#director!agatha harkness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aceday · 21 days ago

Text

Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader

summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?

warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha @d-z20

i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo

The Director’s Cut

With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.

“Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.

“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.

“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”

“I-”

“CUT.”

A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.

“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.

“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”

You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.

“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.

You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.

You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.

As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-

The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.

“What was that back there, hmm?”

You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.

Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”

Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”

Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.

Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.

Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.

“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.

Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”

Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.

“I’m sorry?”

Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?

“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.

“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”

You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Agatha, I-”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”

“No, no, I-”

“Then I’m wrong?”

She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.

“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”

Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.

She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.

“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.

“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”

You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.

She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.

“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.

Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.

“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”

Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.

“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”

Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.

Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine is your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.

“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”

The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”

Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.

“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.

“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.

“But don’t I…”

“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.

The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…

You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”

“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”

You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.

You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”

You swallow. “S-Sorry?”

She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”

A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”

Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”

Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a toothy smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.

She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy, but Rio catches your other wrist and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.

“Understood?”

At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.

“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear traces from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”

The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s miserably clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.

“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.

“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You feel raw from the orgasm you just had, so violently raw, and even the lightest touch sends a dark pleasure scattering through you. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.

Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.

Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing in you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.

“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.

When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.

“Did I-” you’ve started your line while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.

“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.

“Cut!”

Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.

“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha all along fanfic #agatha all along smut #agatha x reader #rio x reader

481 notes · View notes

covenofagatha · 4 days ago

Text

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 2)

A look into Agatha and Rio's home life, and you are reeling from having The Witch and Lady Death in your motel room

Word count: 4200

Warnings: mentions of murder, manipulativeness, light gaslighting

The same morning you get called to Westview, Agatha Harkness wakes up to find her wife, Rio Vidal, staring at her.

“If you were going to kill me, how would you do it?” Rio asks, and Agatha raises an eyebrow.

“Good morning to you, too,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Rio, who is lounging in the chair in the corner. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

Rio shrugs. “You make it sound like I’m some serial killer who’s about to murder you.” Her eyes widen conspiratorially and Agatha snorts before plopping back down.

“She’s getting here today, you know,” Agatha says and she can hear Rio’s breath hitch.

She leans forward in the chair. “When do you think she’ll come see me?” The eagerness is evident in her voice, and Agatha knows how she feels.

“Once we pull off our little ‘Welcome to Westview’ stunt tonight? I bet no time at all,” Agatha answers.

Rio grins, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and picks up the skeleton mask sitting on the dresser. She fiddles with the strings and holds it up to her face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that Miami director books the appointment himself. Do police detectives usually include a business card to their wife’s therapy practice in their information file to the FBI?”

“Better hope he doesn’t just pull her off the case,” Agatha remarks, ignoring the question, and finally gets up out of bed and walks past the bouquet of purple azaleas on the vanity. “He’s pretty serious when it comes to protecting her. Especially after…”

“No,” Rio cuts her off and Agatha looks at her wife in surprise. Rio puts her mask down, stands up, and walks over so she’s face-to-face with the older woman. She reaches a hand out to put it gently around Agatha’s throat, who doesn’t even flinch. Rio smirks and drags her hand downward so it’s resting over her heart. “We’re finally getting what we want. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? For her? I’m not letting her go.”

Agatha tilts her head to the side, thinking for a second. “If I were going to kill you, I’d fill a syringe with air and inject it into your bloodstream under your toenail. The death would mimic a heart attack and the track mark would be almost impossible to find. I’d tell the authorities that you were under so much stress as a therapist that it eventually took a toll on your body,” she says slowly, clinically even, watching Rio’s hazel eyes get dark.

She hums and looks down at Agatha’s lips. “You really know how to make a lady swoon.” Rio gives her a quick peck and leaves the room so her wife can get ready for work.

On her way to the kitchen, Rio steps into the spare room in the hallway and takes a deep breath, feeling the tension seeping from her muscles. The table in the middle of the room is covered in vials, all Agatha’s doing. They don’t call her The Witch for nothing, Rio thinks. She picks up her own dagger and twirls it between her practiced fingers while she admires the handiwork on the left side of the room.

From ceiling to floor, the wall is completely covered with you. Every single case file you’ve profiled for, pictures of you from now all the way back to your childhood, transcripts from Quantico and college. Rio’s favorite photo hangs front and center, the one of the scar you got from dealing with the Scarlet Killer, all rough and jagged.

Rio would’ve made it prettier.

Patience, she reminds herself.

The trap has been laid. All that’s left to do is wait.

***

You turn the entire motel room upside down, scourging for anything else the killers may have left behind: a camera or a listening device, or maybe even a clue.

Nothing.

And then you kick yourself for touching everything because now you can’t even test for prints. Plus, it’s a motel room so you’re not sure you’d be able to narrow it down.

The phone is in your hand dialing Tony back before you can think. He doesn’t answer and you slam it down on the bed in frustration.

They were here. The Witch and Lady Death were in your room.

You draw the blinds and deadbolt the door, making a mental note to ask the front desk to change the locks. How did they get in? How did they know you were going to get food?

A cold feeling sinks into your bones. They must be watching you.

And what’s to stop them from coming back? This time though, when you’re in the room?

Anyone could be next. Agatha’s words echo around in your head and you didn’t realize just how true they are until now.

You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until you feel dizzy and gag. Then you run to the bathroom and puke into the toilet. Wiping a hand across your sweaty forehead, your mind spins with what to do.

You could call the police, but you don’t think they would do any good, especially after you’ve tampered with evidence. There were no cameras in this motel, you had already checked.

Pacing back and forth, head in your hands, you try and try and try to think of what to do.

And finally you think of something.

You punch in the number and hold the phone up to your ear.

It rings three times and then there’s a click.

“Dr. Rio Vidal’s office, if this is an emergency please hang up the phone and call 911. If not, this is Dr. Vidal, how can I help you?”

You take a shaky breath and press your fingers to your forehead to stave off the incoming headache. “Um, yes, hi, I was calling to see if I could make an appointment? The sooner, the better.”

There’s shuffling and then tapping of keys on a computer. “What’s your name?” When you say it, you hear a sharp inhale and then a cough. “Sorry about that. How does 1 pm tomorrow sound?”

You blink. You didn’t realize you’d be able to get in that fast, but you suppose in a small town like Westview, not many people are going to therapy. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you.”

“Bye, Agent Y/L/N,” she says. You frown. You never told her you were an agent. But you figure it’s been announced that you’re coming, so you brush it off.

You take a quick shower and then get into bed, trying to relax and maybe get some sleep. You promised Tony you’d get five hours a night, but you’ll be lucky if you even get one.

At every groan and creak, you jump and grab your gun, sitting up completely alert. It’s always the wind or a tree branch or the building settling.

You lay under the sheets, hand gripped around your weapon, and you don’t sleep a wink.

When you get to the station the next morning, the first person you see is Agatha. She looks up at you, takes in your new outfit, and smiles brightly.

The killers replaced all your clothes so you had no choice but to wear the new ones until you’re able to go shopping. You wouldn’t be surprised if they laced the fabric with something and you end up dead before lunch, but it’s snowing today and you had nothing else to wear.

“Have a good first night in Westview?” She asks and you cautiously glance around the room.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” You ask urgently, voice low. Concern flits onto her face and she nods and stands up. She pulls you into the evidence locker. “They were at my motel last night,” you hiss.

Agatha’s hand flies to her mouth. “The killers? Are you sure?”

You nod furiously. “I had left to get food and when I came back, the door was open and they had packed my suitcase with all new stuff—” You motion down at your body and she checks you out again. “—and perfume and then they circled ‘lovers’ on a sticky note I had to tell me their relationship and they left the flower on my table!”

“Slow down,” Agatha says and you realize you’ve been talking so fast that you haven’t taken a breath. She puts her hands on your shoulders. “Did you see them? Did they come back?”

“No, not yet at least. I don’t understand, if they wanted to kill me, why not just wait until I was there? Or asleep?”

“Maybe they didn’t want to kill you,” Agatha suggests. “Maybe they just wanted to send you a message or something. It’s pretty big news that we have a profiler from the FBI here to help stop them.”

You frown. “So they wanted to let me know they’re not scared of me?”

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what they’re thinking. But the most important thing is that you’re okay. We can send over some officers later to test for evidence, if you want.”

“It’s no use, I tore the place apart last night,” you say, shaking your head at your own stupidity. She squeezes your shoulders.

“Hey, don’t worry. Like you said, if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Let’s go out there and work on catching them so you and everyone else in Westview can sleep easy, yeah?”

You nod, feeling a little better but then you pause. “Agatha, are you afraid?”

Something flickers in her eyes before it's quickly replaced by humor. “I think they know better than to break into the home of a decorated detective such as myself,” she says haughtily and you can’t help but to laugh. She chuckles too, but then something in her face changes.

Before you can ask what’s wrong, she leans in and sniffs up your neck. You freeze and find all the air in your lungs gone.

“New perfume?” She mutters.

You had put it on this morning without even thinking about it as your usual had also been taken. Thanatos. The Greek personification of death.

Or as Freud defined it, a person’s urge to die.

“Yeah,” you stutter. Agatha finally pulls back and her blue eyes are dilated. You find your gaze dropping down to her mouth again and you want to feel her lips on yours.

“You said they packed your suitcase with all new stuff,” she says in a hushed voice and your heartbeat picks up. “Did they give you that too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and instead of looking disgusted, like you thought she would, she looks excited.

She leans back in and presses her face into your neck and are you imagining her lips ghosting against your skin or is that really happening? It feels like your entire body is on fire.

They trail up, light as a feather against your jugular vein, and she’s at your chin when the door slams open and you jump back. She winks and then she’s turning on her heel and walking out. It’s an officer, trying to book evidence, looking very confused.

“Making friends, Miami?” He jokes and your face flushes before you quickly leave the room before finding Agatha and the rest of the detectives back in the room with the case information.

You tirelessly pour over every single detail for the next few hours to no avail. You toss out theories but Agatha always finds something that doesn’t add up and you’re always back to square one.

But then it’s time for your therapy appointment, so you drop your pen down to the table and gather the pages of your chicken scratch to throw in your bag.

“I have to head out,” you say hastily and Agatha glances up.

“Hot date, superstar?” She teases and the memory of her mouth on your neck burns through you.

You shake your head. “Just uh, going to the doctor.”

She raises an eyebrow daringly and smirks. “Have fun.”

You give her a tight smile and then you’re in your car driving to the office. There’s people walking on the street on your route and you can’t help but wonder which of them might be the next victim.

It’s always been hard to not get too attached to the people in the towns you work at. Looking at them, knowing tomorrow they might not be alive, it takes a toll on you.

That’s part of the reason you get so attached. The waiting, the not knowing. It eats away at you.

Dr. Vidal’s office is tucked away in the corner of a string of workspaces in a building, and you feel something weird in your stomach as you walk up the steps. For the third time in the past 24 hours, your scar sears with a pain you haven’t felt since right after. You have to stop and breathe deeply before opening the door.

A woman sits at the front desk typing on her computer. She barely even looks at you and you stand at the desk for a moment before clearing your throat.

“Um, hi, I have an appointment for one? I’m Y/N,” you say and it’s like she’s finally realized someone’s standing there.

She hums in acknowledgement and scrolls until she finds your name and clicks. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

You tap the desk and go sit down, wiping your palms on your pants. It’s only a few minutes before a door opens and your name is called.

Walking into the room, the first thing you notice is the thick smell of nature. And then you see plants everywhere. Bookshelves line the walls, full with books and pots of every type of plant and flower you’ve ever seen. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t see anything purple.

And then you see Dr. Vidal sitting behind a large desk. You tentatively take a seat in one of the chairs across from her, squirming under her intense gaze. She’s an attractive woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun and brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. There’s not a hair out of place on her desk; everything is meticulously organized and right where she needs it.

You clear your throat. “Big plant lover?” You say, and it’s an incredibly awkward way to make a first impression. You’ve never been good at therapy, or with uncomfortable silences.

But she doesn’t seem to care, finds it almost amusing. Her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek and she settles forward. “So, what brings you to therapy?”

You don’t even know where to start. “I just got to town, and um, oh – I’m a profiler, by the way, for the FBI. I’m here working on the case with The Witch and Lady Death.”

“Lady Death?” Dr. Vidal asks, giving you an intrigued look.

“Oh, we figured out that there’s actually two killers. That’s what I nicknamed the other one, because apparently she’s been seen with the bottom half of a skeleton mask on her face. Wait, this is all confidential right?”

“Of course,” she assures you, voice smooth as honey. “Anything you say here doesn’t leave this room unless you threaten to hurt yourself or someone else. So, you’re here about the case?”

You nod, playing with the hem of your sweater. “Yeah, you could say that. I sort of have some obsessive tendencies when it comes to cases like these, and I just wanted to get ahead of them before I spiraled again.”

“What does a spiral look like for you?”

Chewing on your nail, your gut twists and you can feel Wanda’s knife jabbing into you. “I stop eating, stop sleeping. The work consumes me, I can’t take a break. I don’t want to take a break. There’s just this overwhelming need to catch the killer and I won’t stop – I can’t stop – until I find them. It can be dangerous.”

She nods and writes something down in her notebook. “Why did you become a profiler?”

“To help people,” you answer immediately. “I like reading the killers, figuring out what they’re thinking, getting inside their heads and beating them at their own game.”

“When did you start knowing you wanted to do this? Why not just become a detective or something?”

This one takes a bit longer to think about. “I don’t know, I just remember being a kid and wanting to…” You trail off, suddenly feeling confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I was going to say.” Something is weird, wrong even. What were you thinking of?

“No, don’t apologize,” Dr. Vidal says, laying her hands on the desk with wide eyes. “You wanted to what as a kid? What happened that made you want to think like a killer?”

A dull ache starts to throb against your skull the harder you try and think about it. “I don’t know,” you repeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not thinking like a killer, I’m figuring out the way their brain works. So I can catch them.”

She leans back and crosses her arms. “What do you feel when you think like them?”

“What does this have to do with–” But you’re cut off by a blinding burst of pain and then glimpses of something you can’t quite explain flash through your mind.

Snow.

Trees.

A clearing in the woods.

Red birds flutter from the branches, startled by something.

You hear your name and the images are gone. Dr. Vidal is watching you closely, breathing heavily. “What was that?”

Shaking your head, you try to make sense of what just happened. Memories or hallucinations? “Um, sorry, I don’t know. What was the question?”

Her eyes are dark and they remind you of Agatha’s in the evidence locker. How she had leaned down and smelled the perfume you were wearing. You shift in your chair.

“I was asking what your coping mechanisms are for when you start to feel yourself spiraling,” she says, and you’re still a little foggy, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what she asked.

You think you might be going crazy. “My boss back in Miami was pretty good about recognizing when I needed to take a step back. I’m trying to not get too involved and make sure I’m eating and staying hydrated and sleeping enough. And I’m here, so I think this should help.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Vidal says with a smile. “If you ever start to feel too drawn in, take three deep breaths and then do the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Are you familiar?”

You almost roll your eyes. That’s exactly what they told you to do during your mandated therapy. Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It was meant to ground you and reduce your anxiety.

“Yeah, I’ve tried it a few times, but it didn’t really work for me,” you admit and she waves dismissively.

She quickly scribbles something down and rips out a chunk of paper, sliding it across to you. “This is my cell,” she says. “Call me anytime, day or night, if you ever need to talk. Sometimes that’s the best way to calm down. I know you’re new here, but do you have anyone else, maybe someone you’ve been working with that you could talk to if you need to?”

“There’s this one woman I work with that’s pretty nice. She’s the main detective on the case, so I think I could reach out if I really needed to,” you say and she looks pleased.

“Detective Harkness?” Dr. Vidal asks.

In a small town, people are bound to be familiar with each other. “Um, yeah, do you know her?”

She smirks. “Very well. She’s quite attractive, don’t you think?”

The question catches you off-guard. Is everyone in this place weird? “I mean, sure, of course. Are you allowed to say that?”

“Well, she’s my wife so I would hope so.”

Your mouth drops open. Her lips on your skin, ghosting along your neck, filling you with heat and a need for more. “Oh, I’m so sorry for saying that, I had no idea, obviously. We just work together.”

“Don’t be, doll. I’m sure the two of you would make quite the pair,” Dr. Vidal says, and you ignore the possible unprofessionalism at the pet name. She doesn’t seem offended at all, only fascinated.

You shift in your seat again while trying to figure out what to say. “Well–” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Let me guess, she’s been flirting?”

Fuck. What do you even say? Is Dr. Vidal going to be mad, say she can’t treat you anymore? It’s not your fault, you hadn’t done anything.

She scoffs. “You’re such a pretty young thing, I can’t blame her. You’ll have to come over for dinner with us some night.”

“Um, is that allowed?” You ask, blinking slowly. You have absolutely no idea what is going on. Is your therapist suggesting a threesome with you and her wife and woman you’re working with?

“Getting a meal with your support system? Why wouldn’t it be?” When she phrases it like that, it’s hard to find an error with her logic.

You shrug. It would be nice to be able to talk freely about things. And you’re sure Agatha has told her about the case already. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

The question weighs on your mind as you chew on your lip and debate whether or not to tell her about the images you just saw. You don’t remember ever being in those woods. “Do patients ever, I don’t know, see things while they talk to you? Like false memories or something?”

This gets her attention. “What did you see?”

“Snow, and woods, and a flock of birds. I don’t know, it felt familiar but I’ve never…” You try to put it into words, but you don’t know how.

“What happens when you try to follow that memory?” She asks and you close your eyes, but there’s nothing.

“I–I can’t. There was like a pain in my head when you asked about what made me want to think like a killer, and then I saw it, but it’s not happening now.” You sound defeated, a testament to your frustration.

Dr. Vidal frowns. “Do you know what repressed memories are? And I never asked you that.”

It’s like the floor tilts under you and you stare blankly at her. You can only focus on the latter part. “No, you did, I remember…” You start to breathe heavily, panic rising in your chest, and she comes over to rub at your back. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s possible you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by all this. I think you need to go home and get some rest. Did you sleep last night?”

It makes sense to you now. You didn’t sleep at all, your brain is just playing tricks on you. “No.”

She nods. “Go home. Take a nap. Let’s book a follow up, though. See if we can get to the bottom of those images.”

You choose to come back in three days in the afternoon again and then you drive back to the motel. Your exhaustion suddenly weighs a ton and all you have to do is stumble in your room, collapse on the bed, and you pass out.

The snow crunches underneath your boots as you trode through it. Branches claw at your legs through your pants and the wind whips your cheeks.

It’s cold, but you can’t feel it.

Where are you going? You don’t know, but your legs do. They take you through the woods into the clearing.

You stand alone for a few minutes and then you hear someone – something? – approaching.

A purple wolf.

You crouch down to your knees and it saunters up to you. One eye is a piercing blue, the other is hazel.

So familiar, yet otherworldly. You don’t understand.

It opens its mouth to say something, and you’re leaning in to make sure you hear it, when –

Your phone rings and it jolts you awake in a cold sweat. You roll over in bed to find you’ve been asleep for hours. You reach for your phone when you realize that you’re completely naked.

How did that happen?

When you were younger, you know you had problems with sleep-walking, but you would always keep your clothes on. You file that away to talk to Dr. Vidal about next time.

“Hello?” You say groggily, not even checking who’s on the other line.

“It’s Agatha,” the voice says and it’s like a bucket of cold water gets thrown on you. “There’s been another murder.”

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario x reader #agathario #rio vidal x agatha harkness #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader

272 notes · View notes

agentoffangirling · 2 months ago

Text

Bc of all this stuff of "Billy is the first gay character in the MCU", I have decided to compile a list of queer characters in the MCU, sorted by date so y'all know who the actual firsts are

The conditions are thus:

It is confirmed in the project by either the character themselves or by another person. Maybe they speak of a partner, or say "I'm gay" onscreen

It is confirmed outside of the project by a director, actor, writer, etc. The specific thing about this is that it must be spoken about openly, not just "oh I like that idea!". No, it must be said, "yes, we intended for this" "this character is queer", you get the idea. This means cases like where Chloe Bennet voiced support for an openly bi Daisy Johnson in "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." will not be counted, for while she does like it, she doesn't confirm Daisy as bi

The project must be set in the MCU timeline. If it is the subject of a multiverse, then that must be when the multiverse started branching out. "Deadpool and Wolverine" counts, but all other X-Men movies will not count

With these conditions, it also means cases like Iceman will not be considered, as even though him being a mutant is written like a coming out scene, he is still treated as being entirely het

Does that make sense? Good, let's get going

Victoria Hand (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season 1, 2013-2014): Lesbian, confirmed by actress

Isabelle Hartley (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season 2, 2014-2015): Lesbian, stated by actress

Joey Gutierrez (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season 3, 2015-2016): Gay, confirmed on screen

Jeri Hogarth (Jessica Jones, 2015-2019): Lesbian, confirmed on screen

Valkyrie (Thor: Ragnarok & Thor: Love and Thunder, 2017/2022): Bisexual, confirmed by actress and later confirmed on screen

Korg (Thor: Ragnarok & Thor: Love and Thunder, 2017/2022): Gay, only confirmed on screen in Love and Thunder

Karolina Dean (Runaways, 2017-2018): Lesbian, confirmed on screen

Nico Minoru (Runaways, 2017-2018): Bisexual, confirmed on screen

Ruby Hale (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season 5, 2017-2018): Aesxual, confirmed by actress

Aneka (Black Panther & Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, 2018/2022): Lesbian, confirmed by actress

Ayo (Black Panther & Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, 2018/2022): Lesbian, confirmed on screen

Unnamed character played by Joe Russo (Avengers: Endgame, 2019): Unknown, confirmed on screen

Marcus Benson (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. season 6, 2019): Gay, confirmed on screen

Loki Laufeyson (Loki, 2021): Genderfluid and bisexual, confirmed on screen (it is worth noting that Loki was only confirmed as queer in the series, ten years after he made his debut, which is why I only count the series here. However our main timeline Loki is suggested to be same)

Sylvie Laufeydottir (Loki, 2021): Bisexual, confirmed by creators

Yelena Belova (Black Widow & Hawkeye, 2021): Aroace, hinted on screen, confirmed by writer

Phastos (Eternals, 2021): Gay, confirmed on screen

America Chavez (Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, 2022): Lesbian, confirmed by actress

America's moms (Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, 2022): Unknown, confirmed on screen

Mister Immortal (She-Hulk: Attorney at Law, 2022): Bisexual, confirmed on screen

Agatha Harkness (WandaVision & Agatha All Along, 2021/2024): Unknown, potentially sapphic or wlw, confirmed on screen

Rio Vidal (Agatha All Along, 2024): Unknown, potentially sapphic or wlw, confirmed on screen

Billy Maximoff (Agatha All Along, 2024): Gay, confirmed on screen

#queer characters #if y'all feel like any other characters should count just tell me #this is what i found based on research and my own knowledge #agents of shield #agatha all along #agatha x rio #billy maximoff #america chavez #loki #phastos #runaways #jeri hogarth #marvel #mcu

182 notes · View notes

uraveragelonelysapphic · 1 month ago

Text

welcome to my masterlist! here, you'll find everything i've ever written! enjoy!

Marvel

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Another Love- You meet Wanda at a grief group, as she’s struggling to heal after Vision’s death. Will you help her heal? Will your friendship grow into something more?

Under the Weather- You’re not feeling the greatest, but your girlfriend is there to nurse you back to health.

A Happy Ending- Wanda has to choose between you and Vision. But will she make the right choice?

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Keep You Warm- You are stuck in a freezing cold safe-house in Alaska, but luckily Nat is there to provide you with some warmth.

Not a Monster- After coming home from Wakanda, you meet a certain red head recovering from rejection and show her she’s capable of being loved.

Rocky Road- After Bruce disappears, abandoning Nat, you help put the pieces of her broken heart back together. When Bruce comes back from Ragnarok and professes his love for Nat, will she reject him? Or will she break your heart and run back into his arms?

No More Hiding- You’re a super soldier fresh out of the ice, so it’s your first pride month. And you get to spend it with your girlfriend.

Enough- After Wanda cheats on you, you’re heartbroken. Luckily Nat is there to pick up the pieces.

All I Ever Asked- Promises are hard to keep as an avenger.

Yelena Belova x Reader

Always- You have a nightmare about your days in the Red Room, but Yelena is there to comfort you.

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x reader

Proud- After a not so pleasant dinner with your homophobic mother, your girlfriends are there to give you the support you need.

When They Remembered- Wanda and Nat forget your birthday. But will they remember before it’s too late?

Part 2

Take Care of You- You’re sick, but luckily your girlfriends are there to help.

Deserve- Sometimes your doubts and insecurities become too much to handle. But your girlfriends will always be there to remind you how much you mean to them.

Invisible- You feel invisible, and your powers don’t help with that fact. Can two redheads and a team of superheroes change that feeling?

Wanda Maximoff x Yelena Belova x reader

Starting Anew- You lost your mom. Yelena and Wanda lost a mentor figure. But can something good come from all this loss?

Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova x Reader

Festivities- Yelena has never had a normal Christmas before. Time for her girlfriends to give her the best one yet!

Soteria- You struggle with being kept a secret by the team and the insecurities of not being good enough. After a hostage situation, your girlfriends reassure you of your worth.

Rio Vidal x Reader

Gentle Love- She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Home- She's fading away from you. Is the love you two share enough?

Part 2

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Lavender- Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Miscellaneous

Colt Seavers x Reader

Danger- you have an issue with your boyfriend’s addiction to danger. he doesn’t see the problem. but will he see it when the shoe is on the other foot?

Colt Seavers x Jody Moreno x Reader

Sane- You’re going crazy on a miserable set with a miserable director. Thank goodness you have two wonderful things that keep you sane.

Shelby Goodkind x Toni Shalifoe x Reader

Calm in the Storm- You are not okay. But you are also not alone.

Calliope Burns x Reader

Only You- you and Calliope had something going on that had yet to be labeled. so when your friend Juliette starts to take a liking to the girl, should you be concerned?

#masterlist #marvel masterlist #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #colt seavers x reader #jody moreno x reader #yelena belova x reader #kate bishop x reader #calliope burns x reader #uraveragelonelysapphic

124 notes · View notes

vigilante24ish · 10 days ago

Text

A Thorn By Thy Side

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

[A/N] - This story sounded better in my mind. Yet again, I might be a harsh critic of myself. So, I will let you all decide if you like it and if I will continue.

Summary:

Your parents were seasoned Shield Agents who perished in the line of duty when you were younger. They left you at their place, and Shield quickly recruited, trained and perfected you into one of their best agents. Following in their footsteps, the mission was easy enough for you; the percentage of your successes few could match. So, it was not a surprise when Director Fury entrusted you with a team to capture a very dangerous target... the Succubus Witch Agatha Harkness. Or A short story in which Agatha eventually develops a personal interest in you after realising why you are so difficult to get rid of.

Word Count: 2548

Chapter 1:

The Shield HQ was rather busy that particular day, with many agents being called back from their missions or short vacations to focus on more important issues. After the last terrorist attack on New York, the world was on edge and rightfully so.

It was one thing to handle internal threats, human to human and something completely different when you had to handle extraterrestrial beings and, apparently, gods. One would think with the newly formed Avengers, things would quickly turn back to normal, but they were also busy with different kinds of missions to handle.

You had grabbed the past few days that the focus was on the Avengers to get some alone time, something rare in your line of duty. Yet that alone time had brought you back to the only place you knew and dared to call home.

Being an orphan was tough, and being the orphan child of seasoned, skilled agents was tougher. Back then, you did not understand why they took risks and ended up leaving you all alone, but today, you understand.

As you stared at the memorial dedicated to all fallen agents, you could not help but let your eyes remain longer on the engraved names of your parents. The marble structure reflected your reflection, and you wondered what they would think of you, seeing you following their footsteps with the same insanity and dedication they apparently had.

Sometimes, when the lobby emptied, you would come and faintly talk to them, for there was no true grave and no bodies for you to see. That particular day, you just felt like visiting them, even if no words would be exchanged.

The sound of footsteps against the tile floor caught your attention, eyes narrowing faintly as you focused on their speed. Despite the people passing around you, your training allowed you to detect certain pairs you had been told to always look out for.

This pair was heavy, long strides that emitted confidence, and you knew of only one person walking in such a way. Your suspicions were proven correct when you heard a male voice close by.

“Thought I would find you here.”

You did not turn to face the visitor, their dark-skinned reflection visible on the marble memorial. “Director Fury,” you greeted him. “Am I becoming that predictable?”

“To some of us, you are. Don’t think of it as a bad thing. Makes it less of a hustle to find when I need you,” he responded, not commenting on your lack of eye contact. “I have a mission for you.”

Now that he had captured your interest, you finally graced him by turning to face him. Your gazes locked. “So soon?”

It was not long since you had come from a rather dangerous mission in Russia, tasked with infiltrating a Hydra Terrorist Cell. The mission was a success, but it cost you men and many days of life. Not to mention, you came more than once close to joining your parents on that grim memorial.

“This cannot wait any longer. Follow me,” he said and started to walk, knowing too well you would follow him without him having to repeat everything.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When you entered his office, you remained standing while you got comfortable on his director's chair behind the desk. He tapped something on the holographic screen, and the information was projected up, allowing you to see it in detail.

You took notice of a woman, her face popping up in different pictures across different times; no sign of ageing, and you doubted all those women were just descendants of one another. Your attention went to different articles and secret memos, all around big catastrophes that had taken place in the last century.

“We have been monitoring unusual cases long before the New York invasion. Just in case it was Hydra trying to mess up again,” Fury started to explain, tapping a few things on the pad. “What we found recently was the fact that all big catastrophes had one thing in common; this woman, Agatha Harkness.”

You took a few steps closer, fingers stretching as you tried to read the ever-shifting articles. You frowned as you realized what situation your director was discussing.

The Twin Towers, Chornobyl, the Gas Explosion in 1966... even the Titanic was listed.

“Are we sure this is the same woman? How can she even be responsible for all of those events?” you asked, adverting your attention to the dark-skinned man.

“She has been spotted in every single one, and I know she is behind it. So, unless she is some sort of Grim Reaper waiting to do her job, I say she had been causing them.”

Your next question sounded dumb even in your head, but over the years, you had developed the skill of not really caring and simply speaking what you wanted. “Do we know why?”

“If you ask me, I say she has some sadistic motive, or she simply enjoys causing chaos and death. Wouldn’t be the first one,” Fury said as he pressed something,g and all the holograms disappeared. “But in order to make sure, we need to capture and interrogate her. Perhaps stop her from causing yet another mess with hundreds of casualties.”

“I understand. But why ask me and not someone else? Why not the Avengers?”

“The Avengers are busy as we speak, and I am not sending you there alone. You will take a small team and go capture this bitch before it's too late.”

“Yeah, but why me?” you asked again, not liking how he avoided your question in the first place.

Fury leaned forward, his face as serious as it could get. “Because if words are true, Agatha Harkness falls under the category of a Witch.”

That new piece of information made you part your lips in surprise, not expecting such an answer. Yet, you found no further comments or questions; Fury’s answer was more than enough for you at the moment.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was a small team consisting of five agents in total, including you. You had worked with them quite a few times before, and you knew each other well enough for the mission to go smoothly.

The plan was simple.

Agatha had been also associated with quite a few missing person reports, women who allegedly followed her in search of a mystical road and never returned. So, what better way to approach and isolate her than by arranging a meeting with an interested-to-the-road woman.

The meeting would occur in a small forested area, away from the nearest little town, to ensure no casualties or curious passersby. Fury wanted this to be done silently and quickly, to capture and leave.

You waited for a while in a small clearing, hands in the pockets of your civilian clothing. Your team had been camouflaged and positioned close by, tranquiliser darts and nets ready to be used upon being given the command.

At last, you felt you were no longer alone, and you adverted your gaze towards the source of crushed leaves, getting a first close look at the famous Agatha Harkness. You inhaled faintly, realizing that the pictures taken of her did her little to no justice regarding her beauty.

The thick, slightly curled dark brown hair, those pink lips, and you could not even start talking about her piercing blue eyes.

If she truly did look like this, it was no wonder women willingly trusted and followed her blindly to their dooms.

“You are alone,” Agatha pointed out, clearly unhappy. “Where are the others?”

You had managed to fake an invite, informing you had other women interested in the Road; which was perhaps what had made her come in the first place.

“They are a little bit late. They should arrive soon,” you skilfully lied, offering a charming smile to throw away any suspicions she might have started to form about you.

Agatha did not truly like the answer. She was not a big fan of having her plans changed, even though she could easily improvise in worst-case scenarios.

“Is that so?” the witch questioned, taking a few confident steps towards you.

Unbeknown to her, this was what you wanted as she openly became an easier target for your team.

Your hand lazily moved towards your head, pushing a few strands behind your ears as your skilful fingers pressed on the little earpiece hidden there. “Fire.”

The order did not have to be repeated as your team made their move, guns up and aim stable. The first wave came for Agatha fast, tranquillized darts aimed for her neck and face, intended to bring her down without much of a fight.

Of course, Agatha was not a novice witch, and it was not the first time someone had tried to sneakily attack her. Her purple magic came alive and quickly stopped the little darts in mid-air, preventing them from harming her. She narrowed her blue eyes, and with a wave of her hands, she sent those pesky darts back to their senders, forcing the hidden agents to move to avoid getting hit.

At the same time, you pulled your sleeve up and exposed the little gadget wrapped around your wrist. Blue light glowed, and you steadied your aim before shooting a few thin projectiles packed with enough electricity to stunt a simple human with ease.

That little accessory had been a prototype, a gift from Natasha after you two spent a few months as prisoners. Your teamwork made it possible not only to escape but eventually take down your original target. Admiring your courage and your skill, she agreed and helped you get a prototype version of her spider bites, a gift that had saved your life more than once in a mission.

Agatha similarly used her magic, blocking your little attempt to take her down, only to see you smirking and giving yet another order. Before she could comprehend or prepare herself, you started shooting again, keeping her busy until it was too late.

A heavy net came from her blind side, the weighted edges pinning her to the ground as the steel cables that formed it pressed her down.

You smirked in satisfaction and covered your little gadget as your team started to walk carefully towards the trapped target, guns up and aimed at her.

“Call Fury, tell him the mission was a success,” you ordered one of the agents, one hand on your waist.

Agatha started to cackle, for a moment truly reminding you of those children's stories about evil witches who pursued children.

“Oh, how cute. You really think it would be so easy to take me down, hon?” she asked, fully confident despite being trapped by the net.

Before you could order the electricity to begin, you watched with wide eyes as Agatha dissolved into purple smoke and disappeared from where she was originally trapped.

“What?” you exclaimed, quickly looking around as her cackle echoed across the quiet clearing. “Keep your guards up. Change to stun bullets, now!”

Agatha appeared in the same purple smoke, right behind an agent. One hand was placed on her shoulder and the other on his head. His eyes changed to purple as she easily influenced his weak mind, ordering him to lift his gun and aim at his comrades.

The first shot grabbed your attention, a female agent close by falling unconscious on the ground; the stunt bullet glowing faintly as it paralyzed her nervous and mobility system.

“Agent, stand down!” you ordered even though you doubted your words would pass through, not after spotting his usual brown eyes having changed to a bright purple. “Stand down!”

Realizing this would get you nowhere, you prepare and shoot two spider bites at him, just as another agent shot him with the same stunt bullet. The hypnotized agent attacked as well, taking down his comrade before succumbing to the combined attacks.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Agatha comments as you spot her leaning against a tree. “I mean, I had been attacked before, but this... so pathetic.”

Your eyes blaze with anger, and you dare to pull the gun you had hidden in your back pant pocket. “Orders say to get you alive, not unharmed,” you say and remove the safety. “Last chance, Harkness. Come at peace or come bloodied.”

Agatha laughed at your brave words, finding your attempt to sound threatening both stupid and adorable. What she did not know was that you were simply buying time for your last team member to make his move.

Before Agatha knew it, she felt the sharp pain on her back as the stunt bullet threatened to bring her down, having failed to spot the silent agent standing two feet behind her. He was ready to attack her again, ensuring she would go down, but the Witch had other plans in mind.

The stunt bullet did pack quite a punch, and if she was a normal, weak human, she knew she would be on the ground by now. But she was Agatha Harkness, one of the most powerful witches to ever leave, and no stupid invention would take her down.

Deciding to put an end to this, Agatha’s eyes flashed purple with magic, and all it took was one swing of her hand for her magic to attack the agent from point-blank range. The force was strong enough to send him back, his body crashing against a tree, his neck breaking upon impact.

You watched with wide eyes at the attack, and by instinct alone, you started to shoot, only for the same purple magic to block your bullets.

“Haven’t you learnt anything so far?” Agatha questioned. “Let me give you a quick reminder.”

You saw the gathered amount of her purple magic heading your way, concentrated into a blast that crashed against your chest and stole the air from your lungs. The force sent you flying back, the ground rough against your landing, pieces of dirt scratching your clothes.

That blast should have killed you or knocked you down, yet you could still feel your heart pumping and your brain working. Your fingers twitched, and you could hear Agatha’s footsteps through half-open eyelids as she approached you.

When she was close enough to inspect if you had perished like you had to, you opened your eyes and went for the attack. You brought your legs, and with newfound energy, you kicked the side of her knees, causing her to fall to the ground rather ungracefully.

You crawled back, and once you had enough space and time, you jumped on your legs, wiping some dirt from the corner of your lips. Your chest heaved faintly as adrenaline finally rushed through your veins... veins that seemed to have grown paler against your skin.

“How?” Agatha exclaimed as she pushed her thick locks out of the way, her dark-painted fingers catching your attention. “Never mind, that!”

Another blast of purple magic was thrown your way, but this time, you were prepared. Bringing your hands up, you formed an X that protected your face and neck.

Chapter 2

#agatha fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #set before wanda vision #reader has magic but does not know it #enemies to lovers #kathryn hahn #marvel #reader insert #female reader #agatha has the darkhold #shield agent reader #lesbian #lgtbqia+

97 notes · View notes

the-scarlet-witch-22 · 4 months ago

Text

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 3 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Being a rising soloist isn't all it's cracked up to be as you face new challenges, all while encountering Agatha Harkness at every turn.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Helloooo welcome to chapter 3! This chapter briefly deals with/mentions imposter syndrome & performance anxiety, so if either of those topics make you uncomfortable you have been warned. The piece mentioned in this chapter is Gluck's Melodie, from Orfeo ed Eurdice :) As always, thank you for reading & I hope you enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think, my asks are always open!

Previous Chapter

There were few things in life that brought you as much peace as playing your violin. Taking a few hours to tune out the rest of the world and solely focus on your instrument was the fastest relief to whatever stressors were occurring. Unfortunately, that tranquility had all but vanished as of late- much to your dismay. But you tried to put it out of your mind- your week had been a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and press engagements to kick off the summer concert season, and this morning was no different. Before this evening’s big Donor’s Gala you would be leading a Master Class with promising young musicians in the area.

Getting out of the car, you took off your sunglasses, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the glaring sunlight. This morning’s temperature was significantly warmer than you anticipated, and you found yourself melting by the time you made it inside the symphony building. Setting your violin case on the ground, you allowed the AC to wash over you, while making a mental note to remember to bring a water bottle in the future as you had been forgetting all week. It was early enough the building was nearly deserted, or at least you thought so as you relaxed in the air conditioning.

“Still getting used to the LA heat, dear?”

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you dropped your keys. Whipping your head around, you were unsurprised to find Agatha staring back at you, amusement coloring her features. The conductor appeared to have entered the building right after you did, black sunglasses in one hand and her bag hanging off her shoulder.

While you looked like you were about to fall over, Agatha looked as put together as she always did, seemingly unaffected from the scorching temperatures.

“Agatha,” you breathed out, slowly regaining your composure as you gave the conductor a quick once over, the gears turning in your head. Symphony rehearsal wasn’t until the early afternoon, she was awfully early. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d assume the same reason as you; the Master Class,” Agatha pointed out before motioning to your keys that were still on the ground. “You might want to pick those up, it would be a shame if you lost them.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached down to pick them up, feeling Agatha’s gaze remain on you. “Last time I checked, I was running this class alone.”

“Clerical error.” Agatha insisted, carefully putting her sunglasses in her bag, before adding, “I’m sure someone was supposed to tell you I’d be joining you.”

“I’m sure.” You mused, thinking about how often this had been occurring as of late.

At first you didn’t think too much of Agatha’s unannounced appearances, because her explanations seemed logical enough at the time. When she dropped in on your interviews for your Artist in Residence with the LA Symphony, she claimed getting her interview done at the same time would be more efficient. During a meeting for PR, she rationalized needing to give her final approval as the orchestra’s music director. Even your late night practice sessions weren’t safe, as they almost always ended with the conductor sneaking up on you, her cackle echoing through the empty hall as you wondered if she was trying to kill you.

But the more she popped up, the more you wondered if her actions were as altruistic as she claimed them to be.

“Shall we?” Agatha prompted before taking off down the hallway, leaving you no choice but to follow her.

Walking in silence through the deserted building, you thought of possible conversation starters, and were stumped. As comfortable as you still felt around Agatha, it had been a long time since you’d been around her this frequently.

As if she could sense your hesitation, she gave you an inquisitive stare. “Stark tells me you’ll be gracing us with a performance this evening.”

“It’s just a little something,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest at the reminder, opening the stage door for the conductor. “Anything to help the orchestra.”

Agatha smirked, her hand grazing your shoulder as she brushed past you. “How chivalrous.”

Clearing your throat, ignoring the rush of butterflies from her brief touch, you changed the subject, as this was one of the few times you had been alone with Agatha all week. “So how have things been with the MSO?”

“Oh you know,” Agatha hummed, switching on the stage lights, “I’ve overseen a few personnel changes, but nothing else, really.”

“Personnel changes?” You questioned, wondering why she was being so vague while trying to recall if Monica had mentioned anything to you.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, appearing genuinely curious. “You haven’t heard?”

Before you could ask what she meant, one of the staff members came backstage, informing you the class would be starting in ten minutes.

Agatha started to walk out, but when she noticed you hadn’t moved she cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to make me endure this on my own, are you?”

A small smile graced your lips at her jest. “Promise me you’ll be nice, they’re just kids.”

“I have no issues with the children,” Agatha insisted. “Their parents, on the other hand…”

“Not a fan of the hovering parent?” You joked, joining her onstage, the bright lights shining down on you.

Agatha frowned, a dark look in her eyes as she mulled over your words. “Not quite, no.”

The conductor set off down the stairs without another word, taking a seat in the front row, carelessly setting her bag down with a loud thump.

During your time together Agatha never mentioned much about her childhood, and you were never brave enough to ask. You knew from a few Google searches that her mother had been a rather well known concert pianist, but that was about it. Agatha had always been guarded, and as much as you tried to peel back the many layers that she used as self defense, you hadn’t managed to get through them all.

Taking a seat next to her, you checked the time to find there were a few minutes until you began. The sound of Agatha rustling through her bag was mere background noise as you scrolled through your phone. It wasn’t until you felt something cold against your arm did you notice a reusable water bottle was now resting on the armrest of your seat.

“What’s this?”

“You’re going to end up passing out on stage from dehydration.” Agatha said disapprovingly, her thick black frame glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose as her head was tilted down, reading an updated copy of the Master Class schedule.

“I could have brought my own water,” you insisted, trying to ignore how touched you were by the thoughtful gesture.

The conductor folded the piece of paper she had been reading, adjusting her glasses as she gave you a pointed look. “I’ve watched you prance around like a parched baby deer all week, the last thing I need is for you to fall and break your violin.”

“Just my violin?”

Agatha pursed her lips, blue eyes twinkling as she evaded your question. “A simple thank you would suffice, dear.”

The weight of her gaze was nearly too much for you to bear, for you found it to be far more exposing than the brightest of stage lights, but you were unable to look away. Agatha’s fingers grasped the bottle, extending her arm until it was hovering over your legs.

The conductor looked at you expectantly, and you had never been one to deny her anything.

Lifting your hand, you accepted the bottle, fingers crossing hers as you held it in your palm.

“Thank you, Maestra,” you said, watching Agatha’s eyes drift to your intertwined fingers, neither of you moving from the contact.

Agatha lowly hummed, untangling her fingers from yours as her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. Neither of you spoke, but for once the silence felt less suffocating, allowing you to reminisce on a time where this had been normal. Closing your eyes, you wished you could stay this way forever.

The sound of voices outside the hall grew in volume, zapping you back to reality. Clearing her throat, Agatha gave your leg a gentle squeeze before letting go, and you poorly tried to hide your disappointment.

“Try to remember to drink that,” Agatha murmured as she stood up, and after a moment added, “I don’t want you to get hurt before the concert season begins.”

You weren’t sure why the confirmation that she still cared hit you as hard as it did, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face for the entire Master Class. Agatha kept true to her word, and was on her best behavior. You only remembered halfway through the class how good she was with children, as the faint memory of the school concert day she once planned rang through clear as day.

She was still Agatha, of course. Her sarcasm and quick witted sense of humor could never be diminished, but she softened ever so slightly when offering advice after each musician performed. Her constructive criticism actually was constructive, and you were reminded how gifted of a teacher she was.

You did have to reign her in when a few overzealous parents insisted on voicing their own opinions, but overall you were pleased with the turnout.

It was surreal in a way, being in this new position. When you were younger your dream was to be a professional violinist, and it often felt as if that was the only thing you had ever been fully certain of. But you had been having a hard time finding your own way; to be able to fully accept that you had earned this. To believe that you were worthy. Looking at someone as astonishingly accomplished as Agatha Harkness, you couldn’t help but feel like a fraud.

It felt like a facade the majority of the time, your violin acting as your mask on stage, effectively shielding all of your doubts to the outside world. But it was difficult to present that version of yourself when you were standing next to Agatha, for you found yourself falling back in time to when you were nothing more than her assistant. Naturally leading you to wonder if the conductor still saw you in that imbalanced light, or if she could ever view you as her equal.

Once the last of the students left you lingered onstage, discreetly watching Agatha. The conductor was leaning against the grand piano, one hand perched on the edge while she scrolled through her phone.

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha called out, not looking up from whatever she was doing.

“I’m not staring,” you lied, clearing your throat as you took a step towards her. “Is everything alright?”

“Hm?” Agatha asked, finally glancing up at you. When you motioned to her phone, she arched an eyebrow. “Jealous I’m not giving you all of my attention?”

Spluttering, you shot her an indignant glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Placing her phone on the piano, the conductor crossed her arms across her chest, smirking as she took a small step forward, invading all of your senses. “If you must know, I was going over tonight’s performance with the concertmaster, she had a few questions.”

It was then that you recalled last week’s symphony rehearsal, where you witnessed what you felt had been rather visible tension between Agatha and the concertmaster, Hela. Your stomach began twisting in uncomfortable knots at the memory, while you were forced to consider why the thought of Agatha being with someone else made you feel sick.

“Hela, right?” You asked, careful to keep any trace of the growing pit of anxiety from your tone.

“That’s right,” Agatha confirmed, an inscrutable expression on her face as she regarded you. “I’ve known her for quite some time. Her brother is the new CFO of the symphony.”

All thoughts of Hela were pushed to the back of your mind. Your eyes widened, unable to contain your surprise. “What? Where’s Hayward?”

“In prison,” Agatha replied casually. “Well, I'll take that back. He’s supposed to be in prison, but I’m sure he was able to get a reduced sentence. The woes of the wealthy white man.”

“Prison?”

“For fraud and embezzlement of all things,” Agatha shared conspiratorially, leaning in closer as she whispered, “I must say, it was quite a scandal. Still a bit of a mystery as to who tipped off the feds.”

The smug expression on her face was a dead giveaway, as Agatha had never been subtle.

The sigh left your mouth before you could stop it, lips curling downwards to form a frown. “Tell me you didn’t…”

“That I didn’t do what, dear? Uphold my duty to rid my orchestra of a bloodsucking leech?” Agatha countered, pacing around as she clasped her hands behind her back.

“But prison, Agatha? Really?”

The stage creaked with every step the conductor took, finally stopping when she stood directly behind you.

“If I remember correctly you were never fond of him either,” Agatha pointed out, her breath hot against your ear as you let out an involuntary shiver from the pleasurable sensation.

“I wasn’t,” you admitted truthfully, as Hayward had been a major thorn in both your and Agatha’s sides throughout the entirety of your time with the MSO.

“Besides, I didn’t make him do anything. He was guilty,” Agatha said honestly, and although you weren’t looking at her you knew she was telling you the truth. Embellishments and dramatics aside, she had never lied to you. “I merely sped up the process of justice being served.”

Allowing the conductor’s words to wash over you, there was a pause as you decided to change the subject. “So, Hela’s brother?”

“He’s business oriented like Hayward, but far more cunning. A lot more clever, as well. He’s also not actively attempting to sabotage me, so I’ve had more free time,” Agatha explained, and you then remembered what Monica had mentioned of Agatha being absent a lot this past season.

“I’m sure you’ve been awfully bored,” you replied, your brain fixating on Hela and if there was any correlation between her absences and a potential relationship with the concertmaster.

“I’ve found…ways to keep myself busy,” Agatha delicately responded, taking a small step back.

Turning around, you gave her a curious glance. “Really? Have you been doing anything interesting?”

“This and that,” Agatha vaguely offered, folding her hands across her chest.

Deciding to test your luck, you took a step towards her. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something worth mentioning. Any traveling?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha scanned yours, deep blue orbs searching for something unknown as she appeared to contemplate your question. “Can't say I’ve had time for any vacations while I’m running an orchestra.”

“Of course,” you agreed, pondering over Agatha’s words while coming to the realization that either Monica misspoke or Agatha, for the first time, had potentially lied to you. But why?

Taking your silence as an opportunity to strike, Agatha raised her right hand, index finger contemplatively tapping against her cheek as she observed you. “Quite nosey today, aren’t we?”

“I think a good musician should always try to be curious,” you weakly said, wondering why Agatha was being so secretive.

The conductor snorted, “I almost forgot how meddlesome violinists are as a species.”

Ignoring the dig, you approached her for a final time. There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you weren’t sure where to begin as the words kept getting caught in your throat.

“I know it’s been a long time,” you started to say, as this was the first time you had addressed the elephant in the room. “But I’d like to believe that after everything we’re friends, right?”

The words burned your tongue, but you ignored the unpleasant feeling. You and Agatha were friends, sort of, right?

Agatha stiffened at your words, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe you saw a flicker of displeasure cross her features. But, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. An uneasy silence fell between you, and even though Agatha was mere steps away it felt as though an ocean separated you.

“Yes, dear,” Agatha finally answered, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re friends.”

The sound of your phone dinging caught your attention, as you gave Agatha an apologetic smile. “I should probably check that. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” Agatha reminded you as she traipsed across the stage, pulling her phone back out. “Don’t be late.”

The best way to prepare the day of a performance was to get plenty of rest and stay hydrated. There typically wasn’t enough time to make any major changes to whatever piece you were performing, so hours of practicing was both unnecessary and a waste of energy. Lacking something to do with your hands, you instead spent the hours leading up to the gala in a fretful state. This had been occurring more frequently with each new performance you took on. It didn’t matter the size of nature of the event, the self-doubt you normally could keep at bay had fully taken over.

While your violin had once been your safe haven, an escape from reality, it was now slowly turning into an anxiety fueled nightmare. Lately nothing you did felt right. Every bow change was jerky, each shift of your fingers ending flat. Your vibrato was too fast, but then too slow. Nothing was good enough, and the more you attempted to fix it the worse it became.

Burdened as you were, how you ended up at the gala on time was a mystery, but you skillfully avoided the majority of the orchestra’s donors as you slipped backstage. Tony had managed to deliver everything he promised; a beautifully decorated ballroom with a room full of wealthy donors who had come to be entertained for an evening.

Part of that entertainment including you, your brain reminded you, as you watched the ending of the orchestra’s performance of Danzón No, 2, Agatha’s hands cutting them off with a dramatic flourish of her baton. The room erupted in thunderous applause, and you forced yourself to look away as Agatha shook Hela’s hand before she exited the stage.

Greeting a few members of the orchestra who passed you, a cold sweat dripped down your back as you listened to Tony ramble on stage about reaching record high donations and how the night wasn’t over yet. You had to physically stop yourself from hearing his speech on the “treat” the audience was in for with the last performance; your performance. It didn’t feel right, receiving this praise, not when you could barely make it through the relatively easy piece of music you had selected for this evening.

“You’re on as soon as Tony is done,” Pepper reminded you as she walked past with her tablet, most likely tracking the incoming donations.

The rushing sound of blood filled your ears as you stiffened, hands feeling clammy as you struggled to hold onto your violin. While you were no stranger to pre-performance jitters, this was one of the worst experiences you had with it yet, the room beginning to spin as you closed your eyes.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t go on with the way you had been sounding all day.

Maybe you could pretend to faint, or be ill. The latter wouldn’t be too much of a lie with the way your stomach was churning at the mere thought of walking out on that stage.

There was a light touch on your shoulder, and you thought you heard someone saying something but it was hard to hear anything over your heart pounding in your chest.

“Darling?”

Agatha’s voice managed to cut through, and you felt her hand on your shoulder rub circles as you managed to take a shaky breath, slowly opening your eyes.

The conductor was hovering over you, concern etched on her face. You hadn’t felt her grab your violin and bow, but both were safely stashed on a table to your right. The room was far too bright, and your body far too hot as you squirmed.

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked quietly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

You briefly noticed the backstage area was mostly cleared, a stark contrast to the crowded flow of musicians that were there mere seconds ago, but you paid that no mind.

“I know I need to go out there, but I don’t think I can,” you said, trying your best to breathe but the rapid tightening of your chest making it difficult to form complete sentences.

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha stepped away for a moment, grabbing a nervous looking stagehand and saying something incoherent to them before they hurried off. The conductor was back at your side, now holding a bottle of water as she opened it, handing it to you.

“Drink,” she gently urged you, and upon noticing your reluctance she sighed. “I know you don’t want to, but drink.”

Taking a small sip, you struggled to swallow, the cold liquid acting as a shock to your system.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before pulling away. “Now, I need you to listen to me. Do you trust me?”

Your heart felt like it was about to give out, and the room was moving at such a rapid pace you had difficulty standing. There was almost nothing you were certain of, but the one thing that you had never truly doubted was your faith in Agatha.

You barely recognized the sound of your voice as you let out a meek yes.

“Stark is out there stalling,” Agatha explained, and it appeared she was actively refraining from rolling her eyes. “But he can’t stay out there forever, otherwise we might start to lose the money we’ve already raised.”

The tightness in your chest was gradually relenting, and you were able to breathe with more ease. “I’ll be fine to perform, I just need a minute.”

The conductor rolled her eyes at your comment. “A heroic offer, dear, but you’re not going out there alone. I’m going to perform with you. That little stagehand ran off to grab the sheet music. I’ve performed Gluck before, but it’s been a while.”

That managed to get your attention, and you stared at her in shock. Agatha almost always refused to perform the piano, and had only played for you once. Despite being considered one of the most gifted pianists of her generation, the conductor had not performed publicly in decades.

“You’re going to perform with me?”

Rolling her eyes again, the conductor gave you shoulder another squeeze. “You have heard of a duet before, haven’t you?”

The room stopped spinning, and you were able to open your mouth without feeling the need to vomit. Managing to give her a weak smile, the conductor nodded, handing you back your violin. The nerves were still there, but now Agatha was standing beside you as she instructed the same stagehand on how she wanted the piano positioned and you no longer felt like you were drowning.

Tony must have received the okay from Pepper to wrap up as he transitioned out of his long speech.

“Now, I know I’ve promised all of you a performance from our current Artist in Residence, but this is a special evening, isn’t it? I’m thrilled to announce she will be joined by the incredible, incomparable, Agatha Harkness. The Maestra will be putting down her baton to give all of you her first public piano performance in years.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched at that, but when she found you staring she gave you a reassuring nod.

There was more applause, and Tony jubilantly exited the stage, wishing you both good luck as he went to converse with Pepper.

“Just focus on me,” Agatha whispered in your ear before you walked out together, the applause deafening as she strolled over to the piano, taking a seat as she stretched her fingers out over the keys.

Positioning yourself to where you could see her in your line of vision, you planted your feet firmly on the ground. Raising your violin, you set your bow on the string, trying to ignore the unsteady feeling threatening to rise yet again.

Agatha’s finger pressed down on one of the keys, playing an A to allow you to tune your violin. Rolling your bow, you checked each string until you were satisfied, giving Agatha a discreet nod that you were ready to begin.

Locking eyes with Agatha, you raised your violin on an upbeat to cue her in. The second her fingers hit the keys, you were able to pretend there was no one else there, only the two of you. Moving through each measure, you focused on the notes you had memorized, and for the first time today it didn’t feel overwhelming. Your vibrato rang through with every note, and the sound didn’t make you want to throw your violin in a woodchipper.

Agatha was a sight to behold, hair carelessly thrown over her shoulders, sitting on the edge of the bench as she slightly slouched over, fingers dancing across the keys. Although she claimed she needed the music, you couldn’t help but notice she had barely glanced at it once, her focus on you. There was something so magical about watching her at the piano, even the simplest chord she played produced the most exquisite sound.

Melodie was a piece originally from the opera Orfeo ed Euridice. It had later been transcribed by Fritz Kreisler for piano and violin. It was a dance between the two instruments, with the violin line singing over the piano accompaniment. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking, and was a rather accurate representation of your emotional state as of late.

The hesitation you had been feeling now gone as you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on growing every phrase as you and Agatha played off each other. It was funny, you had never rehearsed this with the conductor, but you played perfectly in sync. Every breath you let out Agatha inhaled as you watched her lithe fingers stretch across the instrument to form various chord progressions.

As you entered the final phrase, your fingers delicately shifted down the fingerboard as you hit your last note, slowing the speed of your bow, and extending your vibrato as Agatha leisurely played her final chords until the noise died away.

Holding still, you finally released, and as you lowered your violin there was tumultuous applause from the crowd, but all you noticed was Agatha looking at you in a way you had never seen before.

The moment was over all too soon as Tony came back on stage, insisting you and Agatha receive a standing ovation as he gleefully announced that tonight’s gala produced an all time high number of donations. Agatha rolled her eyes discreetly at you, but you noticed how pleased she appeared.

You were swarmed by enthusiastic donors, and Agatha wasn’t faring much better. The conductor made sure you were able to put your violin away before Pepper had swooped in, insisting you take pictures.

Agatha sought you out long after the crowd dwindled, a glass of wine in each of her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The conductor asked, offering you one of the glasses.

Quietly thanking her, you accepted the wine, taking a small sip, the alcohol swirling around your tongue and you turned to her in surprise as you swallowed. “Pinot Noir?”

“Your favorite, if I recall correctly,” Agatha politely remarked.

“That’s right,” you confirmed, taking another small sip before lowering your glass. “Thank you, for earlier. I’m sure you’re tired of saving me.”

Agatha’s lips curled downwards, her eyebrows creasing as she gave you an unreadable expression, as if she hadn’t witnessed your earlier anxiety attack. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t think I could have gone out there on my own,” you admitted, the truth a bitter embarrassment. “I’ve been having trouble with my confidence lately.” You motioned to the now empty space and stage. “With all of this, it's just getting worse.”

Nervously biting your lip, you half expected for Agatha to crack an off-hand, witty comment on how obvious that was given your backstage freak out, but the conductor set her wine glass down, giving you her full attention.

“Go on.”

“I…”

Pausing, you came to the stark realization you had never shared this with anyone out of fear of being judged. But then you looked at Agatha, her piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and your fears melted away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” you confessed, fidgeting with your hands as you stared at your feet. “This is all I ever wanted, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t know if I’m cut out for all of this…I don’t…”

“You feel like you don’t belong?” Agatha guessed, and upon your small nod she added, “You obsess over every miniscule detail of each performance, and it doesn’t matter how many people say it was good, it feels like it wasn’t great. Right?”

You felt your blood run cold, as the conductor managed to hit the bullseye of your recent anxieties. Blinking back the tears that had been threatening to escape, you took a deep breath before looking back up to find her pointedly staring at the ground.

“How do you know that?” You asked softly, surprise evident in your tone, because Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met.

“Perfectionism is practically conditioned into us from the day we begin learning music,” Agatha reflected, still not meeting your gaze. “You know, my mother was a rather successful pianist.”

When you refrained from commenting, because you did know that, Agatha continued. “She’s the reason I started playing the piano. Sometimes I think she only had a daughter not because she wanted a child, but because she wanted to mold another version of herself. Nothing that I wanted ever mattered, it was always about her.”

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, because you couldn’t imagine having a parent like that, but the conductor waved off your apology, clearing her throat.

“Don’t be. My mother was a fool, and she remained one for the rest of her life,” Agatha said, without a trace of sorrow in her voice. “My introduction to music was one filled with fear. I had been taught to never be satisfied with myself, because I could have been better. I wasted a large portion of my childhood seeking her approval, wanting for her to be proud of me. But I eventually learned that it’s impossible to win when you’re being set up for failure.”

This was the most vulnerable Agatha had ever allowed herself to be with you, and you nervously folded your hands across your chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I moved across the country when I turned eighteen, and never saw her again until she was being put in the ground,” Agatha reminisced, finally daring to look up at you. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes over the course of my career, but one thing I’ll never regret is embracing fear.”

“Embracing fear?” You repeated, unsure of where she was going.

“Those thoughts you’ve been having,” Agatha prompted, her attention focused solely on you, “they don’t go away. They’ll most likely just get worse. So, you can either succumb to it, and let the fear of failure win, or you can embrace it and allow yourself the ability to recognize that greatness doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from having the courage to try at all.”

You had unconsciously shifted closer to the conductor as she spoke, until your shoulders were nearly touching as you both leaned against the edge of the stage.

“Has that helped you?”

“As much as it can. Music is unique, as is every musician,” Agatha thoughtfully replied.

The gears in your brain turned, thinking back on the multiple instances where Agatha had made a member of the MSO cry.

“And do you use that advice when working with your own orchestra?”

“Funny,” Agatha deadpanned, grabbing her wine glass by the stem to take a sip before setting it back down. “There’s a difference between pushing yourself too hard versus settling for mediocrity.”

“I think that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” You pointed out. “They’re all world class musicians. I think sometimes you’re too hard on them.”

“They are,” Agatha confirmed, running a hand through her hair as you fixated in on her messy dark brown curls. “But some of them have become lazy. They don’t feel the need to improve at all, and that’s an insult to the craft. It’s my job as their conductor to make them want to perform at their very best.”

You knew Agatha meant well, and deep down you were sure the orchestra did as well.

“That makes sense, thank you.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you were extraordinary this evening,” Agatha praised you, her hand coming to rest on top of yours. “You’ve always been extraordinary.”

The physical contact was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Relaxing under her touch, you felt your cheeks grow warm from the compliment. “Thank you, Agatha.”

Your glass of wine abandoned on the stage behind you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to enjoy this intimate exchange with the woman who had been haunting your memory for the past five years. Agatha, for her part, appeared to be comfortable as well, as her hand remained atop yours, unmoving from where she stood next to you.

“And for the record, Hela and I are friends,” Agatha murmured, grabbing your attention once more. Sensing your surprise that she picked up on what you had been hinting around, she rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Her words sounded eerily similar to what you had asked her earlier, but you had made it this far and after years of what if’s and errors of miscommunication, you had grown weary of the unknown.

“Friends….like how you and I are friends?” You quietly questioned, the implications of what you meant appeared to be obvious enough from the way Agatha gave you an amused smirk.

“No, dear,” Agatha murmured, raising her hand to gently stroke your cheek, looking at you in ways you had only been able to dream of. “Not like how you and I are friends.”

Tangling her fingers in your hair, Agatha chuckled at the involuntary shiver you let out as she leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. She was so close, and any self control you had mustered was slowly slipping. Your breathing turned shallow, eyes locked on her perfectly plump red lips.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but your brain short circuited as the conductor parted her lips, slowly moving towards yours. You could smell the wine on her breath, as you vividly pictured tasting it off her tongue. Using her free hand, Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her, and you were lost gazing into her hazy blue eyes.

Before you could fully rationalize what you were doing, you leaned in, closing your eyes as your lips were about to meet. From the back of your mind, you thought you heard Agatha’s breath hitch as your heart raced from the anticipation.

A loud slam of a door caused you to break apart. Agatha ran a hand through her messy locks, breathing heavily and you felt your cheeks grow hot as she gave your hand a brief squeeze before stepping away from the stage, straightening her suit jacket.

A man came stumbling into the room before you could ask what almost just happened, holding what appeared to be a small cage. He looked familiar, did you know him from somewhere?

The man, who seemed to be oblivious to what he just walked into, spotted Agatha and began to nervously ramble.

“Maestra, I’m so sorry. The flight got delayed, and apparently you can’t only buy a first class ticket for an animal, so I was able to get myself one too. I tried to use my card to pay for it, but it didn’t go through, so I put it on yours. Then I tried to call you, but my phone stopped working. I tried to check into the hotel, but I realized I left my wallet at the airport. I remember you said you’d be here so I thought I’d come and-”

Holding up a hand to silence him, Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. “It’s fine, Lang. Please stop, your voice is giving me a migraine.”

The man kept going, shuffling around uncomfortably. “Well I can pay you back for the ticket but with my current salary it will probably take me around…a year, maybe?”

Agatha waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “I said it’s fine, Lang. Consider that your holiday bonus.”

The conductor sauntered over to the man, reaching her hands out to grab the cage from him. Gently setting it down on a nearby table, she opened it, pulling out a rabbit. She scratched his ears as held him, annoyance gone as she gave you a small smile.

“Do you remember Scratchy, dear?”

Of course you did, you thought to yourself as Agatha brought Scratchy over to you, the hardened look in her eyes softening as you gave him a few pets. You discreetly nodded towards the man who was pacing the room, hands in his pockets, and Agatha sighed, her irritation appearing to return as she glanced back over at the man.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is my assistant, Scott. He’ll be joining me for the rest of the summer.”

Scott gave you a quick wave and you couldn’t hide your surprise. This was Agatha’s assistant? He certainly wasn’t what you had pictured.

“Great,” you said, feigning enthusiasm, trying to pay attention to the conversation between Agatha and Scott, as the man told a rather strange story of his travel day.

The more he talked the more confused you were as to how Agatha hadn’t managed to fire him yet.

But, all you could really do was wonder what would have happened if Scott hadn’t interrupted, and what this meant for the rest of the summer; as opening night was quickly approaching. Your heart fluttered, as you realized the more time you spent with Agatha, the more you secretly wished you had never said goodbye to her all those years ago.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness fanfiction

168 notes · View notes