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d-z20 · 1 month ago

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The Witch's Plaything (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You come home from work late and your girlfriend, Agatha Harkness, doesn't take kindly to being kept waiting, so tonight she makes sure you understand exactly what that means, and she’s not stopping until you’re completely undone.

-OR-

Agatha punishes you for being late and then fucks you with her fingers (Darkhold edition).

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut with basically no plot, dom Agatha and her darkhold hands, humiliation/degradation, magical restraint, magical leashing if you squint, oral, fingering, choking. spitting, smidge of praise

Words: 5.2k

A/N: Listen mean!Agatha makes me weak and those fingers, ugh those fingers. Fic inspo

AO3 | Masterlist

You don’t even make it past the entryway before she catches your eye. Agatha is leaning against the wall, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in wild waves. Her robe clings to her in all the right places, the floral pattern on the fabric shimmering under the low lamplight. But it’s her fingers that draw you in, delicate yet commanding, wrapped in layers of dark magic. The way they curl, the way they twitch slightly, almost as if they’re yearning for something—or someone.

“Well, well,” she says, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

Her tone sends a shiver down your spine, and the way she tilts her head, slow and deliberate, has your stomach twisting. Her smirk grows as she pushes off the wall, sauntering toward you. The robe sways with her movements, teasing flashes of her bare skin underneath.

Her voice drops, her fingers trailing through the air like they could wrap themselves around you without ever touching. When she stops just shy of you, her hand lifts. The black nails gleam as they hover near your cheek, teasing, before they begin their slow descent down your neck, brushing against your skin with the gentleness of a whisper.

“I—I didn’t mean to be so late,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shh,” she cuts you off, her finger pressing softly to your lips. “Excuses won’t save you, my darling. Not tonight.”

She lowers her hand, and you feel the weight of her fingers as they curl into a firm grip around your wrist. The pressure sends a shock of heat through your body as she pulls you closer, her magic thrumming in the air. The door behind you clicks shut, and you feel the full force of her presence closing in.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” she says, her voice lower now, almost a growl. “Do you know how frustrating it’s been? No one here to help me... unwind.” She slides her hand from your wrist to your waist, her fingers splaying across your skin, dragging softly as though testing your response. Her touch is a promise, a warning—her hands possessive, but with the delicate precision of a conductor guiding an orchestra.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as she presses you against the wall, the heat from her body radiating against yours as her hands roam with purpose, fingers skating down your sides, lightly scraping the fabric of your clothes. The sensation leaves goosebumps in their wake, her touch just enough to have you holding your breath. Her fingertips dance over your waist, tugging at your top with an almost teasing slowness.

“Look at you,” she says, her tone shifting to something almost tender, though the edge of her frustration remains. “So sweet, so perfect. You drive me absolutely mad.” She traces the outline of your collarbone before slipping down, her touch maddening, never quite satisfying, as though it always promises more but never gives enough.

Her lips meet your neck, her teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver through your body. Her hands move downwards, the path of her fingers deliberate, as if they could sense every flutter of your heartbeat beneath your skin. She tugs at your clothes, and every brush of her hands feels amplified by the tension coiled between you, leaving you trembling as she works her way closer to the heat of your skin.

“Such a good little pet,” she murmurs against your skin, her voice laced with affection. “Always trying to please me. But tonight, my love, you’re going to take everything I give you.”

She pulls you tighter against her, her body pressing flush against yours. Her knee slides between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. The pressure of her body against yours feels almost overwhelming, her fingers flexing around your waist as she forces you to submit to her.

Her smirk returns, sharp and triumphant, as she tilts your chin to meet her gaze. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purrs, her blue eyes blazing with intent. “We’re just getting started.”

She takes her time, being deliberately slow, letting her frustration fuel every touch and each kiss. Her magic dances along your skin, heightening every sensation until you’re trembling beneath her. She’s unrelenting, her dominance absolute, and yet there’s an undercurrent of care in everything she does—the way she murmurs soft praises, the way her hands never stray too far from your body.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, her voice like a promise, her lips ghosting over yours. “Every inch of you.”

She captures your lips in a searing kiss, her frustration finally giving way to something softer, though no less intense. Her hands trail lower, and the rest of the world melts away until there’s only her—the weight of her body, the heat of her touch, and the undeniable power she holds over you.

Before you can catch your breath, Agatha’s hands grip your wrist again, pulling you away from the wall. Her touch is commanding, and you don’t dare resist. She leads you into the living room, her pace unhurried but purposeful, and you know better than to speak. The air feels heavier with each step, her magic thrumming faintly around you like a leash as she drags you towards the couch.

She spins you around, pressing lightly on your shoulders, and you fall back onto the plush cushions with a soft gasp. Agatha stands over you, her figure framed by the flickering candlelight. The robe slips further off her shoulders, revealing more of the smooth skin and intricate purple lace beneath. Her smirk is wicked; her eyes darkened with hunger.

“Stay right there,” she commands, her voice a silky blend of sweetness and steel. She slides her hands to the belt of her robe, untying it with deliberate slowness, her movements agonisingly graceful. The fabric falls open, pooling at her elbows as she lets you drink in the sight of her.

“Like what you see, darling?” she teases, one perfectly arched brow lifting as she steps closer. You nod, unable to find the words, and her smile widens in satisfaction. “Good. Because I’ve been aching for you all day.”

Agatha straddles your lap without hesitation, her knees bracketing your thighs. The sheer weight of her against you sends a spark racing up your spine, and when her hands slide up your chest, her nails scraping just lightly enough to tease, you shudder beneath her.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” she says softly, her tone almost scolding, though her lips curl into a playful pout. “Do you have any idea how frustrating that is for me? To sit here, imagining all the ways I was going to make you pay for leaving me alone for so long?”

“I—I couldn’t help it,” you stammer, your voice shaky.

“Oh, I know, my sweet thing,” she interrupts, cupping your face in both hands. Her thumbs brush over your cheeks, a fleeting moment of tenderness before she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. “But I think you want to make it up to me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, a soft whimper escaping your throat. She chuckles, low and throaty, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Good,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear. “Because you’re going to. And you’re going to be so, so good for me.”

Her lips crash onto yours, silencing any reply you might have had. The kiss is searing, almost punishing, and you feel yourself melting into her touch. She presses closer, her hands sliding under your top, nails trailing over bare skin. When she finally pulls back, her lips are swollen, her eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and desire.

Her hands make quick work of your remaining clothes, and the heat in her gaze is almost overwhelming as she takes you in. She doesn’t waste a moment, shifting her weight as her magic flares faintly in the room. You feel it ripple across your skin, amplifying every sensation until you’re trembling beneath her.

“Let’s see if you can keep up,” she murmurs, her lips quirking into a smirk as she begins to move, her hips rolling against yours with agonising slowness. Her hands grip your wrists, pinning them to the couch, and she leans down, her lips brushing over your collarbone.

You’re gasping now; every movement, every touch sending shocks through your system. Agatha’s magic lingers in the air, amplifying everything—each brush of her fingertips, each shift of her body against yours, every low, breathy moan that slips past her lips. Her frustration is palpable, woven into every deliberate motion as she moves against you, her dominance absolute.

But just as your body begins to rise to meet hers, desperate for more, she suddenly stops. Her hips still, her hands pulling away, leaving you trembling beneath her.

“Ah, ah,” she tuts, her voice low and teasing as her magic pulses faintly, holding you firmly in place. Her smirk is wicked as she sits back, the sheer lace of her lingerie leaving nothing to the imagination. The floral patterns barely cover her skin, and the flickering candlelight dances across her curves. She looks like a vision—powerful, untouchable, and entirely in control.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you off that easily, did you?” she asks, tilting her head as her fingers trail along your jaw, a deceptively soft gesture. “You made me wait for so long, leaving me here all alone, knowing how badly I needed you.”

“It—it was my boss, he—" you stammer, your voice weak and trembling, but her sharp gaze cuts you off before you can finish.

“Excuses,” she says simply, shaking her head. Her hand moves to your throat, her grip firm yet careful, her thumb pressing gently against your pulse. “No. You don’t get to explain yourself tonight. Tonight, I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

Her magic sparks faintly around her, a shimmering, tangible presence that tightens the air in the room. She leans down, her lips brushing over the shell of your ear as she whispers, “And you’re going to learn that lateness has consequences.”

Before you can respond, she pulls away, her absence a cruel tease as she rises to her feet. Her magic holds you still, your body humming with unfulfilled need, as she takes a step back, surveying you with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

“Sit there,” she commands, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “And watch.”

She doesn’t wait for your response. Her hands slide over her own body, tracing the delicate lace of her lingerie as her eyes stay locked on yours. Every movement is deliberate—the shift of her hips, the toss of her hair—all designed to draw you further into her web. You feel your breathing quicken, your body aching to reach for her, but the invisible bonds of her magic keep your hands firmly at your sides.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?” she asks, her lips curling into a smirk as she reads the desperation in your gaze. “Poor thing. So eager, so needy. But no. Not yet.”

She struts closer, her fingers ghosting over your cheek before trailing down your chest. The light scrape of her nails against your skin sends a shiver racing through you, and she chuckles softly, the sound both amused and wicked.

“This is what happens when you make me wait,” she says, her tone almost playful, though her intent is anything but. “You get to sit there, helpless, watching me pleasure myself. And you don’t get to touch, not until I say so.”

Her hands glide over her own curves, her touch slow and teasing as her magic keeps you pinned in place. Your breath hitches as she leans in, her lips hovering just inches from yours. You can feel her breath, warm and tantalising, but she doesn’t close the distance.

“Does it frustrate you?” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with power. “To be so close yet so far? To want me so badly and know that you’re entirely at my mercy?”

You nod frantically, your pulse racing as you try to lean forward, to close even the smallest bit of distance between you. But her magic holds you steady, and she laughs softly, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“Good,” she purrs, her voice dripping with delight. “I want you frustrated. I want you to feel just a fraction of what I felt, waiting for you all day.”

Her fingers trail along your collarbone, then down to your waist before stopping abruptly. Her smirk deepens as she pulls away again, her hands resting on her hips as she tilts her head.

“Do you think you deserve to be rewarded after coming back so late?” She asks, her tone mockingly sweet. “Do you think you’ve earned the right to touch me, to even breathe the same air as me after today?”

You shake your head, your voice catching in your throat as you whisper, “No.”

“That’s right,” she says, her smile sharpening. “You haven’t. And you won’t—not until I’ve decided you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Agatha’s smirk sharpens as she shifts, moving with a predator’s grace. In one smooth motion, she straddles you again, settling into your lap. The weight of her against you is dizzying, and her magic thrums faintly in the air, heightening the tension that crackles between you.

She slips her robe off completely, leaving her completely bare except for her lingerie—delicate and sheer. Her hands capture your attention once more—the long, delicate fingers stained faintly black by the Darkhold’s corruption, the inky tendrils curling along her skin like forbidden whispers.

She notices your gaze, her smirk widening as she raises one hand, turning it slowly, the candlelight catching on the glossy black stains. “Ah, these,” she murmurs, flexing her fingers, the dark marks seeming to ripple faintly, almost alive. “A reminder of everything I’ve done. Of everything I’m capable of.”

Her voice lowers, rich and honeyed, as she leans closer, her lips brushing against yours. “And tonight, my sweet, you’re going to feel every bit of that power.”

Without breaking eye contact, her hand trails downward, slipping between her legs. Your breath catches as her fingers disappear beneath the sheer lace. She exhales softly, her head tipping back just slightly, the tiniest shiver running through her as her fingers begin to move. She shifts her hips slightly, pressing herself closer to your lap as her other hand grips your shoulder for balance.

You’re completely trapped beneath her, unable to look anywhere but at her—her sharp, hungry gaze, the subtle flush blooming across her chest, the way her fingers work against herself.

The air is filled with the sounds of her pleasure: the soft, slick noise of her movements, the quiet hitch of her breath, the rustle of lace against her skin. Her magic buzzes faintly around her, a hum of energy that seems to make everything sharper and more intense.

“Look at you,” she purrs, her voice thick with amusement as her eyes flick down to meet yours. “So eager. So desperate. And yet, all you can do is watch.”

Her words are a taunt, but you don’t dare look away. The sight of her—the way her body moves against her own hand, the way her lips part with quiet, breathy moans—is almost too much to bear.

Her movements become more urgent, her breath hitching as the tension builds within her. Agatha's back arches slightly, her head tipping back as a low, guttural moan escapes her lips. Her hips jerk forward involuntarily, and she shudders, her body trembling as the wave of her orgasm overtakes her, her fingers stilling against herself as she rides out the peak of her pleasure.

She withdraws her hand, her movements slow and deliberate. The inky hue of her fingers catches the light, glistening with the unmistakable sheen of her cum. She holds them up between you, her smirk widening as she tilts her hand just slightly, letting you see every detail.

“Open,” she commands, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Your lips part automatically, and she leans in, her free hand gripping the back of your neck as her fingers press against your bottom lip before sliding into your mouth. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it sends a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

Her eyes stay locked on yours, blazing with satisfaction as her fingers press against your tongue. She moves them slowly, deliberately, making sure you take in every drop. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of praise and dominance. “Such an obedient little pet. Taking exactly what I give you.”

Her fingers slide free, leaving a trail of warmth across your lips. She traces them with the pad of her thumb, her movements slow and teasing, before pulling back slightly. Her posture remains dominant, her knees digging into the couch on either side of you, her body still heavy against yours.

She watches you for a moment longer, her expression softening just enough to show a flicker of approval beneath her smirk. “Do you understand now, my darling?” she asks, her voice low and commanding. “This is what happens when you make me wait.”

You nod wordlessly, your body trembling beneath her, the weight of her gaze pressing down on you as her words sink in. The heat of her body against yours, the intoxicating mix of cruelty and approval in her voice, and the way her touch lingers like a spark—it all floods your senses, leaving you reeling. You can’t stop the rush of arousal pooling low in your core; the ache is almost unbearable. Every nerve in your body screams for her; the shame of how utterly turned on you are only fuelling the fire.

She chuckles softly, the sound dripping with amusement, her fingers brushing against your jaw as she tilts your chin up. Her blue eyes blaze with satisfaction, taking in every twitch of your trembling body as if you’re a masterpiece she’s sculpted herself.

Agatha’s smirk deepens as she slides off your lap with a fluid grace, her fingers wrapping firmly around your forearms tuggin you up. But then her eyes flick down to the cushion beneath you, and her grin turns wicked. “Oh, look at this,” she purrs, her voice dripping with mock concern as she traces a finger along the damp spot. “You’ve made quite the mess, haven’t you?” She tilts her head, her eyes full of amusement and something sharper.

Your breath catches, and you squirm under her gaze, the heat rushing to your face as your pulse pounds in your ears. The embarrassment mingles with the relentless arousal coursing through you, leaving your knees weak and trembling. The blood rushes from your head straight to your core, leaving you light-headed and dizzy with need.

Before you can even attempt to stammer out an excuse, she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. “Pathetic,” she murmurs, her tone deliciously cruel. “That’s another thing I’m going to have to punish you for.”

Her grip tightens, and she steps back just enough to draw you toward the hallway. “Bedroom. Now,” she commands, her voice soft but laced with steel. She doesn’t wait for a response—she never does. Instead, she turns sharply, dragging you along behind her. The cool air of the hallway contrasts sharply with the heat still radiating from your skin, and the sound of your footsteps echoes faintly as she leads you to the bedroom. The hum of her magic lingers in the air, almost tangible, wrapping around you like a leash, unrelenting and intoxicating.

When the door swings open, it reveals the space bathed in the soft, flickering glow of more candles. Shadows dance along the walls, the air thick with the scent of amber and something darker—something distinctly Agatha. The bed dominates the room, its dark, silken sheets looking both inviting and foreboding.

Agatha releases your wrist, but before you can process the change, she’s behind you, her hands sliding down your arms, her breath warm against your neck. “Do you see that?” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear as she gestures to the bed. “That’s where you’ll be begging me before the night is through.”

She steps back just enough to nudge you forward, her hand pressing firmly against the small of your back. You stumble toward the bed, your legs weak beneath you, but she doesn’t let you fall. Her magic wraps around you like an invisible leash, holding you steady as she circles you like a predator.

Her fingers trail along your spine, her touch light and maddeningly slow. “Kneel,” she commands, her voice low and commanding. You drop to your knees instinctively, the plush rug beneath you soft against your skin. Agatha steps in front of you, her body framed by the flickering candlelight, and you can feel the weight of her gaze as she looks down at you.

“You look so good on your knees,” she says, her tone shifting slightly, though the edge of her dominance remains. Her hand moves to your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “But good isn’t enough. I want you perfect. I want you wrecked.”

Her thumb brushes against your lips, coaxing them apart, and without a second thought, your mouth opens for her. The instinct to obey is so ingrained now that you don’t hesitate, and when she presses her thumb past your lips, you suck on it greedily, the taste of her skin grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” she purrs, her voice laced with approval as she watches you. Her eyes glint with satisfaction, but there’s a sharper, hungrier edge beneath her praise. She tilts your chin up, holding your gaze as she pulls her thumb free and lets her other hand cup your jaw.

“Open wider,” she commands, and you comply, parting your lips as far as they’ll go. Without breaking eye contact, she spits into your mouth, the action deliberate and unhurried. “Swallow,” she says, and the heat in her tone leaves no room for disobedience. When you do, her smirk deepens.

“Stick out your tongue,” she orders next, and again, you obey, the vulnerability of the act making your pulse race. Agatha hums in approval, leaning her body in close enough that your breath fans over her clit, eliciting a small moan from the witch. With a slow, deliberate motion, she shifts forward, using your outstretched tongue to fuck herself. Her soft, teasing moans fill the room, mingling with the sound of your own ragged breaths as you watch her climax once again.

“Such a good pet,” she murmurs, the praise warm and biting all at once. “You know exactly how to please me.”

When she pulls away, you barely have time to miss her before she’s behind you, her hands finding their way to your throat. Her grip is firm—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of who’s in control. “Look,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear as her free hand gestures toward the mirror in front of you. “Watch yourself. Watch what you become for me.”

Your eyes dart to the reflection, catching sight of your flushed face covered in her arousal and her poised figure behind you; the contrast is stark and undeniable. Her fingers tighten around your neck as her other hand slides down, slipping between your thighs without hesitation. You gasp at the intrusion, her fingers pressing into you with deliberate precision, but her grip on your throat holds you in place.

“Move,” she orders, her voice a low growl. “I want to feel how much you want this.”

Your hips jerk instinctively, seeking more of the maddening sensation, but it remains just shy of what you need to fall over the edge. Each thrust of your body meets the resistance of her touch, the pleasure building but refusing to crest.

“Don’t close your eyes,” she snaps, her tone cutting through the haze threatening to consume you. “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open, finding hers in the mirror. The intensity of her gaze is overwhelming, her blue eyes boring into you like a commandment. The sight of her blackened fingers against your skin in the reflection sends another surge of heat through your body. “Forget yourself,” she whispers, her fingers pressing deeper, her magic pulsing faintly against your skin. “Surrender to me.”

Her grip on your throat tightens just enough to draw your attention back to the moment, her lips curling into a possessive smile as you meet her eyes again. “Right now,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper. “You’re mine.”

She thrusts her fingers deeper, her movements calculated and unrelenting as she continues, her voice soft and commanding all at once. The faint tendrils of dark power emanating from her seem to twist with your pulse, tying you to her inescapably.

“Give in,” she urges, her grip on your throat holding you steady. “You’re mine. All mine.”

The pressure building inside you becomes unbearable, your hips bucking against her touch in a desperate rhythm. Agatha’s fingers press deeper, and her smirk widens as she senses you nearing the edge.

“Don’t you dare look away,” she murmurs, her voice like velvet laced with steel. “I want to see it. How you are completely and utterly mine.”

The command drives you over the brink, the tension snapping as pleasure crashes through you in an uncontrollable wave. Your body trembles, every muscle straining as your release washes over you, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. In the mirror, you catch the faint, glowing edge of her power pulsing faintly against your skin, binding the moment to her inescapable control.

Agatha watches intently, her eyes burning with satisfaction. She doesn’t give you a moment to recover before her fingers pull away, leaving you trembling and weak. The absence is sharp and cruel, a reminder of how entirely at her mercy you are.

“You’ve made such a mess of yourself,” she says with a mocking tilt of her head, her tone cutting in a way that only deepens your submission. “Pathetic.”

Before you can catch your breath or attempt to steady your shaking legs, she’s gripping your arm with bruising firmness and spinning you around to face her. Her strength is almost startling as she effortlessly manoeuvres your unsteady body, pushing you until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Lie down,” she orders, her voice carrying the same undeniable authority that made you orgasm moments ago. She doesn’t wait for you to comply, instead shoving you down with a force that leaves no room for resistance. The mattress dips beneath your weight as you land, your body pliant and still humming with aftershocks of pleasure.

Her smirk deepens as she climbs onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. Your cum still clings to her fingers, glinting faintly as she presses them against your chest, pinning you in place.

“Don’t think for a second that we’re done,” she murmurs, her voice low and threatening in the most thrilling way. “I’ve barely begun with you.”

Her hands slide up as she leans in, her breath ghosting against your lips. “Stay still,” she commands, her tone brooking no argument. “You don’t move unless I tell you to. Understood?”

You nod weakly, your body completely at her mercy as she looms over you, her power and presence overwhelming. The bed beneath you feels vast, but all you can focus on is her—the way her eyes devour you, the faint shimmer of her magic against her fingers, and the promise of what’s to come.

She moves down your body, her hands bracketing your hips, fingers firm against your skin as she holds you in place. Her lips ghost against your inner thigh, her breath hot and teasing. “You’ve made such a mess,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with mock pity. “It’s only fair I clean you up, don’t you think?”

Her tongue flicks out, dragging deliberately against the sensitive skin of your thigh, closer and closer to where you ache for her. Her fingers tighten their grip as she presses your legs wider, exposing everything to her hungry gaze.

Without warning, her tongue finds you, lapping up the evidence of your recent orgasm with a deliberate, agonising slowness. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, her expression smug and possessive as she savours every drop. The contrast of her cold magic pulsing faintly from her fingers and the wet heat of her tongue sends shivers coursing through your body.

Her tongue works with maddening precision, collecting every trace of your release as if savouring a rare delicacy. Each movement is deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, your body twitching and squirming beneath her.

Agatha’s tongue lingers, deliberate and unrelenting, the wicked precision of her movements leaving you a quivering, incoherent mess. Just when you think you might come again, she pulls back with a hum of satisfaction, her lips glistening as she looks up at you.

“I’ve been thinking about the taste of you all day,” she says, her voice a low purr that sends a shiver through you. Her hand remains firm on your thigh, her magic’s faint, chilling pulse grounding you even as your head swims.

Then her smirk deepens as she leans back down, licking and sucking more of your cum (and at this point, fresh arousal) into her mouth. Her eyes lock with yours, blazing with a cruel, teasing glee as she spits it back onto you, the warm, viscous wetness landing squarely against your aching heat. The sound you make—a strangled moan somewhere between embarrassment and arousal—only fuels her wicked grin.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, her fingers spreading the mess across your skin with deliberate cruelty, mixing her magic into the slick heat of your body. “Absolutely filthy.”

Your hips jerk involuntarily, your body reacting to the overwhelming humiliation and the fire it stokes deep within you. Agatha’s grip tightens again, her nails pressing painfully into your thighs as she holds you still. “Did I say you could move?” she growls, her tone a warning that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Her fingers dip lower, teasing but not giving you what you crave, as she leans in, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your thigh. “You’re mine,” she whispers, her voice dark and possessive. “Every part of you. Don’t ever forget it. And don’t ever make me wait again.”

She draws back slightly, her thumb brushing over your sensitive clit, spreading the mixture of her spit and your cum as she watches your every reaction. Her expression is a mix of amusement and triumph; her power over you absolute. “Now,” she says, her voice soft but brimming with command. “Let’s see how much more of a mess I can make of you.”

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pigeonp0st · 2 months ago

Note

Could you do an angst Agatha x reader one shot with happy ending? Maybe reader feels Agatha is losing interested in her (reader) in Westview

pleaseeeeeeee

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings:

Can’t think of any, but if you read this and have a thought to one I could put, let me know and it will be added.

Words from the author;

Hi guys. Went on a long train ride and decided to write this. Agatha’s show inspired me. The joy she gives me is unmatched. I want to ask that we all use are imagination and pretend WestView was a thing longer than the few weeks it was, as to give an explanation and a sense of realism to Readers and Agatha’s whole romance and love story. I also ask that we ignore the additional emotional scarring that would’ve given the town. Thanks a bunch! Now…

Enjoy!

—

Agatha had a plan. A plan that hadn’t, and was never supposed to include you. It had everything to do with Wanda, and Wanda, it turns out, had everything to do with you.

That part of it hadn’t mattered. Yeah, Agatha had originally only been prepared to deal with one Avenger, and you coming in would prove to make things more complicated, but she was sure she could handle it.

And she had, of course. Until…until she developed a relationship with you and emotions towards you that went beyond the limits of what she had planned. Not just plannned for this little mission of hers, but planned for her life—after how her last relationship ended.

She loves you. Wanda’s Maximoff’s best friend. The one that’s been keeping Wanda from going even more off into the dark end. The one that’s been interfering with Agatha’s plans by trying to pull Wanda out of the Hex before Agatha has delved deeper into the amount of magic needed to create it.

You. Infuriating— you. Since the moment she met you it was like you had seen through all of Agatha’s facades. Not just the Agnes one.

She made a point—a stupid emotional driven point—to be honest with you, and only you, from the beginning. The thing is… though she had even told you about her interest in Wanda, and the hex, she had left out her plans of draining Wanda of her powers and killing her.

Which is probably an important thing to mention

…Which is definitely an important thing to mention. As much as Agatha hates to admit it— and she absolutely hates to admit it— it’s been eating away at her.

More than she doesn’t want to lose you, she doesn’t want to hurt you. Well, that’s not completely true…she’d rather not lose you…but it’s a close competition.

This relationship with you was supposed to be fake, but her heart doesn’t seem capable of understanding that. She’s been pulling away from you, acting distant, avoidant, and just as it’s been hard on you—it’s been hard on her.

She can’t imagine a world without you in it, but she needs this power…needs to see if it’s capable of—ahem, anyways— she just needs it. She’s sure you need Wanda similarly. That you can’t imagine a world without her. That’s what the gossip magazines, twitter posts, or even tumblr fanfictions want to guilt Agatha into believing at least.

She’s bitter, hates with a burning passion how much the world likes to advertise you and Wanda as this amazing duo pair, hates even more how unknowing fans like to speculate on some sort of secret affair you’re helping Wanda commit, but she’s willing to admit to some truth in it;

Agatha’s supposed to be very fake relationship, used at first to only get close to Wanda—to learn and kill her—has turned into a real one, and the very person she’s in love with is Wanda Maximoff’s platonic soulmate.

The guilt,and thus; avoidance and emotional distance doesn’t take long to be noticed by you. It all comes to a head rather viciously in a way Agatha had expected.

Which is to say; all the avoidance has led to a rather ceremonious break up….she hadn’t had the guts to do it, so she’s sort of forced you into it. That’s what you believe, and it is the truth. Not in the way she guesses you expect though.

Agatha doesn’t want to do this. She really struggles doing things she doesn’t want to do.

She has to do this though. It’s what she’s convinced herself of.

It aches.

“If that’s what you want, okay. Now If that’s really all you had to say…” Agatha hints, turning to make her tea so you can’t see the way her eyes water and betray her, “well have a safe trip home, and don’t forget your things dear.”

“I am not going to beg you to want me.”

Agatha’s jaw tenses. Her heart feeling heavier than anything she’s ever carried. She wants to scream, to break all of the windows in the room. Wants to say, desperately; I have never not wanted you. I have never wanted to be worthy of anything more.

You’re good. Good in way Agatha’s never been capable of. You’re nothing she expected, but everything she’s wanted, and it hurts more, somehow, like this.

Because she can’t give you everything you want, and as that fact kills you, it kills her too.

Agatha glances over her shoulder and looks at you. Your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re shaking with emotion. With the urge to fight. There is a large part of you, Agatha guesses, that knows Agatha doesn’t want this. Conscious or not. She turns away again.

“I know that’s what you want, for me to beg, but I won’t, not anymore. I can’t,” you whisper.

“Then don’t,” she growls, and then winces because even as she’s turned away she can picture the way you wince. The way you hurt.

All Agatha wants to do is protect you, but it’s like no matter what she does you’ll end up hurt. She’s been pulling away slowly so that when she ends up betraying you to kill Wanda, hopefully it’ll hurt less. All it seems to be doing though is prolonging the pain for the both of you. It’s clear to the both of you the war that’s happening in each of you. The want to fight for this. It’s what makes this worse.

“Don’t”, you repeat with a scoff. Agatha hears it right next to her ear and startles, turning around sharply.

You’re standing right behind her, looking down at her with fiery eyes. Agatha moves to use her magic, but you grab her wrist to stop the thought. It makes her heart skip a beat. Makes her smirk.

She loves you. Loves you always, and wants you just as much when you look at her like you are now. You must sense it because you immediately let go of her wrist, with a look of confusion.

“Do you want me or not?” You ask harshly. And despite herself Agatha can’t help the small flicker of annoyance that crosses her face. Annoyance directed at herself.

She masks it a second later with a smirk, gripping your chin. “Of course I do,” Agatha purrs, her voice dripping with seduction. You tense. Eyeing her with complete betrayal.

When Agatha had imagined the moment in which she betrayed you (and she had imagined it a lot), it hadn’t gone like this. It had gone with her standing over the Scarlet Witch, your best friend, and you frozen a couple feet away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it’s better this way. For you to realize who she is now, rather than later. She needs Wanda’s abilities, and she’ll do anything to get it. She thinks it to herself, and it’s almost like a reminder. ‘She’ll do anything to get it.’

You hold her wrist so gently though, even as your eyes blaze with all type of hurt, and Agatha feels deeply who she’s hurting. She’s hurting you. Her love. Her heart. “My heart,” Agatha says gently, and to you she imagines it’s a stab in the heart from the way you wince. Agatha’s face drops further. “I want you,” she admits, despite herself, finding herself not capable of hurting you like this.

“Then why…?”

Agatha kisses you suddenly on the corner of the mouth. Gently. Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her mask drop, because now it seems impossible to put back on. It feels real the moment she stops playing pretend…what a surprise. Still, she herself feels vulnerable. Like a puppy just waiting to get kicked. As she feels both her and your despair she feels a wave of self loathing too.

“Down the road Wanda’s going down now she will hurt you. Down the road I’m doing down, I will too.” Agatha whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. “When I told you I was going to take her power, I meant I was going to kill her, baby.”

Agatha doesn’t expect the laugh you release at that, but more than that she doesn’t expect the simple way you leave. Her hand hands in the air where you once were, as if she had dreamed the memory of you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

—-

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Couldn’t have gone any worse. Every expectation Agatha has—every time she thinks she can predict what will happen you manage to change everything.

That blast was for Wanda, but you had jumped in front of it like it was your plan from the start. It stops both her and Wanda instantly. The blast would have sent you flying into the house, but Agatha had reacted quickly enough with her magic to prevent the collision. Still, as soon she drops the magic holding you, and begins running towards you, you fall.

Agatha sees it a slow motion but she knows it happens much faster than that, because she’s running with everything in her and still doesn’t make it before your head hits the ground. “My heart, my heart, my heart,” Agatha begs with a trembling voice. Her hands are shaking but she moves your head onto her lap and presses her hands into your side to try and stop the bleeding.

Why did it have to be this spell that hit you. Why did it have to be any? It’s been hundreds of years since her heart has hurt like this. Her mind whirls for a spell, for an anything. All she can do is slow the bleeding, and she does, but you still look up at her with fading eyes, and it kills Agatha.

“Ag-”

“Shh, lovely. It’s going to be okay,” Agatha whispers to you, kissing your head. She doesn’t even notice Wanda’s hand on her shoulder, or her coming up behind her at all.

“I’m transporting us to a Hospital,” Wanda says, looking uncertain and scared. Agatha pays no mind, just takes Wanda’s hand and guides her through the spell with her magic.

“Agatha,” you force out, Agatha returns your gaze, too distracted by the spell to stop you again. “Was power…was it that much more important?”

Suddenly you’re all in the hospital, your eyes are falling shut, and Wanda is shouting for a doctor. “No,” Agatha answers. brushing your hair back. Her chest aches deeply at the streak of blood her hand leaves. She wants to say more, wants to curse at you a bit, just to let it out, but a bunch of medics push Agatha to the side and start touching you.

It’s been a long time since Agatha felt this helpless. She wants to protect you, wants to insert herself into the commotion as the doctors pull you away and command that she gets to stay with you, but she’s scared to take even a split second away from their saving.

She’s paralyzed, watching as they roll you away out of her sight. Wanda, of all people, rests a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out it. “She’ll be okay,” Wanda assures, even as she sounds uncertain.

Agatha can’t bear it any longer. The uncertainty, and the assurance coming from the person she envies the most. She turns on her suddenly, eyes blazing with magic, and this is no longer about stealing Wanda’s magic. This is about Agatha, wanting to grab Wanda by the neck and shout that this is all her fault.

Except it isn’t. It’s her own fault. It was her magic that hit you. Hers that caused you so much pain. Agatha feels the blame so deeply she almost refuses to hold it. For your sake, for your words; was it that much more important? She decides to.

She sags into herself just as suddenly as she had turned towards Wanda, one hand waves her off, and the other presses against the burning in her eyes. “Leave.” Agatha says, her voice hoarse and emotional. And Wanda doesn’t.

She just tilts her head and looks at Agatha like a sad, lost animal. Wanda has no where to return to, not after the scandal she pulled, and the one person who would have probably accepted her (the one person that accepted Agatha herself) is now in a hospital bed.

Agatha sighs.

——

They’re sitting side by side. Agatha threatens to kill the front desk lady 3 times, but never once does she threaten to kill Wanda. Agatha doesn’t mind her. She understands the feeling inside her more than Wanda will ever know. In another life, she would have been her teacher.

If you survive, perhaps in this life too. If she can’t take Wanda’s power, maybe she’s able to watch and learn from it as much as she can.

Agatha can’t believe she’s giving up…she has planned and studied for this for so long…but she’s always been spontaneous, always been ready to plan and shift, always been good at changing track. She’ll get what she wants. She’ll get it another way.

It’s a promise she makes herself, sitting in the waiting room of the hospital waiting to find out if the person she loves is still breathing. It’s a promise she makes herself sitting by the person she’s planned to kill since she first pieced together her ability. A promise she makes herself because it means she gets to have you.

—-

“Agnes?” A nurse calls.

Wanda looks at her, her face reading seriously?. Agatha pays no mind to it, she just sits up violently, and holds tightly onto Wanda’s arm.

—-

When Agatha walks into the room it’s like her heart starts back up again and she can breathe. You’re hurt, but you’re okay. Agatha is in shambles, and she won’t be able to sleep without reliving you bleeding out on the floor—but you’re okay.

She breathes out. Once, twice, then she’s crying; hit with the force of her emotion.

—-

POV Switch

—-

Everything hurts, but when the doctor lets Agatha in with Wanda following— for a moment it doesn’t. For a moment it’s Agatha, the woman you love, standing next to your best friend and not killing her.

Then Agatha is crying, and all you feel is concern. “Ag, lovely, are you hurt?” You ask, still full of drugs and delirious enough to be confused about it all.

Agatha who gave up on you. Agatha who you weren’t good enough for. Agatha who you love, who you could never meet the needs of. Agatha who put you in a hospital bed. Agatha who you love so fully despite the heartbreak she’s caused you.

It all comes back to you suddenly, but Agatha is crying— and none of any of it seems very significant compared to that. Wanda looks between the two of you, and says to you, softly, in a language only the two of you understand; “self-sabotage seems to be a language both me and this one speaks. You are drawn to damaged people, huh?”

You look down and Wanda laughs, but she looks like she also wants to cry. She opens her mouth to say something else, but you already know what she’s going to say so you cut her off. “It wasn’t your fault, Wanda, I am glad it was me and not you.”

Wanda looks like she wants to protest that, but instead she nods her head with tears in her eyes and whispers, after glancing at Agatha, “I’ll give you two privacy. Good luck.”

Then she leaves.

Agatha seems lost in her thoughts…well lost in something. Her eyes are distant, tears still running down her face. “Agatha.” It’s only a whisper but Agatha’s eyes snap towards you. She looks…terrified? She quickly tries to wipe her tears but more just fall.

“You idiot,” Agatha seethes, looking overwhelmed. She breathes heavily and you just let her, even as you bristle and begin to feel your defenses rise.

It’s probably best not to add wood to her fire, you think to yourself.

Agatha stalks towards you, angry, kisses your forehead and then sags into the chair next to your hospital bed. “You idiot,” she repeats shakily, her voice and face lined with a sort of devastation you don’t know how to comfort in her. “What do you think would’ve became of me if I killed you”Agatha presses. “Huh? Did you think before you—“

“Usually when people accidentally almost kill someone, they apologize instead of blaming the person.” You aren’t mad at Agatha, not for hitting you at least, but hearing her act as if you had been the one to fuck up was aggravating.

She fucked up. Not you. “You really think I was going to let you kill my best friend?” You ask, angry now too. “You really think I would’ve let you let me go for some stupid reason like that? I don’t know why power is so important to you, but I support you. I would’ve supported you on finding another way, because I support you when you aren’t hurting innocent people to achieve your self motivated ends. I have given up a lot for you, Agatha, but I will not give up that.”

You release a coughing fit after that. You have more to say but your body won’t allow you to. You have an endless amount of words for Agatha. Agatha who you love. Agatha who you don’t quite know how to be enough for.

Agatha who grits her teeth and looks down. “I will not give up power for you. It is more than that I want, which is something I’m not able to explain to you right now, but I hope you understand,” Agatha pauses. Her eyes meeting yours. ��I’m going to find another way. I won’t hurt Wanda. I won’t hurt anyone that will make you—or most humans flaky moral code— ache. By that, I mean anyone ‘innocent’” she uses hand quotes then, and rolls her eyes.

The mild bitterness is clearly something Agatha can’t help. The way she changes tract though was something you never thought she would do for you, and you’re not quite able to understand it.

“Why?” You ask softly. It’s what you want, of course it is, it’s even what you asked, but Agatha doesn’t do anything for other people, nothing if it doesn’t come with her own sort of personal gain.

As if reading your mind Agatha straightens awkwardly in her chair and says simply; “I love you. I don’t want to hurt or lose you.”

“But…but power is important to you.”

“So are you,” Agatha says, tilting her head.

You don’t know why you’re almost trying to convince her it’s more important, but perhaps it’s because you struggle to accept or fathom your own importance in her life. It feels like a fever dream, one you’re trying to pinch yourself to get out of.

If you believe it and then are disappointed, it hurts more than if you had never believed it at all.

“I’m sorry,” Agatha says, pulling you out of your thoughts. Not by her voice, but by the tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I was so scared of my own affections for you I denied myself them, and in turn made you feel denied. I love you.” She repeats. “I love you, and you’re important to me, and there’s a billion things I’d sacrifice for you, and I never want to lose you, and—“

“I love you too,” you rush out, shocked by Agatha’s desperation and wanting to reassure her. Agatha breathes out heavily, a breath she must’ve been holding, and shakes her head at herself, wiping at her eyes.

This time, at the quickness of how she composes herself you don’t think of it as her not really caring, but instead as a defense mechanism she’s mastered. A part of your heart hurts for her.

“Thank you, Agatha. For trusting me with your heart.”

Agatha rolls her eyes at that, but she’s smiling and it’s all apart of her recovery. You let her have it. “My heart,” she sighs, leaning over to give you a lingering kiss. When she pulls away the both of you stare at each other. You, trying to commit this moment to memory. Agatha staring like she’s trying to be sure this is real.

“The witch is still mine,” Agatha whispers, completely breaking the moment. “If she thinks she’s off the hook for the amount of emotional instability she has, she has another thing coming. Unstable emotions and magic are never a good combo.”

You snort. Mumbling under your breath, “funny…just learned that lesson.” Agatha glares at you, just as Wanda walks in.

“If we’re all good now I think we should go,” Wanda rushes.

“What did you do?” Both you and Agatha question.

Wanda smiles nervously, surrounding the room in an aura of red magic.. someone walks over to the barrier of it and begins banging. You’re beginning to wonder if it’s a talent of witches to ruin your peace. Especially when about 4 more armed people start trying to shove themselves into the force field. And oh, there are the guns.

Agatha sighs very deeply, and you release a very dramatic groan. Wanda tilts her head sheepishly. “I should go. I released westview but looks like my consequences are still knocking at the door,” she says quietly.

Agatha agrees. “Yes, you should.” She pauses, most likely waiting and taking pleasure in the pointed look you give her. “I probably should go too though, there’s no telling how people want to paint a witch. Most likely another villain…maybe a hero after the scene we pulled. Still, I shouldn’t be in the public until I find out.”

“We’ll see you soon then, Y/N.”

You give them a look, a look that both Wanda and Agatha know to mean; are you absolutely batshit crazy? You don’t need to say it, but you do; “you two are not going anywhere without me.”

Agatha smirks, and Wanda smiles, then a wave of Wanda’s hand and the three of you are somewhere else much more safe. At least until the media and Avengers manages to get the media to unfairly paint what happened in westview as something much more innocent.

This new journey with the three of you should be…fun until then. At least you have your favorite people, and they have you.

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