swore to hate for the rest of her life back to her side, back to her presence, and that was when you knew, again, that you had lost a game that you never agreed to compete in. 

So, you watched as Agatha ravaged covens and terrorized villages with her promise of the Witch’s Road, the promise of everything they had always dreamed of, just to snuff it out, just like hers had been stolen from her, too. And one day, a few months later, you kissed her on the cheek and said, “Goodnight, make it home,” as a final rite, and she understood without fanfare, giving you a soft, fragile smile, and turning on her way to find the next place she would call her own without you. 

You wanted to look back as you started the long trek back to your coven, your village, the life you had left behind, but you didn’t. She would never belong to you, not the way that you wanted her to be, not the way that she wanted to be. And that was okay.

  ⋆˙⟡

So even though  Tonight, when I closed that door, I wanted to turn back  I know when I see a shooting a star to stay out of its path And that’s what you are, you’re so bright  You burn my eyes, and you move too fast  So I say, “Goodnight, make it home” like I’m making a wish  On you, from afar You, my shooting star 

  ⋆˙⟡

It was well into the new millennium the next time that you found Agatha again, this time taken fully by surprise when an apparition with long, white hair and flowing, purple fabrics showed up in your small shop in Salem. Your coven was long gone, now, having disbanded over the years. Some were even being slain by the Witch Killer, herself, when they did not heed your warning, leaving you alone to sell your metaphysical wares to the tourists who flooded your town each and every autumn. So, when a ghost appeared in your shop one night, long after dusk and the doors had been locked, you immediately held up your protection charm. 

“You are not welcome here,” you commanded, feeling your white magic starting to bubble in your chest, its power exponentially greater than it had been all those centuries ago. Your touchstones were spread around the shop, you just had to find the one you had stolen from a protection witch, and you knew that your white magic would begin to flame in bright orange, a chameleon in your own right. 

The day you realized that Agatha had always known you had this precious gift had been a startling yet validating one– you, too, could steal the powers of others, but your magic was pure, it only borrowed, it did not take more than it needed, and it never killed. 

“Oh, come on, hon, don’t treat an old friend like this,” Agatha said, and it was only hearing her voice that allowed you to connect the dots about the elderly-looking woman floating in front of you. 

“How did you get past the wards?” Your voice was fuller than it ever had been before, strong on your own after centuries of growth and independence. 

“He’s in the car. My pet. He does anything mommy asks of him.” 

You looked out the window to see a teenage boy with dark, curly hair and an eyebrow slit sitting in the driver’s seat of a Subaru. 

“Wouldn’t peg him as your type, Harkness. You’ve always leaned more… for the fairer of them all,” you countered, knowing it would get under her skin. 

And, just like you predicted, her nose scrunched in disgusted frustration. “You shouldn’t offend a ghost, I could haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“You won’t,” you returned without any bite, just an unsettling, undeserved truth. 

“Ouch, sweetheart, you know just where to hit where it hurts.” 

You don’t rise to her bait, choosing to walk through her and put a book back on the shelf where a young tourist had pulled it from some hours earlier. Instead of grabbing the touchstone of the protection witch you had stolen from at the local mall, you pulled a crystal you had lifted from Agatha all those centuries ago, and let her spirit magic light your white magic into a wispy lavender. 

With one touch to her chest, the ghost of Agatha turned corporeal enough to touch, to see, to interact with. 

“How about there? Does it hurt when I hit you there?” you asked, watching as her hands flourished around her face, that smug smirk tugging at her cheeks that you had long forgotten. 

“Mmm, this is delicious, darling. How long will it last?” Agatha asked, using her newly solid fingers to twist the ends of your hair like she had that first day in the woods. 

You pushed her hands away and stepped back. “It’s from your magic, shouldn’t you know?” 

“Oh, you know that I never bothered to refine those powers. Witches are useless to me from beyond the grave.” 

An unbecoming snort accompanied your eyeroll as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. 

“About an hour, or until I decide that I’ve had enough,” you finally answer, leaning back against the counter. 

“Oh, I knew you would be the perfect person for this,” Agatha said vaguely, eyes lighting up like she had just solved the world’s greatest puzzle. “Care to go on another adventure with me, sweetheart?” 

Your chest clenched at the term of endearment, memories flooding your body of the time before, of when you had loved her, of all the time you had spent tending to your heart from afar. 

“No, I don’t think I do.” 

Agatha stepped forward, and her hands landed on your upper arms, rubbing them softly as her mask dropped and she let you see the woman beneath the bravado that you had once thought to be yours. The gears were turning in her mind, watching your microexpressions, trying to read your mind. 

“I’ve always wondered what it means when your face changes like this,” she said, fingers of her left hand touching gently on the lines pressed into your cheek after years and years of living this life. 

“My face isn’t changing,” you countered, though you didn’t flinch away from her touch. It was cold but real. 

“It is. Your lips pull down at the corner, and something clouds your eyes, like you’re somewhere else. Where do you go?” 

You shook your head, refusing the question, knowing that the answer would unleash centuries of emotion that you knew you weren’t ready to deal with. But whatever Agatha was looking for as she searched your face, your eyes, the curve of your lips, she must have found because she kept pushing.

“It’s me, isn’t it? You’re thinking about me,” Agatha proposed, head tilting to one side in curiosity. 

“You shouldn’t flatter yourself.” You closed your eyes and exhaled harshly through your nose. 

“Oh, how you give yourself away, darling,” Agatha, looking at you almost as if she were… endeared by you. “Why did you never give us a real shot, hmm? If I am still the center of your thoughts, if I can still make you yearn like this?”

God, Agatha could always cut to the bone of the matter. It was never that she couldn’t see you, it was that she didn’t want to acknowledge what she saw, and you didn’t know what would have hurt worse– knowing this distinction or spending the rest of your life thinking that you were hiding from a woman who was never to you what you were to her. 

“Who was I to compete with Death?” you admitted, startling even yourself with your honesty. “Your love for her would always surpass that for me, and I couldn’t live with that. She made you stronger, made you better, made you bolder and brighter. Even when you came back to me, you were never truly mine. So I made the only choice I had.” 

Agatha frowned, her grip on your arm tightening. “You can’t possibly believe that.” 

“Of course, I do. You belong to Death.” 

“I belong to no one but myself.” 

You scoffed, feeling the storm rumbling in your chest. “Everything you have done since the day we met has been for her. She gave you the life of power and prowess that I never could have.” 

“She also took from me the only things that have ever mattered,” Agatha said, and your breath caught in your throat when she said things, plural, like there was more than just Nicky to lose. “Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if you stayed? Either time?” 

The true answer was yes, you had wondered what your life would have become if you had believed for even one second that your presence in Agatha’s life would have brought her peace, happiness, power, anything. But you would never tell her that, you would never lay all your cards on the table, displaying for her that when you made your choice, you knew that you would have regretted it either way. Whether you let her fully in, or if you stayed far, far away, there would always be something that you couldn’t let go of that left you stranded in the “what if”. 

“There is no use in pondering what could have been, it shall never be,” you replied, slipping into the speaking patterns you had embodied all those years ago. 

“But what if it could be?” Agatha asked, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks. 

“You’re dead, Agatha.” It came out harsher than you intended, but the woman didn’t flinch. “I won’t spend the rest of my life chasing a ghost.” 

“That’s why I am here. Billy and I believe that I can get my body back, we just need someone who can siphon his mother’s chaos magic,” Agatha explained, and it finally slotted into place, the full picture. Everything made sense. 

“Like how you needed me to be your scent hound when Nicky was sick,” you supplied, finally understanding why she truly came here. “You don’t want me, you need what I can do for you.” 

Agatha closed her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. “That has never been true. It’s always been about you, too. You’re… you’re so much more than you have ever believed. Why can’t you believe that you matter to me, too?” 

You pulled out of Agatha’s embrace and touched her chest, phasing her back into just a haze of light. 

“Because you’ve never given me a reason to,” you said sadly, and Agatha knew that you were right. 

Over the years, she was always chasing a different high– that of power, that of Lady Death, that of chaos and destruction– and it left no room for her to ever show you that your place in her life was valued, too. A chameleon, a master of disguise, something to be feared in quiet, not out loud like her, you were so vastly estranged from the life she wanted for herself, and you had made your peace with that long, long ago. 

“How can I change your mind?” she asked, reaching for you again and clenching her fists tightly at her sides when she passed right through you. “About the journey, about me, about all of it.” 

The world focused down until all you could see was her, memories of her laugh and her soft lips flashing before you like your own personal film reel. 

You shrugged. 

“Just give me a reason to.” 

 ⋆˙⟡

Starlight Star bright  The only star I see tonight  I wish I may, and I think I might regret this either way  If I let you in my heart, or keep you in the dark  So I love you from afar  You, my shooting star

 ⋆˙⟡

taglist: @6stolenangel9 @harknessshi @litsunrose404

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 9: The Hypocrisy of Sins

Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader Old West/Oregon Trail AU

Word count: 3,728

Summary: As a New York politician’s daughter, you’re accustomed to a way of life that many people aren’t privy to. But after your mother dies and your father sells everything, the only life you see ahead is on a dusty, deserted trail out west–until you meet Agatha.

Warnings: MDNI; light NSFW, gun use, lotta homophobia--internalized and external, mild physical abuse, period typical Christianity

A/N: Ohhhhh my goddddd the final chapter guys:(((((( I'm currently on an overnight train so I've had plenty of time to write. Official song for this final chapter is Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift

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Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | End

"If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly. I choose you and me...religiously."

__________

The world around you is fuzzy. 

The hair on your arms sticks up.

There’s laughter.

High pitched giggles from a little girl and her mother.

A sound you haven’t heard in you don’t know how long.

You walk.

You walk faster.

Your feet carry you as fast as you can.

The haze around you turns into a set of tall double-doors, made of solid oak with delicate carvings.

You stop.

Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing over the brass handle. You hesitate, but in the end, you push down and the door opens. 

The laughing gets louder and you stop breathing, because in front of you is the entrance foyer of your grandparents’ home in Virginia. 

The home that you’d spend your childhood summers in. 

The home that you’d sit in while watching vicious thunderstorms rip through the countryside.

The home that you’d run around with your–

There she is.

Your mother.

Full of life, and laughing as she chases a little you around the house.

You watch as your mother closes her eyes and faces the wall, beginning to count. The younger version of you hides underneath a table, giddy and smiling as she waits to be found. 

“One…Two…Three…” Your mother’s voice is like music–a symphony to your ears which have forgotten the sound. 

Your eyes dart between your mother and the younger version of yourself.

“...Nine…Ten!” Your mother, bright eyed, turns around with a smile and her hands on her hips. “Alright, little one, where have you gone?”

She looks around the foyer and in the parlor. When she walks past the table you’re under, you watch yourself snicker quietly. Your mother looks under the love seats and inside the china cabinets, behind the potted plant, and underneath the desk. She stands in the doorway to the parlor, lips swishing from side to side as she turns in all directions.

And then she sees you.

Not the little you.

Not the you that’s in her favorite dress and has ribbons in her hair.

You.

The you that stands there in awe watching her.

“There you are!” she beams. Her arms open wide as she approaches you. “I was wondering where you went!”

As you’re pulled into a warm embrace, you’re confused. You accept it, wrapping your arms around her waist, but still, you have no clue what's happening. “What do you mean?”

She pulls away and takes your hands and pulls you toward the parlor. “Come. We’ve built a fire.”

And sure enough, a fire–that definitely was not there before–sits in the parlor hearth. 

She sits you down on the love seat, hand patting your knee. “Tell me everything. How are you?”

Tears well in your eyes. “What?”

“How have you been?” she says, voice careful and soft. “You found the journals, I presume.”

“I–” You don’t know what to say. “I don’t–what?”

“It’s okay,” she says, her hands squeezing yours. “I’d rather you find them than your brothers or father. Did you burn them?”

“All but one,” you respond, and your voice is distant. “I use it now–the one I didn’t burn. I talk to you sometimes–I think.”

She smiles softly and hums. “You shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“What?”

“I know how ashamed you are right now,” she says, eyeing you sternly. “I can feel it.”

You feel your lips quiver and your throat tighten. “I’m sorry, Mama,” you whisper, just barely managing to get the words out. “I don’t know why I’m like th–”

She shushes you quietly. “Stop apologizing,” she says. “I told you to be happy, and that’s what you’re doing.”

“But it’s a sin,” you squeak out, tears now running. “I’m–I’ve let you down–I’ve let our family down, Mama.”

“Oh, my dear,” she sighs. She shakes her head, smiling sadly and reaching up to cup your cheek. “You could never let me down. I’ve committed many sins in my lifetime. I’d be a hypocrite to act otherwise.”

“I don’t want to go to Oregon,” you mumble, breath stuttering as you talk.

“I know.”

“I love her, Mama,” you cry. “I don’t want to leave her.”

“I know.” Both of her hands cup your cheeks now. Her thumbs swipe over tears and she smiles softly. “Remember who you are. No one can sway you to one side without you letting them. Don’t let them sway you. You’re stronger than that. You know the right decision to make.”

You sniffle and nod your head. “Okay.” 

“I love you,” she says, and you swear you can see her eyes twinkle.

You fully break down now, and you throw yourself into her arms. “I love you too.” You cling to her bodice and sob. “I don’t want to go back. I miss you.”

Her hand runs over your hair soothingly. “I know, my love. But you need to live. You still have so much left to do.” She pulls back and looks you in the eyes. “Do it by yourself. Do it with her. Don’t let me hold you back. Live.”

And then she kisses you on the forehead and mutters, “I love you.”

Your eyes are heavy and you don’t want to open them. As you come to your senses, you’re overwhelmed by the heat of the room–the sticky air, the waves of heat from the hearth. But then you hear her voice.

“Sugar.” Her voice is soft but her touch is softer. Her fingertips brush your cheek and you’re suddenly aware of the tears that streak your skin. 

She says your name and you can feel her trying to wake you. When your eyes do flutter open, Agatha’s face and naked body are bathed in the golden light of the hearth. She smiles softly before swiping a tear off your cheek. 

"What're you dreamin’ about, hon?” she chuckles.

Still groggy, you sit up and let the quilt fall. You sit there for a minute to gather your bearings, chest exposed as you remember what you dreamed about. You can feel her lips trailing over your bare shoulder and down your back. 

Her hands start wandering and you hum, smiling down at her softly. “Nothing bad.” 

You let Agatha kiss you over and over again as you both sit there in the warm fire light as thunder sounds overhead. The tears don’t stop–they’re silent and Agatha wipes each one of them away.

“Was it your mama?” she asks quietly.

You smile sadly and sniffle. “Yes.”

“Did you tell her I said ‘hello’?”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “I did,” you say, and nod your head, leaning in to kiss her again. When you pull away, your shoulders slump and you sigh. “I should probably go.”

“There’s a full moon on Thursday,” Agatha says, and a mischievous grin grows on her face. “Why don’t you stop by the saloon and maybe I can take you to another secret spot I know.”

You chuckle. “My, my, Miss Harkness. You spoil me.”

She takes your hand and places a delicate kiss on the back of it. “Only the best for you, sugar. You deserve it.”

__________

Your stomach sinks when your brothers return from the town with the wagon axle Thursday evening.

You twist and squeeze the sodden chemise in your hands. As the water pours off, creating a muddy puddle below, you try to think about the task at hand and not the fact that you’ll be gone within the next few days.

You’ll be back on the trail.

Back on the trail that leads to the same fate as that mule.

The mule.

That’s one thing the camp still needs–another mule or horse or ox. Something that can carry the weight.

“A farmer agreed to sell his mule for seventy,” Miles tells your father.

Of course.

There it is.

“How soon?” your father asks.

“Tomorrow morning,” Miles says. “We could be on our way to Oregon as early as tomorrow if we want to put in the effort.”

Tomorrow morning.

The woodworker said two weeks. 

Two weeks you’d be stuck here.

Two weeks with Agatha.

Two weeks of feeling like a real person, who means something.

But it’s cut short. 

The full moon comes to mind–how Agatha invited you back out for tonight. You could do it tonight. You could run. You could tell Agatha that you don’t have a choice anymore, that this is the last chance for you to leave.

She’d let you.

You know she would.

She’d hide you in her home if it meant you could stay.

A new found motivation grips you like a vice. You work through your chores and even skip dinner. And you don’t sneak out this time. Because with such short notice, there’s no time to gather sentimental items.

No, just after the sun sets, you simply tell your father you’re going for a walk to clear your mind.

And he accepts it.

But you make a loop, and you end up going towards the town. But not before taking one last look at the camp–your father, your brothers, Felix who will have no maternal support now that you’re gone for good. They’ll be okay without you.

Just the sight of the church bell tower eases you, because you know, somewhere in this town, is Agatha. And she’s waiting for you.

Light pours from the saloon and when you step in, you hear her before you see her. And when you do see her, you notice the way her eyes light up. 

You rush over to her and that sparkle in her eyes fades when she sees the look on your face.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” she chuckles as you drag over to a corner.

You jump straight to the point. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

Her face drops. “What?”

“The axle on our wagon is fixed and someone sold their mule to us,” you say quickly. “We’re leaving tomorrow, Agatha. It has to be tonight. Tell me to stay and I will.”

She nods lightly and her lips part. “Stay,” she breathes. “I want you to stay.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you can feel your lips start to curl into a smile. “I’ll stay.”

You lose track of time quickly after Agatha hands you your first drink. You can feel it going to your head, especially after not eating since breakfast, and the only thing you want to do right now is take Agatha in your arms and kiss her endlessly.

But even with the dancing and the vibrant music, you sober up quickly when you see your brothers standing in the doorway of the saloon. You drop your glass and it shatters on the wood flooring, sending a splash of dark liquor onto the hem of your skirt as Agatha looks in their direction.

Miles and Henry march right over to you, and you can see in their expression that it’s not just them who know you’re here.

“What are you doing here?” Miles hisses.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you ask, eyes wide and voice hesitant from shock.

Miles leans in close and huffs. “Henry found your little journal.”

You could vomit now.

“I don’t know what…” He glares at Agatha and then back at you. “I don’t know what this is, but you need to leave now.”

You look between Miles and Henry and you can feel Agatha standing behind you, looking over your shoulder. “No,” you say finally. “No, I’m not leaving.”

Henry practically spits out your name. “That’s enough. We’re leaving right now. Enough with this little game.”

“I think she’s old enough to make her own decisions,” Agatha says, face hard as stone. 

“She has no idea what she’s doing,” Miles spits, and as the altercation continues, you’re becoming more and more aware of the attention it’s drawing to you. “She doesn’t know what’s good for her!”

“Miles,” you say softly. “Please, can we take this somewhere else?”

“Papa will forgive you if you come back,” Henry says and he exchanges a glance with Miles. “Come back and this will all be behind us.”

Miles’s glare at Agatha is filled with hatred. “I won’t have her here any longer with your kind! She won’t taint our reputation with vulgar thoughts and impulses. You’re a vile woman.” 

It happens too quickly. The gun in her holster is drawn and gasps fill the room as the patrons at the saloon all stand back.

“Agatha, what are you doing?” you gasp. 

She cocks the gun and points it at Miles. “See, at first, I thought we could do this civilly. But then, you started insulting me and the folks of this town–and more importantly, your sister here. We can do it inside, or step outside. It’s your choice."

“Agatha, this is preposterous!” You grip her arm tightly, begging her to stop. “It shouldn’t come to this!”

But she’s not listening.

And neither is your brother.

“Fine,” Miles says, taking out the pistol he brought with him. “If a duel of honor is what you request, you shall receive it.”

You’re begging both of them now as they march outside and into the street. Henry seems just as surprised as you, but instead of trying to stop it, he gives Miles words of encouragement. 

“Agatha, please!” you cry. “Don’t do this!”

You’ve never seen her eyes this dark. You’ve never seen her carry herself this way–with an air of vengeance in her step. The way she looks at you makes you feel miniscule. “He insulted me, and he insulted you. I won’t let that stand. I don’t come from a world where money fixes my reputation.”

So you back off.

You watch with the crowd as your brother and Agatha take their measured steps. 

One…

Two…

Three…

You want to look away, but it’s impossible. It’s pointless.

Because around you, people are whispering to each other.

“That poor fella.”

“It’ll be a miracle if he makes it out alive.”

Four…

Five…

Six…

Tears choke you as the scene before you unfolds.

Seven…

Eight…

Nine…

Ten…

They turn on their heels.

She doesn’t hesitate.

A loud bang rings out almost instantly and her aim is sharp.

You cry out as your brother collapses and hits the ground.

Your brother.

Your little brother, who isn’t little anymore, but will always be in your eyes.

You rush over to him as he groans in pain. A wound in his shoulder–clean through–bleeds profusely. You tear part of your skirt off, leaving a peak of your chemise. You press hard onto the wound, tears blurring everything in front of you.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” You look up and catch Henry’s line of sight. “Henry, go back inside and get a bottle of white liquor. Now!”

He runs back inside and when he returns with the bottle, you rip open Miles’s shirt and force him to sit up. He seethes as you pour the spirits over the gunshot wound, and you and Henry manage to stand him up.

As you hold Miles up with Henry, you look at Agatha one last time, memorizing her features. Tears thicken your voice, but you still manage to get out a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

__________

Your fingers are nimble as you concentrate hard on stitching his wound. He seethes, but Henry holds him still and lets you work.

Agatha sits in the back of your mind the entire time. You were so close. So close to your way out.

You clip the thread with a pair of shears and cover the area with cloth. 

“There,” you mutter. “You’ll be okay.”

You find your father standing behind your family’s wagon. His eyes are closed and his hand rubs his face, clearly exasperated.

“He’ll be okay,” you say. No response. “Papa–?”

The slap comes quickly and without warning. You can feel the stinging sensation of where the rings on his fingers cut your cheek. 

“Do you know how much shame you’ve brought upon this family?” he spits out. You’ve never seen him look at anyone like this ever.

Especially you.

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but it’s finished.”

You’re still dazed, still reeling from what just happened.

“I never should’ve let your mother talk me into letting you end the engagement,” he sighs. “You’re hopeless. No man wants a woman like you.”

Tears blur your vision, but you can still see the disgust and venom in your father’s glare.

“Your mother entertained your ideas for far too long. This stubbornness, this need to walk out of line, it stops now!” he says.

“I’m not stubborn,” you mutter. “All I want to know is why? Why should I stay in my place when there’s no reason anymore?”

“This!” he shouts, hands gesturing in the direction of where Miles lays sleeping. “This is why! Your brother could’ve died tonight because of you! Why must you be like this? Why must you consistently prove yourself to be difficult?”

You choke. “I don’t…I don’t know…”

“Get out of my sight,” he snaps. “I can’t bear to look at you right now.”

You nod curtly and do as he says.

The camp is quiet tonight. Your father sleeps within eyesight of you and you can see his jaw slack, you can see the tiniest bit of drool, and you can hear his quiet snores. Miles and Henry sleep in the wagon opposite to you and Felix sleeps beside you.

You can’t sleep. Not now.

Not now that you know your future lies in Oregon–that your future no longer contains soft touches and sleepy kisses beneath a shared quilt. Your future doesn’t contain horse rides to the mountains or lazy Sundays by the creekbed. 

Your future now contains church every Sunday and a forced marriage to a man who’s clueless as to what unfolded beneath the stars this summer. Your new future is your old future–the future that your mother told you not to have.

You think back to the words that she so clearly spoke in your dream last night.

“Remember who you are. No one can sway you to one side without you letting them. Don’t let them sway you. You’re stronger than that. You know the right decision to make.”

The right decision.

The side you’re on right now.

You chose to go back with Miles and Henry.

Agatha was right there.

Right there.

But you chose your family.

The family that can barely stand to look at you right now.

The right decision.

This is not the right decision.

When your hand scours beneath the pile of linens you’re pleasantly surprised to find the journal still there. But when you open it to your mother’s final entry, you see dried tear stains that weren’t there the last time you read it–which is every night.

Before you slip the journal into a satchel, you decide to write one last message. One last thing to remember you by.

 Your pen scribbles quickly, anxious to leave.

To my dear father and my dearest brothers,

It is with deepest apologies that I write this. It pains me more than it seems from your perspective. 

By the time you see this, I will be gone.

I serve no purpose on this journey, and serve no purpose in our family but to bring shame and tarnish our reputation.

You may not understand, but it isn’t for you to understand. I was once told to find happiness and that is exactly what I’m doing.

I will continue to pray for your safe and complete journey. 

With all my love,

Your affectionate daughter and sister

You tear the piece of paper out of the journal as quietly as you can and fold it into thirds. You slip it beneath the linens, leaving enough for it to stick out. And then your hand scavenges in the wooden box for a few moments before landing on one of the pistols. You slip the gun and the journal into your satchel, along with a few carefully folded linen dresses and your Bible.

And as quietly as you can, you slip from the wagon. You don’t take a lantern, simply using the light of the full moon to guide you. 

The town is quiet. 

Quieter than usual.

The saloon has closed since the duel between your brother and Agatha. The only thing that signals life are the gas lamp posts dotting the streets.

You swallow the tears that threaten to spill and continue on through the town with determination. Agatha’s home is just up ahead and if it wasn’t for the dim light on the second floor, you might’ve collapsed then and there.

You break into a sprint and throw open the front gate. You don’t even bother knocking. The door is unlocked and you hold your breath as you slowly open it. 

The downstairs is dark, but you can hear the heavy footsteps above your head and see the warm firelight spill down the stairs. You climb them quietly and when you get to the landing of the loft your voice is quiet.

“You’re leaving?”

Agatha startles and when she sees you she closes her eyes and sighs before continuing to pack. “I’ve made plenty of enemies in my time, but none of them have had enough money to send someone after me like your family does.”

“They won’t send someone after you,” you say.

“You don’t know that,” Agatha scoffs.

And she’s right. You don’t know that.

“Well…wherever you’re going,” you say tentatively, “I want to come with you.”

Agatha lets out a dry chuckle. “Not sure you’d last, sugar.”

“Yes I will,” you say, standing tall before her. “I’ll adapt, I’ll–I’ll be with you. I won’t be in Oregon and that’s…” You trail off and you can see her face soften when she looks at you.

She stands before you now, looking over your face for any uncertainty. Instead, she sees willingness, she sees courage, she sees the daughter of a politician begging to run away with her lover.

“You really want to come with me?” she asks.

You nod and hold her face in your hands. “I told you, Agatha. I want you, and everything that comes with.”

Agatha smiles softly and looks you in the eyes now, hands holding your wrists. “Okay,” she mutters, and then slowly, she takes one of your hands and places a delicate kiss in the center of your palm.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

eepy clingy rio

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Charlotte’s Web: Dinosaurs and Drawings

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Word count: 3,955

Content warning(s): MDNI; Very light domestic NSFW

Summary: Summer is coming to a close and school is right around the corner. After being back together for a month, there’s one thing left to make yours and Agatha’s relationship official: tell your daughter that Agatha is her mother.

A/N: Hello! I’ve gotten quite a few requests to make a second part, so here it is. I might make this into a little series, so if you have any ideas for future chapters, feel free to request them!!! I've officially moved out of Miami and am now on my way back home! Miami was cool, but I'm dying to go back to my college town and get drunk with my friends, especially since I'm finally going back to school. Anyway, classes start on the 20th, so hopefully I'll be able to pump out a couple fics by then! Also I'm currently in the process of making my taglist, so if you've submitted your user on the form, dw you're added!!

Tip Jar of hearts💕

Masterlist

Part 1

The morning before the first day of school is met with a bright sunrise. When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with an arm slung over your waist and a dried spot of drool on your pillowcase. 

When you look behind you, Agatha is still fast asleep. You turn over to face her, nuzzling into her neck and falling back asleep.

The next time you’re woken up is by Agatha herself as she kisses your cheeks. You laugh quietly, still groggy from sleep, and when she finally kisses you on the lips, you hold her there for just a few more seconds. 

“Morning,” you mumble.

Agatha kisses you again. “Good morning.”

You stretch, groaning as Agatha’s arms wrap around you. “What should we do for breakfast?” you ask, eyes closing again.

“I have an idea,” Agatha says, and you can hear that suggestive lilt in her voice.

As her kisses trail further down your neck, you open your eyes and glance at her, chuckling. “That’s a really good idea, but I have a five-year-old who’s gonna come running in within the next hour begging for chocolate chip, Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes.”

“And she’ll get them too,” Agatha laughs, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

You sigh, “She will.”

The kitchen is soaked in morning light. The stained glass windows above the French doors cast a vast array of colors on the wood floors, bleeding onto the green cabinets and white countertops, while sun catchers that Charlotte made dot the walls with sun spots. 

You stand at the stove, spooning pancake batter into a hot buttered pan, and behind you, Agatha sits at the table with a mug of coffee.

“Have I ever told you that you have a really nice ass?” 

When you turn your head, Agatha’s grin is sly and cocky, and when she raises her eyebrows you can feel your cheeks heat up. 

“Many times, actually,” you say, turning back to the stove to flip a pancake.

You’re spooning the last of the batter into the pan when Charlotte gets downstairs. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Agatha chuckles as she climbs onto a chair.

Charlotte rubs her eyes. “Hi,” she mumbles.

“Do you want chocolate chips or blueberries?” you ask her, glancing back to see her. 

Her eyes are still heavy with sleep and her hair is a frizzy, tangled mess. She sits beside Agatha quietly, fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown, and she yawns widely. “Can I have both?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “You can have both.” 

You disperse the chocolate chips and blueberries evenly and when the pancake is done, you cut it up into bite-sized pieces. As requested, they’re placed on her favorite plate–the one shaped like a pig–and once everyone’s plate is made, you take your seat across from Agatha.

“What are we doing today?” Charlotte asks, shoveling another bite of pancake into her mouth.

“Your teacher sent out a list of the stuff you need for school,” you say. “So, we’re gonna go buy some supplies and a couple new outfits, and then we’ll go out to dinner after.”

“Can Agatha come?” she gasps, eyes lighting up.

You nod, smiling. “If she wants to.”

The rest of the morning is slow. While you and Agatha clean the kitchen, Charlotte sits in the living room with the cat and a coloring book while the tv plays quietly in the background. 

“Should we tell her today?” Agatha asks quietly, putting leftover pancakes into a plastic baggie. 

You sigh as you rinse off used dishes. “Might as well. It has to come out sooner or later. Besides, parent-teacher night is next Friday and I’d like you to be there for that.”

Agatha pauses. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Why not? You are a parent, right?”

Agatha attempts to play off her reaction as cool, as if she’s been here this whole time. “Yeah…Right…I’d love to go.”

As you drive, your eyes dart to the rear-view mirror every few seconds. Charlotte’s car seat is in your direct line of sight and you can see her tiny hands dancing the even smaller dinosaur toys on the edge of the window. She lets out quiet growls and roars, following them with panicked “Oh no!”s as she makes them run off. 

Beside you, Agatha snickers to herself at the sight, shaking her head before sighing and looking over at you. 

“I showed her Jurassic Park a few nights ago,” you chuckle. “I didn’t want to–I thought it’d give her nightmares and she’d be sleeping in my bed for the next few weeks. But she insisted, and now she wants to be Ellie when she grows up.”

“At least she has goals,” she shrugs. 

In the store, Charlotte holds your hand tightly as Agatha looks through the list. 

“Okay,” Agatha sighs. “It looks like she needs a folder, glue sticks, number two pencils, and crayons. Wow, five-year-olds have it good.”

Charlotte’s eyes light up when she sees the pack of glitter crayons. “Mama, these ones have glitter in them!” she gasps, stretching her arm out to point at them. “Can I have those ones? Please!”

“Okay, but you’re getting a pack of regular crayons too,” you say, throwing both packs into the cart as Agatha crosses them off the list. 

A green folder with dinosaurs on it is dropped into the shopping cart by Charlotte. Number two pencils follow, and glue sticks after. In the backpack section, she has a bout of indecisiveness.

Every dinosaur backpack turns out to be her favorite: the blue one with dinosaur skulls, the red one with a T. Rex, the purple one with velociraptors. And she finally settles on the green one with herbivorous dinosaurs and its matching lunchbox.

“The plant-eaters are my favorite,” Charlotte pipes, marveling at the lunchbox as she walks beside the cart. “I’m gonna put all of my toys in here.”

“Or you could put your lunch in there,” Agatha suggests.

Charlotte sighs as you approach the register and begin piling the items onto the belt. “But where would I put my dinosaurs?”

“You know what,” Agatha says, “that is a really good point, sweetie.”

Clothes have never been an easy topic with you and your daughter. Everything was always too tight or too loose, too itchy or too hot–if there’s one thing your daughter inherited from you, it’s your sensory issues.

After landing on some outfits that she deemed acceptable, your promise of dinner is fulfilled. Agatha chooses a “family-friendly-classy-sportsbar” as she puts it–to which you respond with, “Agatha, this is an Applebee’s.”

The host at the door greets you warmly and takes you to the booth. Charlotte climbs into the corner, dragging Agatha in with her and clutching on tightly to one of her dinosaur toys. After getting situated, menus are distributed, and the smell of wax is pungent when the tiny pack of kids crayons is opened.

“What do you want to drink, honey?” you ask her, looking over your own menu.

Charlotte drags the red crayon through the maze on the kids menu. “Can I have apple juice?” she asks. “And…chicken tenders?”

With drink and appetizer orders in, you spend the time waiting watching the two most important people in your life. You don’t say anything, simply watching their interactions, and watching how similar they are.

“Are you excited for school?” Agatha asks quietly, leaning in close to help Charlotte with the word-search. 

Charlotte nods, very focused on the task at hand. “Mhm.”

“What are you most excited for?” 

“I dunno, everything.” Charlotte shrugs, and her words are filled with a layer of exasperation, as if saying ‘Stop talking to me, I’m busy.’

Agatha looks up at you, and when you meet her eyes you can’t help but giggle.

The evening is spent with last minute loads of laundry, baths, and preparing for the next day. When you follow Charlotte downstairs, her hair wet and freshly combed, you see Agatha in the kitchen. 

Your heart swells when you see the open lunchbox and her spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread. As Charlotte runs off to the living room, you stay exactly where you are, watching. She puts a generous amount of jelly on the bread–extra jelly, just as Charlotte likes it–and proceeds to press a heart-shaped cookie-cutter into the center.

“Whatcha doin’?” you ask, trying to hold back a smile as you walk further into the kitchen.

“Making Charlotte’s lunch for tomorrow,” she says simply–as if it’s not the most wonderful thing you’ve seen. 

She hands you a piece of excess sandwich when you step beside her. You smile, taking it and eating it in one bite. “What else did you pack for her?”

“Some celery and peanut butter, Goldfish, and a piece of chocolate,” Agatha says, eating a scrap of peanut butter and jelly.

You can’t help but smile, and you hate that you’re tearing up. “I love you.”

“Mama, can me and the cat have ice cream?” Charlotte comes barreling in, standing on her tippy-toes as she clings to the cabinet with one hand while the other is occupied with a toy brachiosaurus.

“You and the cat?” you repeat as you open the freezer and get the pint out. “Sweetheart, I told you last time. The cat isn’t allowed to have ice cream.”

Charlotte huffs. “Fine. Just me then. Can I eat on the couch?”

You hesitate, because usually you’d say no. But then you look at Agatha, because you know that you both still need to tell her. “Yeah, honey. You can eat on the couch. But just this once.”

After she runs back to the living room with a cheer, Agatha finishes packing the lunch box and you put the ice cream away. You close your eyes briefly and sigh, feeling Agatha’s hand on your back. “You ready?” you ask.

“Yep.”

With the bowl in hand, you walk to the living room where the TV plays Jurassic Park and Charlotte sits on the couch with a dinosaur coloring book and her new glitter crayons. When she sees the ice cream, the coloring book is completely forgotten. 

“So, we need to talk to you about something,” you say as you and Agatha take a seat with her in between you two. 

“Did I do something?” Charlotte asks, and you can see the panic in her eyes.

“Oh, my gosh, no!” you say quickly. Your hand brushes through her hair reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

“Is it about school?”

“No,” you say, looking at Agatha to help you. 

“What’s it about?”

You sigh. “Do you remember last year when you asked why some of the kids in your daycare class had dads and you didn’t?” She nods and takes a bite of ice cream. “And we talked about how families look different for everyone and that some kids don’t have a dad, and that’s okay.”

You have no idea how to go about this, and in the end, you decide to rip the bandage off. “Agatha is your mom.”

You can see the confusion consume your daughter’s face and she looks between the two of you. “But I thought I was in your tummy.”

“You were,” you say. “But, you know how I said we’re different from some people? Well, we don’t need dads to have babies like some of them do.”

“Like the dinosaurs in the movie?” Charlotte asks.

Agatha snorts. “Kind of like that, yeah.”

“So…I have two moms now?” Charlotte looks up at Agatha. “Are you living with us?”

“Eventually,” Agatha says. “Things take time, but eventually, yes.”

“Really?” Charlotte asks, and her eyes light up when Agatha nods. “Do I call you ‘mom’ now?”

“You can if you want,” Agatha smiles. “But you don’t have to.”

Charlotte asks non-stop questions and for each one, Agatha answers with a smile–even if the question caught her off guard. 

“Will you be here to say bye before school?” she asks, and this question almost punches you in the gut.

Agatha’s eyes melt and her hand brushes through the wet mess of Charlotte’s brown hair. “Yeah, honey, of course.”

It isn’t you who puts Charlotte to bed tonight. No, just like the first night Agatha came back into your lives, Charlotte is curled up in a ball in her pink bed while Agatha reads a chapter of Charlotte’s current book to her. 

Charlotte falls asleep before Agatha’s finished, and when she notices, she can’t help but smile. Agatha closes the book and sets it on the nightstand before tucking the covers around her shoulders and leaving her with a kiss on her head.

__________

Charlotte yawns widely when you put her plate of Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes in front of her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles as you kiss her on the head.

Agatha’s downstairs shortly after, kissing Charlotte on the head and greeting you with a kiss on the lips. 

“There’s coffee in the pot and an omelet in the pan for you,” you say.

You can see her eyes grow dark and she sighs, grinning as she pulls you in by the waist. “Oh, you spoil me, my love.”

Giggles bounce off the walls as you lay out Charlotte’s clothes for today. When you look in the bathroom, she stands at the sink, elevated by a step stool as Agatha dutch braids her hair. She listens intently while Charlotte regales her with a story of what she dreamed about through a mouth full of toothpaste. 

“I didn’t know you could braid,” you say, leaning against the doorframe. 

Agatha chuckles. “There are lots of things you’ve yet to discover.”

“How exciting,” you muse. “In that case, you can handle that mess on shower nights.” As Agatha continues braiding, you go around the bathroom picking up dirty clothes and towels that have fallen. “Hurry up, though. We’ve gotta leave at eight-forty.” 

Charlotte leaps down the stairs in her pigtail braids and light-up sneakers. She jumps from the second step and lands with a loud thud and her skirt bouncing around her knees before she dashes to the door.

“Come on, let’s go!” she whines as she retrieves her bookbag from the coat closet. It’s almost comical how much of her back the bag covers, but still, she smiles brightly as Agatha helps her slip it on. 

“Alright, just a couple more minutes,” you assure her, handing her the matching lunchbox. “I wanna take some pictures.”

Charlotte drops her head back and sighs. “Fine.”

She stands in front of the door with a smile and a death grip on her lunchbox handle, and she can barely stay still with how excited she is. 

“Wait!” After one picture her hand reaches out for Agatha. “Take one with me.”

You watch Agatha crouch down to Charlotte’s level. In a move that makes your heart jump and puts a lump in your throat, Charlotte immediately lunges at her with a hug and Agatha laughs. Her arms wrap around Charlotte and the camera on your phone shutters. 

During the ride to school, Charlotte insists on bringing her favorite dinosaur plushes in the car, and she insists on buckling them into the two empty passenger seats next to her. 

“They have to stay buckled in, Mama!” she says as you help her out of the car and onto the sidewalk. “It’s not safe. They have to be buckled.”

“I promise, they’ll stay buckled in,” you reassure her. “Your dinosaurs will be there to see you after school.”

Charlotte sighs. “Okay.”

She holds your hand tightly as you and Agatha walk her inside. You can feel her grip tighten, the same grip that she has when you walk into the doctor’s office or the dentist’s. But she remains brave–she stands tall, and carries the same confidence that Agatha always has. 

In front of the classroom door, you and Agatha both crouch to her level. Your hands fix the collar of her dress in an attempt to ease your own anxieties. “Okay, honey, you ready? Got your brave face on?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles.

You smile and place a kiss on her cheek. “Good. Have an amazing day. I love you so much.” You hug her tightly. “We’ll be back at three-thirty to pick you up and you can tell us all about your day.”

Charlotte nods and then without warning she jumps into Agatha’s arms, almost sending her tumbling back. But Agatha laughs, and holds her tightly, and a quiet, “I love you,” is muttered into her hair.

Agatha makes eye contact with you and you can see tears threatening to break. She hugs her tighter and mumbles with a kiss to her head, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

The day goes by agonizingly slow–and it’s quiet. Too quiet. You hate it.

You run errands with Agatha (and the dinosaurs in the back seat). You get lunch. You get home and unload the groceries. You get distracted and make out heavily. You end up throwing away a container of accidentally melted ice cream. 

By three-thirty, you’re aching to hold your daughter again, but your anxieties of how her day went take over and as you drive, Agatha’s hand rests on your thigh.

“Honey, it’s okay,” she says softly, hand running up and down your thigh as you wait in the pick-up line.

“But what if it isn’t?” you huff. “School was practically hell for me. I don’t want the same experience for her.”

“I’m afraid you can’t control that outcome, my dear,” she chuckles, and then her attention is drawn to the school doors. “Look, there she is.”

Charlotte hops down the stairs, holding her teacher’s hand and clearly talking very fast.

“Oh, god, she’s holding her teacher’s hand,” you sigh, your leg starting to bounce up and down and your hand holding Agatha’s tightly. 

“It’s okay,” Agatha says steadily, and gets out. “I don’t think she’s in a bad mood, hon. She’s skipping.”

Charlotte’s face lights up when she sees you and Agatha. She lets go of her teacher’s hand without hesitation and almost sprints toward Agatha, who lifts her up and gathers her in her arms.

“I missed you,” Charlotte chirps.

Agatha boops her nose and smiles. “I missed you too.” She opens the rear passenger door and sets her down. “Come on, your dinosaurs are waiting and so is a bowl of ice cream.”

The drive home is nothing but Charlotte giving a very animated recap on her day. 

“A girl, Reagan, liked my backpack and lunchbox!” she beams. “And at lunch she let me have a piece of her candy!”

When she gets out of the car, she bursts through the front door and drops her backpack in the living room, still going on about her day.

“And then, we did handwriting in our notebooks,” she says, completely bubbly as she climbs onto a chair at the kitchen table. “And Miss Trinity said I was really good at reading and writing!” You place a bowl of ice cream in front of her, and she doesn’t stop talking as she starts eating. “We started learning addition and I needed help a bit but Miss Trinity said I did good—Oh!” 

She drops her spoon and slips off the chair, running into the living room and digging through her backpack. Charlotte comes running back in with a piece of paper in her hand and she climbs back onto the chair. “We had drawing time!” 

When she puts the paper down on the table, you almost stop breathing and you can hear Agatha’s quiet gasp. Three stick figures, two of them big and one small, are drawn in crayon. The smaller one is purple, along with one of the taller ones, and the third is orange. And surrounding the three stick figures is a meadow with trees and dinosaurs…and the cat beside the shorter of the three stick figures. 

And in bold, pink crayon writing at the bottom, it says:

MOMMIES ME AND SOCKS

“It’s us!” she beams, and goes back to eating her ice cream.

Agatha is completely speechless, but still, she manages to get out a quiet, “You made this?” There’s awe in her voice and Charlotte nods. Agatha rounds the table and leans down to place a kiss on her head. “I love it. We’re gonna keep it forever.”

By nine o’clock, Charlotte is tucked into bed. Agatha finishes packing her lunchbox as you uncork a bottle of red and pour two glasses. On the kitchen island, the crayon drawing of the three of you sits there, just begging to get ruined by a puddle of water from the sink. So, instead of waiting for it to happen, you grab it and pin it to the fridge with a ‘C’ shaped magnet. 

Agatha’s hands wind around your waist and pull you in close. She kisses up and down your neck and sighs, “I really do love that drawing.”

“Me too,” you mumble. Your head leans back to kiss her properly and when you turn around, you reach behind her to grab your glass of wine. “I love you,” you sigh, and take a sip from the glass. 

Agatha leans in, voice low and hands on your hips as she backs you into the counter. “I love you too,” she mumbles, and kisses you lightly.

She kisses you again and again and when you pull away you sigh contentedly. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, no,” Agatha huffs, taking your wine glass and drinking from it. “That’s not good.”

“I was thinking about when you’d move in,” you say. “You’re here pretty often, and I’m sure Señor Scratchy would like a friend.”

Agatha hums and hands your glass back to you. Her hands rest on the counter, boxing you in with no way no way out. “Actually, I was thinking that you two could move in with me.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well,” she shrugs, “it’s a bigger house, bigger rooms, bigger backyard–”

“You just love talking about size, don’t you?” you grin.

Agatha chuckles. “There’s more than two bedrooms, so if we have guests…or if our bedroom habits come with more than one consequence–”

“Agatha!” you gasp, and let out shocked laughter as you take a sip of wine. “Oh, my god!”

“What?” she shrugs. “I’m just saying, this house is very small. And in the end, we’ll end up needing a bigger space.”

You think about it–the three of you together, the possibility of more kids, waking up with a bunny sniffing your ear and a cat in between your legs, driving to school, going to work, running around in the backyard, teaching Charlotte how to properly use her magic.

“Well a kid or two more could definitely wait a few years,” you say, swirling your glass and stuttering out a laugh. “And you’re right–with the way we are, it’ll probably happen again.” You eye her and purse your lips as she grins, but you sigh, finally relinquishing. “Okay, yeah, fine. We should probably be in a bigger house.”

“That’s right,” she says, voice low and raspy. “Bigger house, bigger rooms, bigger bed…” Her lips trail up and down your neck as you smile and set your glass down on the counter.

As you stand in the kitchen and let her untie your robe, you can’t help but think about how everything’s worked out, even if it didn’t feel like it would in the beginning.

You can’t help but think about Agatha, with her wandering hands and soft kisses. Her warm embrace and how she’s loved the both of you unconditionally, even if the situation was thrust upon her in a moment’s notice. 

You can’t help but think about how happy you are in this domestic bliss, and how you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

DANIEL YOU SAVED MY LIFE AGAIN!!!!

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Using photos from Pinterest or existing gifs on Tumblr will always be the better choice for a fic header than AI art, and I stand by that. It takes 20 minutes and maybe some elbow grease in your phone’s photo app or the free version of Canva to still create something eye-catching that displays the vibe of what you’ve written.

For these, I collected the photos, made the center photo grey scale right in my photos app, and then put a little crown sticker on it from Canva. It was entirely free, took about 20 minutes if you include the time to find the right photos, and only needed very, very basic editing skills that can be learned with relative ease. And, a lot of the time, those extra editing steps aren’t even necessary if you find images that align in tone and color palette. For both of the fics I have posted using this type of header (instead of using a tumblr gif), I did zero editing at all.

AI is an environmental issue and an ethical one, so if there is anyone in my fandom spaces who would like help creating headers, please let me know! I would love to do some searching with you or connect you with some other fandom nerds who love to make edits and gifs and will likely do it for free if you ask them nicely.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Be aware of this fic "author", she uses AI to generate her cover "arts" and fics. She also seems to support JKR according to her Bio, so I'd just steer clear of her in general. As of now, I have been blocked from her account and my comments have most likely been deleted, so here it is, it's under her most recent "fic" called The Favorite:

She clearly does NOT have any respect for artists. I'm horrified that an account that pushes AI slop gets more notes than actual artists and writers.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

writers are creatures that feed on comments by the way. if you want more of your blorbo from them, give them lovely comments. they love that and will most likely give you more fics about your blorbo

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Hello my loves!! I am making an official taglist! If you’re interested in being tagged in my works, I’ve made a Google form for you to fill out so I can put it into a spreadsheet instead of actually doing work at my 9-5 job!

You can find it here:

I love you all, thank you so much for all of your support!!!! You guys mean the world to me💕

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 8: Forward Thinking

Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader Old West/Oregon Trail AU

Word count: 3,486

Summary: As a New York politician’s daughter, you’re accustomed to a way of life that many people aren’t privy to. But after your mother dies and your father sells everything, the only life you see ahead is on a dusty, deserted trail out west–until you meet Agatha.

Warnings: MDNI; light NSFW, gun use

A/N: Every time I write a new chapter it becomes my favorite. But anyway, I predict another two or three chapters after this before our story comes to a close. I'm very excited for the direction this story is going in, so get ready.

Spotify playlist here

Ao3 here

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 | End

You watch as your father and the other men of your camp dig a large hole. The poor mule had passed overnight. You and your brothers helped heave it over to the burial location, and as you watch them roll its limp body into the pit, you can’t help but cry. 

It’s not loud and it’s not noticeable, but your throat is tight and you wipe away the few tears that escape. You’ve never cried over an animal, especially an animal you didn’t interact once with. 

But seeing this mule laying in the dirt, this feels like a glimpse of your future. The future that’s yours if you don’t leave.

This mule had no other purpose than to serve.

Bound by reins for the man that bought it.

In due time, this hole will not be for a mule. This hole will be for you. This hole will be for you when you’re married to an insufferable man. This hole will be for you after you’ve birthed eight children and lost two to sickness. 

This hole will be yours. Maybe not now, but eventually.

Agatha has shown you everything that you ever craved in life–everything that you didn’t know you wanted: a life covered in soil and wildflowers, and everything wrapped in patchwork quilts. 

New York seems so far from your desires now. Yes, you grieve the life that you thought you wanted, but in your society, you’re seen as stubborn and arrogant. 

But not to Agatha.

To Agatha, you’re more than someone that’s only there to bear children. To her, you’re worth every trouble and every obstacle. You’re deserving of every luxury that could possibly be given to you.

And like this mule, you’re deserving of a life free from the reins of the men who confine you to this spot.

No, you would not go to Oregon. Not if you can help it.

__________

The night air is thick. 

You sit in the covered wagon beside your sleeping brother. Through the dim light of the gas lantern next to you, you scribble out misspelled words in your journal and rewrite them, mumbling your frustrations under your breath. 

I’ve hardly slept a wink since laying with her by the creekbed two days ago. I never dreamed of running away with another woman, let alone being in the arms of one. 

My life felt so meaningless, and so empty. I was afraid I’d never find happiness in this world, however after being in the company of Miss Harkness, and seeing everything she has to offer me, I’m afraid I cannot move forward with my current standing.

When I look ahead, the future I see is no longer miserable. It’s filled with her soft touches by the creek and dried chamomile and horse rides in the mountains. 

For once, in my twenty-nine years of living, I look forward to what’s next–because what’s next is her.

You fill almost two pages tonight. Each paragraph bleeds with your hopes for a future with Agatha. 

A future where you share the same bed, where you share the same quilt and share kisses beneath it. 

A future where you spend Sundays by the river, reading and swimming and eating the fruits and vegetables you both grew in your garden.

A future where you’re happy.

A future where you’re loved.

You shut your journal and place it beneath a pile of linens. As quietly as possible, you sit up on your knees and reach over towards the front of the wagon. Your hand scavenges blindly in a wooden crate before you land on what you’re looking for.

When your eyes land on the pistol you can feel your heart beat quicken. You still have no clue how to use it, but your father did have a point of there being dangerous wildlife. So, if you’re going to sneak off in the wilderness in the middle of the night, you might as well be prepared. You’ve seen men use these hundreds of times–it can’t be that hard.

A waxing gibbous moon guides you to Agatha’s home. The dusty town is lit up by gas lamps in the streets and light spilling from the saloon. You walk through the street, listening to the revelry and music coming from inside. You stop briefly, expecting to see her there, and when you see the establishment void of her presence, you’re almost happy.

Because that means she’s at home.

By herself.

Dead grass and packed dirt crunch beneath your shoes as the town gets smaller and smaller behind you. A fluttering makes itself known in your gut when you see her house. There’s smoke billowing from the chimney like many of the other houses around. The chickens in her fenced yard cluck quietly–some sleeping, some pecking at the ground. 

You open the gate, hopeful when you see the soft glow of light in the windows. When you knock on the door you can see a shadow move across one of the windows. The lock clicks and the door opens and suddenly every problem you’ve faced in the last two days no longer matters.

“I was beginning to think you forgot about me.” Agatha’s grin is teasing in all the right ways.

You smile and chuckle as she lets you in. “And how could I ever forget you?”

You feel her arms encircle you and pull your back against her front. Her head dips and she presses warm kisses to the crook of your neck, trailing them up to your ear. As she inhales, her hands run down your hips and grab at your skirt.

And then she pauses.

Agatha’s hand reaches inside the pocket of your skirt and you turn around. She holds the pistol up, hand on her hip as she furrows her brows. “Now, why on Earth are you carrying this?”

“I…” You shrug and let out a huff. “My father said that there’s dangerous stuff out here. He also said to take my brothers if I’m going out by myself…but I’m not by myself anymore.”

Agatha chuckles. “Do you even know how to use one of these?”

You’re almost embarrassed to admit it, but still, “No, I don’t know how to use it.”

“Well, that’s no problem,” she shrugs. “C’mon.”

She keeps the pistol in her possession–along with a rifle that was hung in her kitchen–as the two of you walk along her property. It’s large, with horses and a couple cows, and plenty of chickens. In the near distance, there’s an old barn that seems like the destination of your journey.

“It’s too bad you can’t stay the night,” Agatha sighs, hand on your waist and pulling you close. “I could’ve made us a lovely breakfast in the morning.”

You look at her and smile softly. “Maybe those mornings aren’t too far away…”

“How do you plan on leavin’ them?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I’ll think of something.”

When you reach the barn she rests the rifle down, barrel pointed toward the ground as it rests against the wall. 

“Alright,” she says, “the first thing we’re going to do is make a fire, because it’s pitch black out and I’d like to see that pretty face of yours.” 

There’s a patch of dirt, almost a perfect circle, where rocks surround a pile of old ash. It’s clear that she’s out here frequently, and your mind can’t help but wander to a place where you’re out here with her everyday.

Helping her feed the animals.

Collecting eggs for breakfast.

“D’you know how to make a fire, sweetheart?” she asks.

“Um…” 

You cringe at how helpless you are and Agatha chuckles. “Well, I’m teaching you all sorts of things tonight, huh?”

She takes you into the barn where dry firewood sits in a stack against the wall, illuminated by the lanterns sitting on the floor.  “Alright, hon, we’re gonna get a good amount–maybe ten or so, depending on how long we want this fire to go.” 

Agatha splits it between the two of you and she shows you the proper structure to arrange the wood in. “Now, I could take a stick, light it on fire with one of those lanterns, and toss it in the pile of wood, but you won’t always have lanterns, will you?”

She crouches down to pick up a pile of dry brush. “So, watch closely.” Agatha looks up at you and winks. “Because I’ll be quizzing you later.”

You can feel your cheeks heat up, but you take a seat beside her. She takes something out of her pocket and presents it to you. “I always carry flint with me–that and a blade. Now,” she says, taking the brush and positioning it with the wood, “you want the dry material under the wood, but still reachable by the spark.”

She takes out the dagger that she always has strapped to her thigh and holds it over the brush with the flint. “And when you strike the flint, you want it at an angle. It’s the friction that makes the spark.” 

She positions the knife over the flint and strikes it. A large spark takes hold of the dry brush and she strikes the flint again. Now, a small fire is growing, consuming the dead grass. Agatha hands the dagger and flint over with another clump of dry brush. 

“Alright, sugar, your turn.”

You look at her hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve always believed a…hands-on approach method is best,” she says, giving you a sly and almost teasing smirk. “Go on.”

You put the clump of weeds under the wood. When you glance over she nods, and you take the flint and dagger. With unsteady hands, you strike the flint. Only a small spark lights up and you strike again. This time, a fire is slowly overtaking the brush.

The wood is slowly consumed by the fire, and eventually everything within a ten-foot radius is bathed in warm light. 

“Now, that there is the best damn fire I’ve ever seen,” Agatha says.

She helps you up and hands over the pistol. As you stand there, you watch her heave a bale of hay over and place firewood in a neat row on top. She steadies them to stand up vertically, and when she’s done, she comes to stand beside you.

“Okay, let’s see here,” she sighs. You hold up the pistol and she examines it. “It’s already loaded, so for a pistol, it’s pretty simple.” Agatha stands behind you, hands reaching around to hold yours. She guides them to hold the pistol, stretched out in front of you toward the target. Her thumbs rest over yours, and through it all the only thing you can focus on are her lips beside your ear.

Agatha directs your thumbs over the safety catch. “Pull back on the hammer,” she says, and your thumbs pull back. “Good. Focus on the target,” she breathes, and a chill runs through you. “Fingers on the trigger…and fire.”

Bang!

You flinch when it fires, but the wood on the hay bale falls to the ground with a thud. 

“First try,” Agatha smiles. With the safety hammer back on, you turn around with a smug look and she scoffs. “Alright, don’t look so smug, sweetheart. Let’s see how you fare with the rifle.”

Agatha stands beside you as you hold the rifle. It rests on the ground in front of you, the barrel facing up at you.

“Now, for the rifle…” Agatha says, reaching down to her hip to reach into her satchel. She pulls out a horn and unties the opening. “You’ll need powder. Not a whole lot.” She hands you the horn. “Pour a bit of it down the muzzle…good.” 

When you hand the horn back to her she ties it shut, tucking it back into her satchel, and when her hand reemerges, she holds a tiny lead ball. “Here. You’re going to take this and drop it down the barrel.” 

After you drop the ball down the muzzle of the gun, Agatha taps the side of the rifle. “Now, take this,” she says. You take the slim stick out of the holder. “This is the ram rod,” she explains. “Take that and stick it in the barrel. Push everything to the bottom.”

When the ram rod is back in the holder and the powder and ball are at the bottom of the muzzle, she has you pick the rifle up. “Now, this is the frizzen.” Agatha points at the L-shaped piece. “Open that up…good.” She takes out the powder horn again and hands it to you. “Pour a bit more into that pocket right there.”

The powder horn is safely back in her satchel when she comes to stand behind you again. She guides the rifle up and suddenly you’re more aware of everything around you.

The summer breeze brushing your cheeks.

Her soft touches.

The firelight.

The sound of crickets and the distant rumble of thunder.

“Okay, now fully cock the rifle,” she mutters. Her voice is low and her breath is steady. “Steady the butt of it against your shoulder…good.”

Her hands run down your arms and position your own to properly hold it. “There,” she whispers. 

You turn your head slightly–just enough to meet her eyes. “Why are you teaching me this?” you mutter.

“You gotta learn how to protect yourself,” she says. “I won’t always be by your side, sugar.”

“But what if I want you to be?” You glance down at her lips and then back up at her eyes. They’ve softened, and in the glow of the firelight, the blue hues have darked. “What if I said I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but by your side?”

Agatha smiles, almost amused, and she hums. “Then I’d say, I’m still going to teach you how to fire this gun, because you need to learn how to protect yourself, little lady…” And then she pauses, glances down at your lips, and you can see the hesitation when she looks back at your eyes. “But also, I’d say that I wouldn’t dream of leaving you. I couldn’t be bribed with all the gold in the world if it meant being without you.”

“Really?” you breathe.

She nods. “I would spend the rest of my life running from the law if you were by my side.” Her hand turns your head toward the target again and she leans in close to your ear. “Now, focus, and fire.”

With a cloud of smoke, the rifle fires and the wood drops to the ground. 

You lower the rifle slowly and Agatha hums. “Not too bad.” When you turn around, her hands are on your waist, pulling you close. “Not as good as me,” she teases, “but you’re the finest lady the west has seen.”

Her lips are soft and warm over yours. With one hand still holding the rifle, the other comes around her shoulders, pulling her close. Cold rain drops begin pelting your face and lightning illuminates the sky. 

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” Agatha says, guiding you to the barn. She sets the rifle and the pistol down on a bale as you drop down onto a pile of loose hay. “You sure are making yourself comfortable, huh?”

“Well, I don’t see this storm clearing up anytime soon,” you reason, your sentence punctuated with a clap of thunder. She takes a seat beside you, kissing you softly as you smile. “And I don’t want to leave.”

It’s quiet as you lay in the hay, before you notice the leaking ceiling, droplets of water dripping from the wood rafters. “You should fix that leak,” you tease.

Agatha sighs and shakes her head, but you know, without looking at her, that she’s smiling. “You’ve got a big mouth, y’know that?”

You giggle as she pulls you closer. “I’ve been told by many people–mostly men. But they never said it the way you did.”

“And how did I say it?” she asks, looking down at you and smiling softly.

“Like it isn’t a bad thing,” you mutter. “Like what I say matters to you.”

“Well it does.” Agatha’s voice is quiet and she looks over your face. “I want to hear every thought that crosses your mind–no matter how absurd. I think you’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.”

You hum. “Most people just say I’m stubborn and arrogant.”

“You’re not,” Agatha says. Her fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just don’t conform to their standards. You don’t fall in line with a single command. You question ‘why?’. You seek knowledge, and that’s one of the things I love about you.”

The kiss that follows is softer than any kiss you’ve shared. Her hand tangles in your hair, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Tell me more about yourself,” she whispers against your lips. “I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

You can feel your cheeks warm as her kisses begin trailing over them. “My favorite color is green,” you breathe, taking in a breath as her teeth nip below your ear. “I know how to do calculus–to a certain level…” 

Agatha continues her motions down, hands reaching beneath you to untie your linen dress. “Keep going,” she mutters, and she peels down the collar to kiss your now bare shoulder. “Tell me more…”

“My birthday is October eleventh,” you say. You let her pull your sleeves off, skin prickling as she places soft kisses up your arm. Your hand winds through her brunette hair and tugs lightly when she reaches your breasts. “I–uhh–I play the piano…I am undefeated in the game of Whist.”

“Oh, undefeated, hm?” Agatha grins as you nod, and her tongue drags along your chest. “Anything else I should know?”

 Your hands grab at your skirts, bunching them up around your thighs, and then grab at Agatha’s arms. She kisses back up your neck and over your cheek. When she pulls back, you smile softly, biting the inside of your lip. “You should know that I…want you to kiss me again.”

“You do?” she teases, and there’s a familiar glint in her eyes and a grin that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. When you nod, she leans down and pecks your cheek. “Like that?”

You shake your head, holding back a laugh. “No.”

“No?” she repeats. Agatha leans in again and places a small kiss on the tip of your nose. “There?”

You giggle. “No.”

Another kiss on your jaw. “There?”

“No.”

“What about here?”

“No.”

Agatha huffs, and you know she’s doing it on purpose, but still she asks, “Then where, pray tell, would you like me to kiss you?”

You don’t give her a verbal response, instead pulling her face down to kiss her hard. “There,” you say, kissing the smile that grew on her face as she teased you. The kiss grows more and more heated and soon you’re panting.

“I want you to touch me,” you sigh into her mouth. “Please.”

Agatha lets out a low hum. “Not here,” she chuckles. “Not in a barn. You deserve better than a pile of hay.” As a loud clap of thunder sounds overhead, Agatha looks at you with a mischievous look. “Are you a fast runner?”

You grin. “I can be.”

“Good.”

Agatha helps you up from the pile of hay and you grab the lantern as she pulls you behind her. 

“Wait!” you laugh. “Wait! The pistol! I have to bring it back with me.”

After the pistol is safely in her satchel, she takes off her jacket and holds it over the both of you.

As you run through the pouring rain, you can’t help but laugh with her, because everything you’re doing is so different from what you were doing not even a year ago. So much has changed in so little time.

And to think you didn’t want this.

To think you didn’t want to run through the rain with your dress slipping off your shoulder.

To think you didn’t want this secret love affair that’s felt like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

To think you didn’t want to be in another woman’s bed, safe in her arms with kisses on your forehead.

To think you didn’t want to give the future a chance.

And to think, this is the last time you’ll ever question whether or not to carry on.

Because, now you’re in Agatha’s bedroom. Now you’re unbuttoning her blouse. Now you’re kissing her and you’re tangled in her quilt and your chest is heaving and the summer air is sticky.

And when you’re in this sanctuary, when you’re in this sacred space–where time seems to move differently and the only two people left on Earth are you–the only direction from here is forward.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

LCM chapter 50 moodboard:

@lunargrrrl the therapy bill is on its way

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Now that I have your attention:

For the love of all things holy

PUT A KEEP READING IN YOUR LONG FICS!!!

Anything over 900 words needs to be under a readmore. Im serious. This kinda shit will get you blocked by other blogs who frequent the tags your using!

It’s been getting worse & worse recently. It esp sucks on mobile for how long you have to scroll go get passed them.

If you don’t know how either type “:readmore:” (without the quotes) or hit the icon with the squiggly line in the middle (beside the poll icon)

I’m tagging this with fandoms & characters ive been seeing it under in hopes y’all see it.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Hi, I was the anon that requested the AgathaxReader exes fic. I just read it thank you so much it was so good!

I don't mean to sound greedy 😭 but you did leave it sort of open ended, would you consider continuing it? I would personally love to read more of this if you are willing.

Maybe they keep having casual sex and are hiding it from the group and Reader keeps saying it's a mistake it doesn't mean anything, but Agatha wants them to try again and tries to convince Reader to give it a shot (some angst and jealousy could still be involved).

Totally understand if you don't want to write anymore, I just really enjoyed it and was curious to see where this story could go. Thank you again for your lovely work 🙏

I'm glad you liked it! Here is part two :) And sorry, I know you wanted more angst, but I am obviously incapable of writing that. 🌞

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, possessiveness, dirty talk

Tip me 💰if you like my work and want to support me :)

You and Agatha don't really establish rules, but the one thing you agree on is that it's just sex, even though you see the ways her eyes linger on you a little too long before she leaves the apartment or how your heart does somersaults every time you get a message from her.

But officially, it's just casual sex. That's what you agreed on when she finally left your apartment the morning after the club. That’s what you said to yourself when your friends messaged you in the group chat asking you where you disappeared and you answered that you were not feeling well. Because why tell them the truth when the truth is such a simple thing as a casual sex with your ex wife?

The first time Agatha shows up after the crazy morning in the shower, a lazy smirk is playing on her mouth. You barely open the door and she's already kissing you, already walking you backward until your back hits the wall.

Your hands are in her hair and her thigh slides between yours like she never left.

"Missed me?” she murmurs against your neck, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

You grip her tighter. "Shut up."

And then her hand is under your shirt, fingers curling around your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. Your knees wobble.

"Say you’re mine," she breathes, licking the shell of your ear.

But you won't. You won't give her that. Not when she agreed that this would be casual, not when your heart is still fixing itself up after she broke it.

Instead you drag her dress over her head and drop to your knees, you press open-mouthed kisses up her inner thigh, slow, until your mouth finally finds her and she curses under her breath and her hand tangles in your hair.

She's warm and wet and delicious and you know exactly what rhythm makes her say your name. You suck her clit until her legs tremble and she has to grip the wall to stay standing.

When she comes, she pulls your hair just a little too tight and you love it.

But after, when you both sit on your kitchen floor half-naked and panting, she asks: "this still doesn't mean anything, right?"

You nod and don't look at her face as she mumbles "whatever you say".

~~~

You fall into a rhythm.

Sometimes, it's fast - rough kisses in the kitchen, your thighs hitting the cold surface of the counter, her hand already between your legs before you have even said hello.

Other times it's slower, like when she shows up drunk and quiet, saying nothing until you've pulled her into bed.

It is all casual, but it happens way too often and you have to tell to Olivia that you're busy because between work and Agatha you don't really have time or energy for anyone else.

There is no softness when Agatha shows up at your place or when you come to hers. It's always rough and passionate and needy.

When you knock on her door unexpectedly one time, you feel breathless from the way her eyes twinkle as if she was happy to see you. The door barely clicks shut before she has you pinned against it.

Her hands find your hair and yank your head back just enough to bare your throat. Her mouth is hot and insistent, biting, sucking, like she wants to mark every inch of skin she can reach.

"Do you let her put her hands on you?" Agatha growls suddenly, her voice low and dark, right against your ear. Her thigh presses between yours so hard it almost hurts.

You swallow audibly. "No, I haven't seen her in almost two weeks."

Her hand fists in your shirt, tugging it up, rough. "Good. Because you're mine. Say it."

You don't. Not yet. But it burns in your throat like a hot coal, desperate to get out. To distract yourself you grip her hips, pull her in harder and start grinding on her thigh more desperately.

When she drags you to her bedroom, she pushes you down onto the bed with both hands on your shoulders. There's no asking. There is not checking. She knows what you want and what you need.

You arch up to meet her, gasping as her hands slide down your sides, possessive. She pulls your hands above your head, pinning your wrists with one hand while the other runs down your stomach and slips below the waistband of your panties and between your legs and you moan so loudly it's embarrassing.

"You like this, don't you? Being handled like this."

And god, you do.

Her fingers find a toe-curling rhythm and you become a panting mess.

"Look at you," she whispers against your neck. "Falling apart so deliciously."

She has the power to ruin you again. And you would let her.

You will let her.

~~~

Another time you come it's well past midnight and she opens the door to you leaning against the frame, hair messy from the wind, shirt half buttoned.

She doesn't say anything and just steps aside to let you in.

Once the door is closed you are already undoing the rest of your buttons, moving toward her like it's inevitable.

"Couldn't sleep," you say, voice quiet, but there's a rasp to it that always gives you away, the desperation you try to hide.

"Bullshit," she mutters, already grabbing you by your hips, walking you backward toward the couch. "You just needed this."

You smirk a little bit. "Maybe I did."

The back of your knees hit the couch and you sit, legs spreading automatically, eyes dragging down her body like you own her. Like this isn't casual. Like it never was.

She steps between your thighs and grabs your chin, tilting your head up to look at her. Her hands are warm, her eyes reveal emotions you don't want to admit and the way she's looking down at you like you're her world makes you want to break your own rules. Same goes for her apparently because the next thing you know, she's whispering "say it. Say you missed me."

You hold her gaze, defiant at first. But she drags her thumb across your lower lip, pressing until you part it slightly and your breath hitches. But still, you shake your head.

She pushes you down flat against the couch and turns around to go to the bedroom. At first you lay there, confused, but then she shows up, wearing the strap on. The same fucking strap you used to use together.

You groan at the sight of her. Her hands are rough on your thighs, dragging them open wider as she settles between them, grinding down slowly, letting the tip of the fake cock tease you.

You let your head fall back against the cushion, your nails digging into her waist through her shirt.

She grabs the strap on and pushes it slowly into you and enjoys the way your whole body shudders from the sensation.

"You think about me when you're alone?" she asks, rolling her hips against yours.

Your laugh is breathless. "Don't flatter yourself."

She slides her hand up your chest, under your open shirt, palm flat against your skin until she finds your breast, cupping it roughly. Her thumb brushes over your nipple and when she softly pinches it, you arch up into her hand immediately.

"Liar, you came dripping," she whispers.

She leans down to suck the nipple into her mouth and you gasp.

"Say it," she whispers again. "You missed me."

Your grip tightens on her waist. You shift under her to grant her more access, to make her speed up her movements.

"Say it, Y/N."

"I missed you," you admit finally, voice breaking a little bit.

And that does it.

She picks up a quicker pace and starts fucking you like she wants to make sure you will not be able to walk the next day.

When it's over, you pull her down into you and kiss her. Not soft. Not sweet. But definitely desperate.

~~~ One late afternoon, your office is quiet, people are already slipping out early for the weekend, you're half-asleep at your desk going through emails when a knock comes at your door.

You glance up and Agatha lets herself in before you can say "come in".

She's wearing short dress that expose her creamy thighs and you catch yourself staring.

"I'm working," you say flatly, but your pulse skips when you see the hunger in her eyes.

"Don't care." She shuts the door behind her with a soft click and locks it.

"Agatha-"

But she's already crossing the room, hands grabbing your collar, dragging you up from your chair. Her mouth finds yours and boy, you don't know how you went months without her mouth. It seems almost like a blasphemy.

You stumble back, hands gripping the edge of your desk.

"God, you're impossible," you mutter against her mouth, but don't push her away.

She laughs shortly. "You're the one with your legs already shaking."

She's not wrong.

"Five minutes," she says, already turning you around, pressing you forward until your hips hit the desk edge. Her hands are under your skirt before you can argue, sliding your underwear down with maddening slowness.

"Agatha-"

Then there's another knock and you freeze. Agatha freezes too, hands still on your thighs.

"Hey?" It's Jen's voice. "You in there?"

Agatha grins against your shoulder.

"Once second!" you call out, voice a little too high.

Agatha steps back, only just, but instead of pulling away completely, she slides down to her knees.

"Don't you dare," you hiss under your breath while her hands grip your thighs and her mouth presses right against you.

You slap a hand over your own mouth.

"Seriously, I just need to grab the reports," Jen says through the door.

"Yeah, okay, hold on!" you manage, scrambling to pull yourself together while Agatha is still there, on her knees, dragging her tongue through your folds maddeningly slowly.

You take a deep breath and finally push her away, not without noticing her mischievous wink as she hides under the desk.

When you unlock the door, Jen pokes her head in.

"Sorry, I know it's late, but... are you okay? You look kind of... flushed."

"I'm fine," you lie through your teeth. "Just a long day."

Jen raises an eyebrow at you, but doesn't question it.

She moves into the room, flipping through the files on your desk while Agatha is still under there, silent, uncharacteristically patient. You sit down again, hoping to hide her in case Jen comes around the table. You feel Agatha's breath against your inner thigh. She nudges you with her nose.

You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood.

Jen grabs what she needs and heads back toward the door, pausing just before she leaves.

"Nice lipstick, by the way," she adds casually. "Is that new?"

You can't answer so you just shrug and finally breath out loud when she leaves and the door clicks shut behind her.

"You're insane," you say toward your desk.

Agatha's laugh comes low from beneath it. "You love it."

And then her hands grip your knees, pushing them apart wider, and her mouth is back on you.

When she finally pulls you over the edge, you have to bite your own hand to keep quiet.

Your entire body is trembling while she stands up, looking completely composed.

She grabs your chin and places a kiss on your lips, smirking.

"See you Sunday brunch," she murmurs against your mouth and then she leaves you there, undone, half-dressed, heart racing.

~~~

This is your first Sunday brunch since you started sleeping with Agatha. You had to cancel the last one because the damn woman kept you up until 5AM and you were too worried it would look suspicious if you both showed up sleep deprived.

Agatha sits across from you in white linen dress, hair done up with loose strands framing her face. She looks so good that you almost kissed her when you arrived. Instead you busied yourself with asking Alice about her new project and getting excited by Billy's latest fling.

You're mid-sip of coffee when you feel it. A barely there nudge, the tip of a foot against your ankle.

You glance up at her and she's leaning back in her chair, arm draped lazily over the back of Alice's seat, not looking at you.

You clear your throat and shift your leg away.

Another nudge, this time stronger, her foot sliding up your calf slowly.

You glare at her and she finally glances your way. She has the audacity to look amused.

You press your knees together under the table, trying to focus on your toast, but Agatha's toe brushes higher, over your skin, right up to the inside of your knee now.

You grip your fork harder and then her foot settles against the inside of your thigh, heel digging in just enough to make you ache.

You feel a wave of warmth wash over you and you pull away your shirt from your neck to get some air.

"Okay, seriously," Alice gestures to your neck. "That is definitely a hickey."

You freeze for a split second too long and it takes a tremendous amount of willpower not to glare at Agatha immediately. She sucks and bites on your skin all the time that you can't even keep up with the marks and how visible they are. You honestly haven't even noticed that one.

You pull your shirt back up. "Oh yeah." You feel heat spreading over your cheeks, panicking too much to be able to explain.

"Olivia's possessive," Jen smirks into her mimosa.

"Yeah, she is," you say. And you know it's a mistake the second the words leave your mouth.

Agatha's knuckles go wide from how hard she's gripping her coffee mug and there's another nudge at your thighs. Now more of a kick.

Alice laughs. "Guess she has to mark her territory."

Agatha stands suddenly, not dramatically, but quickly enough to draw the attention to herself.

"Bathroom," she says simply.

You should stay where you are. You really should.

But a minute later, you're excusing yourself too. You push the door open quietly and Agatha's there, arms crossed, leaning against the sink.

"You let them think it's her? That's what we're doing now?"

You shut the door behind you. "Don't start."

"No?" she snaps. "I hate it. You should have said it wasn't her."

Your hands curl into fists. "What do you want from me? We decided it would be casual, I don't want them to-"

"You!" she growls and pushes at you until your back is slammed against the door. "You decided that it would be casual."

This should be a breaking point, a moment where you finally stop this game and part ways, but she's so close and looking at you with the quiet desperation and want that you find yourself dragging her closer and kissing her.

"You're mine, I don't care what you say. You've always been mine," she growls into your mouth. "Tell me she makes you feel like this."

Her fingers find the hem of your skirt and your soaked panties too quickly and she slides inside.

You bite back a moan. "Agatha, please..."

You literally haven't seen Olivia in two weeks, you've been having almost daily sex with Agatha who makes you... fuck.

"Please," Agatha whispers and you look at her surprised. Agatha doesn't beg. But now she's begging, her eyes a little bit watery and you can't do this with her pressed so close and looking so beautiful and she smells like home and- "Tell me you will end it."

You nod because who are you kidding. "I will."

~~~

You break up with Olivia the next day.

You don't say why and she doesn't look surprised. She just looks at you and says "it’s always been her, hasn’t it?"

You don't deny it.

~~~

You don't text Agatha, you simply go to her apartment and when she opens the door and looks at you expectantly, you nod and your mouth spreads into a soft smile.

Agatha's eyes flicker, her face softening and she pulls you inside. Her hand cups your cheek and her thumb brushes just under your eye, as if checking that you're really here.

She kisses you.

Nothing like before - no rush, no desperation. It's slow and warm and her mouth moves against yours like she's savoring it.

"I don't want this to be casual," she whispers afterwards.

You look into her eyes and pull her closer by her waist. "Me neither.” You press your forehead against hers. “But you have to try. No more workaholic stuff.”

She laughs mirthlessly. “I promise.”

And as you’re standing there, foreheads pressed, arms circled around each other, you wonder if in another universe, you don’t get back together. What a fucked up universe that must be…

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Just read your story for the first time and I am hooked. The plot is so refreshing and i love how u based everything around that one kathryn ad/photoshoot(?) so so so so valid lol

thanks for sharing your work <3

Stop omg I just got back from the beach and saw this. You are so kind thank you so much💕💕There’s plenty more to come I promise!!

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 7: A Shallow Creek

Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader Old West/Oregon Trail AU

Word count: 2,115

Summary: As a New York politician’s daughter, you’re accustomed to a way of life that many people aren’t privy to. But after your mother dies and your father sells everything, the only life you see ahead is on a dusty, deserted trail out west–until you meet Agatha.

Warnings: MDNI; very light NSFW

A/N: Hi, so this did not take as long as I thought it would to write. I'm currently on vacation, so I've had a lot of time to myself for the past couple days. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, I think it's my favorite one so far.

Spotify playlist here

Ao3 here

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | End

When your eyes flutter open, you only take in your surroundings for a moment before you gasp. You launch yourself out of bed, and in the process you startle Agatha awake.

“What’s got you so rattled?” she says, voice thick and raspy.

You rush around the room, mind racing at a thousand miles an hour. “Um–it is–!” You struggle pulling your chemise over your head. “Dammit! Um–it is almost four.” You scramble for your linen dress. “I guess I–” Your arm slips through the neck hole and you huff. “I guess I dozed off.”

Agatha snickers to herself as she watches you frantically run around the room. After slipping on your boots, you sigh and lean over the bed on your hands. “I’m sorry I can’t stay,” you say, eyes glancing down at her lips. “I wish I could, truly.”

“I know,” Agatha sighs. “Now, go beat clothes against a rock or whatever you ladies do out there.”

You giggle and lean forward, pressing a firm kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you again?”

“I’m countin’ on it, sugar.” And she sends you off with a wink.

By the time you get back to camp, the men and women in your party are slowly rising. The fire from the previous night is now a heap of glowing embers, and a woman from the other family that joined you is beginning to revive it. 

You’re contemplating the choices you have: either sneak back into a wagon, or march in there with nothing to hide. And you suppose the former would be the hardest with how many people are here. The latter, you could come up with an excuse and go with that. But you don’t have long to decide, because the decision is made for you.

“Where have you been?” Your father’s voice is loud and cuts through the warm summer air.

You freeze when you see him, but manage to find your footing and keep calm. “I apologize if I caused worry,” you say, walking toward him. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I went into town to seek remedy.”

"At this hour?” he asks.

“There was an apothecary open,” you say–a bold face lie, and you hope that he believes it. 

He eyes you suspiciously, but he seems to relax. “Alright, however next time, take one of your brothers. There’s all kinds of wildlife out here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You nod. “Yes, papa.”

“Now, go help the women prepare breakfast.”

The morning passes by and you’re exhausted. And despite how tired you are, you’re thrilled when you and your brothers are sent back into town for supplies. It’s almost like a reflex the way you come up with a plan to separate yourself from your brothers. 

‘A bucket,’ you think. ‘I’ll bring a bucket to get water.’

When you enter the dusty, old town, you feel rejuvenated almost. As you walk through, men tip their hats at you–some you recognize from the previous night. But you don’t want them, you want Agatha.  

And the plan works perfectly. You leave your brothers and they have no suspicion of where you’re off to. 

Because you’re getting water.

Only water.

But the source of your water was never specified. You knock three times on the door of Agatha’s home. Your heart thunders in anticipation–but if you’re being honest, you’re worried that she’s not even home. You don’t want to go back in town with your brothers, and if Agatha’s there, you might not even get to see her.

But those worries are pushed aside, because you hear the click and you’re pulled inside. Before you can register what’s happening, she has you pushed against the wall. Her lips are hot against yours as you giggle, dropping the bucket with a clatter and pulling her closer.

“You’re back a lot sooner than I thought you would be,” she breathes against your mouth.

You kiss her again and sigh. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Agatha looks at you curiously. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I was sent with my brothers to get supplies for the camp, but…” You reach down and pick up the bucket, a sly grin growing on your face. “I thought I’d be far more useful getting us some water, so I suggested they go ahead without me and I’ll go alone…”

“Well, aren't you naughty?” she tuts. 

“I was thinking I could use the water pump out back,” you suggest, “but since my only intention of being here is to get water, it wouldn’t be very fair to use you, now would it?”

“Oh, not at all,” she scoffs, grinning as she braces herself against the wall. You can feel yourself grow warm as she boxes you in. “There’s a creek nearby. I’d be happy to escort you, darlin’.”

“Why, Miss Harkness, what a kind offer!” You smile brightly and she kisses you softly.

When she pulls away you can see a faint blush on her cheeks. Her eyes drift over your body and then back up to meet yours. “What d’you say I pack some grub and we can have a little do by the river?”

Your cheeks warm and you’re almost speechless. “I would love nothing more.”

You stare at the white horse in front of you, hesitant about climbing on by yourself. When Agatha suggested you ride on your own horse, you were open to the idea, but now, you want to be in her arms as she holds the reins.

“What are you waitin’ for?” Agatha calls from her horse. “Climb on!”

You look over at her, and it’s clear there’s a level of worry in the way you do, because she’s dismounting her horse. She walks over to you, hands on her hips. “You need some help?” she asks with an amused smile. 

“Yes…It’s just a lot taller than I thought it’d be,” you explain quickly.

She comes behind you and places her hands on your waist. “Alright, grab onto the saddle and put your foot in the stirrup.”

You do, and she counts to three, giving you a boost onto the saddle. You get yourself situated, but as you do, she puts her hands on her hips and scoffs. “What are you doin’?”

“What?”

“The way you’re sittin’ on that horse!” she snorts.

You look down–it’s the way you were taught to sit on a horse by yourself, with your legs together on one side, back straight, hands on the reins. “What about it?” you ask.

“You can’t ride a horse side-saddle! Swing your legs over!”

You huff, but ultimately do as she says. “There. Better?”

She smirks. “Much.”

With the basket of food strapped to her horse, Agatha leads you away from the houses scattered on the outskirts of town. It’s not the longest trip–shorter than the ride up to the hill Agatha took you to. When you get there, Agatha lets the horses graze after removing the basket from her horse’s tack. 

In the midday sunlight, you walk down to the riverbed with Agatha. Your hand is tucked neatly in the crook of her elbow and you rest your head on her shoulder as you step through the brush.

You come to a tree beside the river, hosting plenty of shade for your picnic. Agatha sets the basket of food down and removes her leather jacket, setting it down at the base of the tree and spreading it out.

“Can’t let your dress get muddy, sweetheart,” she says. “Have a seat.”

You take a seat on her jacket and unpack the basket as she sits beside you. 

“Cheese and crackers, apples,” you point out, and then gasp and smile mischievously. “Wine? Agatha Harkness, are you trying to get me drunk?” 

Agatha chuckles and you could swear that you see a sparkle in her eye. “No, I just figured a girl like you deserves the finest–well, the finest that I’m capable of givin’ you.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile, and lean in to kiss her. “Thank you.”

Your lunch is filled with laughter, broken by stolen kisses and sips of wine. As the summer heat bears down on you and the weight of exhaustion sits on your shoulders, you lay back on Agatha’s jacket. She follows you down with a kiss on your lips and as you smile, your hand reaches up and takes her hat, putting it on your own head. 

Agatha pulls back and when she sees you, she grins. “Hm…I think you look better in that than I do, hon.”

She doesn’t let you protest, and instead parts your lips with a passionate, yet tender kiss. Her hands run over your waist and grab at the layers of skirt you’re wearing. She breaks the kiss, and both of you are panting, but she grins anyway. “Oh, how convenient it is that all you have to wear under this pretty frock of yours is a chemise.”

Your jaw drops and you laugh loudly. “You’re appalling!”

Agatha kisses you again, taking her hat off of your head and tossing it aside. You bunch up your skirts as her hand travels further down and she hums against your lips. “So eager…You know, lust is a sin,” she teases quietly.

With an impatient huff, you pull her back in by the base of her neck. “Then take me to Hell.”

It’s here at the creekbed–with your fingers digging into her hair and your back arched as she holds you–that you decide that this is what you want. 

This is the life you’ve been craving–not the stone streets of New York City, not the dress fittings and tea, and not the love of a man who will only marry you out of pity. 

This glimpse of her world is what you want–dirt paths that lead to creeks, wildflowers and gardens, and the love of a woman who sees you as someone with value and not something to be pitied. You want her soft touches, you want her kisses every morning when you wake up, and every night before you fall asleep. 

You lay in her arms, the both of you slick with sweat and half undressed. Agatha presses soft kisses to everywhere she can reach–your neck, your collarbones, your cheeks and lips. And when she lays down beside you, she lets out a content sigh.

“Do you like it here?” she asks abruptly.

You turn your head to look at her, and genuinely take in her question. “When I’m at the camp, cooking porridge and gathering firewood, I want nothing more than to go back to New York.” You smile sadly, hand running over her waist. “But then I go into town, and I see you, and New York is the furthest thing from my mind. I want to stay here, with you, Agatha.” Your voice cracks and you find it hard to speak. “I don’t want to go to Oregon.”

“Yeah?” she says, smiling softly and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And what would you do?”

You chuckle. “I don’t know…maybe I’d become a saloon girl.”

Agatha’s laugh is loud and she snorts. “You? A saloon girl?” she scoffs. “Oh, darlin’, you and your silk slippers would be eaten alive.”

“But I wouldn’t be in Oregon,” you reason, and as you continue, your throat tightens with emotion. “I wouldn’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man, where my only purpose is to bear children until I’m in infertile.”

Your hand cups her cheek and your eyes, aching for sleep, look into hers. “I want to stay here, Agatha. I want to stay with you.”

Agatha takes your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. “Sweetheart, I have nothing,” she says painfully. “Barely a silver dollar in my pocket. You deserve to be spoiled–to have everything that is fine in this world. Silk slippers, parasols, petticoats, I can’t give you any of that.”

“How shallow you must think me, if you believe that what I require in my life is material items.” You shake your head and chuckle. “Do you honestly believe that I’d trade you for a pair of shoes, or nice bedding? That I’d trade you for anything? I want you, Agatha, and everything that comes with.”

Agatha’s lips curl into a grin and she runs her hand along your jaw, cupping your chin. Her eyes search yours and her voice is quiet, “Careful what you wish for, little lady. You might find more than what you bargained for.”

And as you lay in her arms, beneath the tree and beside the running creek, you have only one thought:

If this is Hell, I don’t ever want to see the gates of Heaven.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Hi, love. Any chance of us getting an update on Sweet as Sugarcane? I love that story so much.

Omg yes I’ve been working on it slowly! I’ve been super busy with work, but dw you’ll be getting cowboy!agatha again I promise!!