#he’s not yours Agatha. he’s not yours and he wants nothing to do with you

[marril96]

Anything for Her

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: set in 1.05. You take Agatha's side when everyone turns against her.

Things have been feeling wrong since the moment you entered the cabin, and everything had turned up to eleven once the trial started and you and the rest of your makeshift coven started messing with the Ouija board.

Truly, seriously messing with it, not counting Agatha's shenanigans in pretending to be possessed by the ghost of Mrs. Hart. Sharon. Whatever the woman's name was, may she rest in peace.

Agatha had always been like that in all the years you'd known her. Masking her true feelings. Hiding behind humor for it hurt less if she put on a silly face and twisted her voice into an accent so different from her own. If she made it into a joke, people couldn't hurt her. If it was funny, she was laughing instead of crying out the tears that were always there, always threatening to spill against her wishes. For if she cried then, she could tell herself it was from the humor rather than the hurt.

A part of you was annoyed that she was pulling that shit again amidst such a serious situation. This was her trial. She should focus instead of making light of it.

But still, you understood why she did it. You felt for her.

There was nothing she could ever do that would make you hate her. Not a single thing. Annoy you to the Moon and back? Make you wish you could blast her with your magic without dying at her hands — not to hurt her, but to show her, loud and clear, she needed to cut her shit? Make you stomp your feet like her rabbit did when he was upset? Absolutely. All that and more. But hate her?

You just didn't have it in you. Not after years of pining for her.

It didn't take long for the shitstorm to escalate. One moment you were sitting around the board, going along with what you thought was another prank; not by Agatha, but rather by someone — probably Jen — trying to scare her after the stunt she'd pulled, and the next there was a loud noise and yelling and your hands shot up to your ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the chaos.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, threatening to break free. This was the real deal. The ghost, aptly proclaiming itself death, was angry. It wanted to scare, it wanted to hurt, it wanted to—

"Punish Agatha!" Jen yelled out loud, in response to Alice's question.

The noise instantly quieted. Lights stopped flickering. The tension, pressing so hard against every inch of your body, making you tremble like a frightened child, dissipated.

"Meaning, we need to…" Alice muttered, uncertain.

"Yup", Jen said, confident as ever, because of course she was. "It's how we pass the trial."

On the ground, bare and exposed, vulnerable, Agatha frowned. "Uh, I don't think so."

"And after everything she's done," Jen continued, needlessly cruel, "the lies, the cheating, the complete and utter lack of humanity."

"No. There has to be another way," Teen said.

"Right," Agatha said. "Yes."

"We could tie her up," Lilia suggested, making you flinch. You expected this kind of shit from Jen, but Lilia? The older woman never hid her dislike for Agatha, but she was always a class act. What had gotten into her?

"You're not serious," Teen protested.

Agatha was mortified. "I can't—"

"Humiliation would work, too," Alice said, shrugging.

"I mean, or we could just slit her throat," Rio said in her usual morbidly gleeful way, pointing her knife directly at Agatha.

Agatha sighed. "When people ask me why I don't have female friends…"

This was ridiculous. No, it was fucking insane. You couldn't believe your ears. Were they possessed? They had to have been. Something had to have gone wrong for this entire coven, save for Teen, turning against the one who's brought them all here in the first place.

Agatha was no saint, far from it, but she didn't deserve this. Not after what she'd done for these witches. She was kind to Lilia after her hallucination. She'd given Jen the confidence boost she'd needed. She'd made Alice realize her mother had been protecting her all along. Those weren't the actions — words — of a monster.

She could feel and protect and love all the same as they all did. All they needed to do was understand her.

Not a single one of them even tried.

At the very least Rio had an excuse. She was just… Rio. A long time ago, in a moment of vulnerability, of trust that didn't come easily to someone who'd been betrayed so many times by people she should have been able to trust, Agatha had confided in you about her ex. You understood why she was the way she was.

What was the others' excuse?

Shoving Rio away, you stepped in front of Agatha and spread your arms out, shielding her with your body. "You are not touching her."

Jen snorted. "Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm fucking with you?" you spat, making damn sure your tone was as clear as a moonlit sky. If they wanted to hurt your friend, they would have to go through you first.

Agatha's mother had betrayed her. The coven she was born into had betrayed her. And now her second, found coven had done the same.

You weren't going to add to that tragic list.

Once upon a time, before she'd confided in you about her son and Rio, you'd told her she could trust you. That you were her friend.

You meant every single word.

"You hurt her," you said, "and I hurt you."

"Look at Agatha's little guard dog," Jen said snidely. "You've been defending her from the start."

"And you've been talking shit about her from the start, so I guess that evens out," you said.

She frowned, then went on the offensive, hitting exactly where it hurt the most. "She's never gonna be with you. You know that, right?"

You smoothed your face into a neutral expression; too late, for everyone already saw the flash of pain, of hurt on your face as soon as the words left her mouth. You swallowed, hard. Your throat burned.

You and Agatha were friends. Nothing less, and nothing more. Truth be told, you never considered yourself worthy of being anything more. She was an exceptional witch — an exceptional person. One of the best in her craft. Powerful, and charming, and confident; everything you could only ever dream of becoming. The most beautiful woman you'd ever laid your eyes on.

How could you not develop feelings for her?

"That's all this little display of bravado is about, right?" Jen said, smirking. "Everyone knows you're in love with her. You're not exactly trying to hide it."

You actually were, but clearly it was a poor attempt.

Lowering a hand, you splayed your fingers out. Sparks crackled between them, your magic begging for release. Begging for a target for your emotions were all over the place and you wanted — needed — to hurt someone and make them pay for doing this to you.

Make them pay for wanting to harm the woman you loved.

"Well, Jen," you said, not bothering to hide the threat from your voice. Making it clear it was there, "once this is all said and done, I'll still be in love with her, and you'll be dead. So, clearly, only one of us wins."

Jen was taken aback. "You would kill a sister witch for her?"

"I would kill three sister witches for her." You glared at her, then at Lilia, and finally at Alice.

Rio grinned, enjoying the show. The little shit stirrer.

"You're just like her," Jen spat.

You smiled. "Thank you."

"But we were getting along, weren't we?" Teen said, desperately trying to lower the tensions. "We were clicking. There was unity."

"Familiars don't get a vote," Jen said coldly.

You exchanged a quick glance with Agatha. It's gonna be okay, you said without a single word leaving your mouth. I got your back. I'm not gonna leave you.

She gave a small smile that told you, I know. Then, a nod. Thank you.

Jen grabbed a rope and held it up. You raised your hand, not backing down, your magic crackling, ready to hit its target.

You weren't kidding; you would kill for Agatha. You would hurt for her. You would maim for her. You would do anything to protect her.

You didn't need to be with her to have her back. Friendship was enough. Having her in your life was enough. She didn't deserve this kind of treatment. She wasn't a monster. She was just in pain. If you could ease some of it, you were more than down with that.

All of a sudden everyone turned, baffled. Agatha was gone.

The lights shut off.

Whoever the ghost was, they weren't done with you yet.

But you were ready for them. You were ready to fight for the woman you loved.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @werewolfvpire @depresseddemon22 @alsoknownasmel

[wcnderlnds]

bucket hats & trench coats | peter maximoff

・❥・summary: peter ralph gets caught up in the westview incident

・❥・word count: 2.1k

・❥・warnings: 18+, nsfw. female reader, p in v, unprotected sex, car sex, agatha all along spoilers kinda, swearing.

・❥・ authors note: this is pure filth im so sorry. also bless @jazz-berry for getting caps of our boy that i just had to use for this 💕

The click clack of fingers zooming across a keyboard was the only sound that rang out through the room. Peter’s eyes were solely fixed on the computer screen as he typed up his newest Reddit post. Ever since the events of Westview had happened and his mind was his own, he was determined to spread the truth of what had really happened. He was the hero Westview needed. Thing was, nobody really cared to listen to his ramblings about Wanda and Agatha and how he’d been manipulated by both.

Apart from you. Everything Peter had experienced, you had, too. The hex had taken you both under control. The only difference was that had only been under Wanda’s control and not hers and Agatha’s like Peter had been. It had taken a real toll on him. He was still himself but he was… paranoid, guarded like he couldn’t trust anyone.

“Holy shitballs, dude,” he spun around in his chair to face you who was sprawled out on the couch with a book in your hand. At the sound of his voice, you peered over at him, a brow raised in question. “Some kid wants to meet up to talk about the whole Westview shit. We gotta go meet him, babe. He wants to know all about Agatha and Wanda and the freaky crap that went down.”

As you looked at Peter, you couldn’t help but frown. He was still as handsome as ever but his face was now adorned with a beard, the lines and bags around his eyes more prominent than ever. His hair was an unruly mess of half silver, half brown. He’d dyed it to try and hide himself but had never kept up with it so now the roots of his curls were a shocking silver that mismatched the brown. His eyes that once held so much joy, so much fun were now full of fear and vulnerability.

“Okay, if that’s what you want to do then, yeah,” you nod.

That’s how you ended up in a parking lot the next evening. Peter looked ridiculous stood beside you in a long trench coat and a bucket hat. Although, maybe in a weird sort of way it was a look. Or maybe you were just so desperate for your boyfriends touch that you were finding anything about him attractive now. Intimacy had come to a complete halt after everything that happened. He spent most of his time on Reddit trying to spread his story. The whole thing had really put a strain on your relationship but you loved this man and there was no way you were leaving him when he needed you the most. So what if you had to touch yourself most nights just for some relief. If that’s the way it had to be then fine.

“You look ridiculous,” you hissed at him, shaking your head. “Do you really need all of this?”

“It’s a disguise, duh! Can’t have him recognising me, can I? That’s why I’m going by Ralph… I mean, Randal — whatever fake name that police dude gave me. What’s up with you anyway? You’re crabby,” he took a sideways glance at you before glancing down at his watch.

“Nothing.” It was a mumble, hands stuffed into the jacket of Peter’s you were wearing. As he was about to speak again - or, more accurately, call you out - a car pulled into the lot. This was it. “Just be careful, okay?”

Leaning up, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. His beard tickling your face, the sensation only increasing those impure thoughts of wondering what it’d feel like somewhere else, somewhere lower. Peter nodded, giving your hand a squeeze before you jogged off back to the car. This was his thing. It was something he needed to do alone so you made yourself comfy in the backseat of the car, pulling up a game on your phone to pass the time.

It felt like too much time had passed since you left your boyfriend to his meet up so with concern, you got out of the car. Peter was walking around in circles, alone, mumbling to himself. Walking over to him, you approached cautiously. “Peter?”

“I forgot to tell him so much. Damn, I’m an idiot. Do you think he’d meet up again? I need to tell him about the rabbit and….” You cut him off by taking his hand in yours.

“I think you need to relax. This isn’t good for you.”

“It’s the only thing I can think about. It’s the only thing going through my head at any given point. All I can think about is the awful things those… witches… made me do.”

At the word witches, you cut in with “bitches” causing the tiniest of smiles to creep onto his face. You had missed his smile. It was one of the most beautiful things on the planet and you’d do anything to see it again.

“I know, baby. But… you’re letting this consume you and… it’s driving us apart. I miss my boyfriend. I miss my Peter. I miss joking around, going on dates, you stealing stuff for me, being intimate with each other. Do you not realise how long it’s been since we had sex?” You sighed, playing with the fingers on his hand.

“…fuck,” he let out a sigh of his own, the realisation hitting him. Hard. How the heck could he forget about the most important person in his life? No, he wasn’t having that. He had to make it up to you and quick - luckily that just so happened to be his speciality. His hands slid down your sides, finding your hips and pulling you into him. “I’m sorry. I’ve been the worst fucking boyfriend. Let me make it up to you?”

Everything that happened next was a blur. Before you knew it, you were laid on the backseat of the car, legs spread wide with Peter between them. You had no idea where your panties were — Peter had pulled them off in a frenzy. His tongue teased along your folds elicting the most precious sounds he’d ever heard from you. Every brush of his tongue drove you wilder and wilder. His beard rubbing against your thighs only adding to the growing desire in the pit of your stomach. His lips sucked on your sensitive bud causing you to whimper, hands flying to his hair until you realised he had the stupid goddamn bucket hat on still.

“Peter,” you breathed out.

“Yeah, baby, you like that?” His tongue swirled around your clit, completely oblivious to how annoyed you were.

“Peter!” This time he looked up at you from between your legs. “Take the stupid fucking hat off.”

“You mean it’s not doing it for you? Thought bucket hats were all the rage,” he snickered but he took it off, tossing it into the front of the car then dove back in like a man starved. The long, broad stripes of his tongue sliding through your pussy was like ecstasy. God, you had missed this. When you felt him prodding at your entrance, your hands once again flew to his hair this time tangling in it successfully as his tongue dove into you.

“Oh shit,” you moaned, hips bucking into his mouth as his tongue explored your plush walls. Peter could do this all day. Your moans were like music to his ears, the taste of you the best thing he’d ever have on his lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbled against you, his tongue making its way back to your clit. “Gonna come for me, pretty girl? Gonna let me make it up to you?” Between the kitten licks and the sound of him sucking up your juices, you were sure you were about to see heaven but then the little shit thrusted two fingers inside you. Your body arched as he pumped them at a rapid pace. The stimulation of his tongue and fingers was too much for you to handle and you came. Peter lapped at you, his fingers not letting up as he rode you through your orgasm.

He pulled his fingers from you. A shit eating smirk - one reminiscent of the old Peter - was plastered on his face when his eyes met yours. Seeing your release over his lips was enough to almost trigger another orgasm. It really had been so fucking long. “Not done yet.”

Through the dimly lit windows you could see him, rubbing his hard-on through the fabric of his jeans. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you leaned forward, one hand reaching out to pop the button and pull down the zipper. With his help, you pulled down his jeans and boxers enough to free him. You reached out, stroking his cock, the pearly beads of pre-cum leaking from him. With your thumb, you spread it around his tip, causing a groan to pass his lips.

“Damn, babe, keep that up and I’m gonna shoot a load on you in two seconds.” He pushed your hand off him. “Need to fuck you now. Need to fuck you real good to make up for the last year.” He pumped himself a few times, his brows furrowed as he looked at you. “Trench coat on or off?”

You contemplated it for a second. “Fuck it, keep it on. Makes you look like a mysterious hot grandpa.”

“Grandpa?! You little brat.”

That was all you heard before he pushed his cock into your tight walls. He bottomed out in one thrust, filling you to the hilt. God, it felt so good to feel him inside you again. Instantly, he began thrusting into you at a rough pace, his hands gripping your hips so tight you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow but you didn’t care. All you could think about was your boyfriend was fucking you within an inch of your life again. Finally.

“So fucking wet for me, baby. Don’t think I haven’t heard you touching yourself every night,” he grunted, pulling out and pushing back in with force. Each thrust rougher than the next — all his pent up frustrations finally having a form of release. “Thinkin’ about me when you were playing with this pussy, huh?”

“Yes, Peter,” you mewled. Your hips bucked wildly against his trying to match his pace but it was no use. He was definitely using his mutation with the way he was pounding into you, your body moving along the seat with every thrust.

“Ain’t gotta do that no more. Gonna fuck you like this every night now,” he lifted your legs over his shoulders to hit even deeper inside you. “So damn tight.”

Hands gripped his forearms as he rutted into you like an animal in heat. Sweat was forming on his forehead, tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on bringing you as much pleasure as he could. His eyes focused on the way your tits bounced under your shirt, roaming lower as he watched himself disappear in and out of you. Fingers found your clit and you felt the vibrations rumbling through him, causing you to almost scream out. It was too much. Way too much.

“Peter! Ooooh. Can’t -,” you cried out. Before you could even register what was happening, your walls tightened around him, body arching into his as you came. Peter didn’t let up, thrusting into you with a frenzied speed and muttering dirty ramblings as he chased his own high.

“I’m gonna - fuuuuck,” his thrusts grew sloppy and before he knew it he was spilling his load into you, white hot spurts of cum coating your walls. Your legs fell from his shoulders as the two of you collapsed into each other in a sweaty heap.

The silence was almost deafening. The only sounds were your breaths as you both tried to remember how to breathe properly. The windows of the car had steamed up which caused you to giggle. Of all places you thought this would happen it definitely wasn’t in the car. Peter couldn’t help but laugh too. “You good?”

“Great,” you assured him. “Might not be able to walk but damn, Maximoff. I forgot how good you were.”

He scratched the top of his head, feeling every single bit of remorse for letting things get this bad. “Sorry about that, babe. That’s on me. I just got caught up in this Westview thing that… I neglected you but swear down I’m gonna keep making it up to you. Never meant for it to come between us.”

“I know,” you cupped his cheek. “Do me a favour, though?”

“Anything.”

“Keep the beard.”

tag list (ask to be added!): @juliamaximoff @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @xmidnight-rain @honeymoon8

[i-believe-in-melinda-may]

Considering their reactions i haven't been able to get over the idea that flying has a huge significance for Agatha and Rio, so i wrote this to include for my new fic.

“So, what do you want to do?” Rio asks her son, knowing that she will do whatever she has to do to make what her son wants to do possible.   

“Can we try doing the Hexenbesen?” Nicky asks curious. “I really want to fly,” Nicky asks, looking excited about the possibility.

“No,” Rio says, an edge to her voice, surprising Nicky.

“But Mommy, I really want…” Nicky starts to say.

“I said no, Nicholas,” Rio snaps, in a way she has never done with Nicky before.  

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says, looking down, and become upset, not understanding what he did wrong.

“Oh Nicky, I’m so sorry,” Rio says, feeling truly awful as she knows that Nicky doesn’t deserve to be snapped at.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have asked,” Nicky says, though he is incredibly confused about what he did wrong.

“Nicky, no, you have no reason to apologise, I do, I’m sorry,” Rio says to him. “I never want you to be afraid to ask me anything no matter what it may be,” Rio assures her son, realising that she owes him a story. “Growing up Mama wanted to fly, she wanted the freedom, but her mother,” Rio says, saying the word with more venom than Nicky has ever heard. “Wouldn’t let anyone ever do the Hexenbesen with her,” Rio says, pausing for a moment so she can carefully choose her next words as she knows that Nicky know practically nothing about his grandmother and she isn’t quite ready to enlighten him on that particular topic. “After we got together Mama and I would do the Hexenbesen together, we flew a lot, and she would say that it gave her a feeling of freedom she never thought she would have,” Rio says, having long ago added Agatha’s reaction to doing the Hexenbesen to her long list of reasons why she hates Evanora Harkness more than anyone else who has ever existed. “And then when you were a baby Mama would talk about how much she wanted to fly with you when you were old enough,” Rio says, knowing that they didn’t get the chance because Nicky died so young. “Because I can’t find her Mama is missing out on a lot of things with you. She’s missing out on a having a lot of first experiences with you, I’m not going to let your first Hexenbesen be one of them, it means too much to her,” Rio explains to her son, as she cannot do that to Agatha. “So, until we find your mom you’re staying on the ground, okay?” Rio asks.

“Okay,” Nicky says. “I can wait,” Nicky says as while he desperately wants to fly from his moms words he can tell how important it is to his mama so he will willingly wait until he can do the Hexenbesen with her.

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word: 1175

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

You followed everyone down the stairs, eventually ending up in the spacious basement existing beneath the house.

You glanced around, seeing the many piled up items and household appliances like a washing machine and a dryer. 

You suspected when Agatha had her powers, that place was her lair; her witchy basement as the cliché media would call it. You also had one, though yours was mostly a storage for your crystals and trinkets and some star maps you had hand drawn.

One would be surprised what ways you had found to spend your rather prolonged life on.

Mrs Heart or better say Sharon, your supposed Green With, remained clueless as ever while looking around at the slightly dark but ordinary basement.

"So, um, are we doing laundry together?" She asked, looking from the washing machine to the witches in the room.

Agatha realised the boy was still with them and cleared her throat, earning his attention. "Why don't you head upstairs and let us just do our thing, okay? She asked, trying to sound at least a little bit nice so he would not argue.

He did try, but in the end, he gave up, realizing he was not going to win this argument. Though if he could be honest, he hadn't won any of the other arguments either.

"Okay, but you'll let me know..." he commented, trying to remain positive and not think the women would dump him behind.

"Yep. Yeah. Scoot. Scoot."

You watched him go up the stairs again, your gaze lingering on his retreating form for a moment longer than you wanted.

You could not help but shake this feeling, that there was something more about him. It also settled wrong the idea that Agatha kept him around because that was not like her.

Yet again, this could all be your buried jealousy at the fact that you might have been replaced. Or worse, that boy had some connection to her; a sign that she had found someone else to love, worship, and spend her time with...

Someone else that was not you.

"Sugar," her voice bypassed the rising waves crashing against the walls you had lifted around your heart. 

You graced her with your attention, realizing the others were already standing in a circle around the drawn symbol of a door on the floor beneath them. 

Agatha kept your gaze, a silent and passive act to ensure you were okay. She never showed her worry a lot or in ways you would expect, rather all being subtle and too quick to dismiss.

Yet you learnt to understand and notice them, appreciate the lengths she would go to try and show her concern without ruining her projection of the cold-hearted woman to the others.

Ironically, you were rather similar.

There were times your actions and replies were cold, any warmth lost. And other times, your actions were sweet and passionate, going the extra mile to show your concern and care. .. and love.

You took your place right by Agatha's right, a small distance between you and her. On your right was Lilia; who was observing you a little too much and yet said nothing.

As if her thoughts were forbidden to be spoken out loud, her theories and questions too sensitive and dangerous to be brought up.

You didn't chase it either, for there were more important things to focus on; like opening the door to the road before your time was up.

That howl you had heard before was a mere warning of what was coming, and it was too close for your liking.

"So, all we need to do is sing the Ballad, and a door will appear, and we'll be on our merry way to having all of our magical dreams come true" Agatha explained to the other witches. "Okay? All aboard?"

Of course, Jen had to comment yet again. "So, who's going high?" She asked, earning an eyeroll from Agatha.

Sharon looked at her, confused. "Oh, no, thank you. I don't take drugs."

You let out a sigh and chose to help with the situation. "She's talking about the harmonies." You explained.

"I'm an alto is all I'm saying."

"Ladies," Agatha drew everyone attention on her, having grabbed an old summoning bell. "Shall we start?"

There were no more arguments, a sign that everyone was ready.

You looked at Agatha, who gently tapped the bell, and its sound vibrated across the silent room and through your very own core.

Then she started to sing, being one again the one to lead the ritual.

~ Seekest thou The Road

To all that's foul and fair

Gather sisters fire

Water, earth, and air  ~

~ Darkest hour, wake thy power

Earthly and divine

Burn and brew

With coven true

And glory shall be thine ~

You could not help but stare at her and hear her melodic voice, gently carried across the room without much of an effort.

You always found her singing voice as enchanting and commanding as her real one, something you often could have a hard time resisting.

Sometimes, she would gently hum a tone after an eventful night while you laid your head on her lap, and she gently passed her long expert fingers through your hair.

It often impressed you how those fingers could find different ways to either make you beg, moan or just lullaby you to sleep, always accompanied by that bewitching voice that you could never forget or even get out of your head.

At last, your part came and along with the other witches continued singing the Ballad; your voices mixing in a haunting tune, the words of the song always a warning of what you would all face down the Road.

Even Sharon, who at first only watched, ended up singing along; carried by the melody that both existed in your hearts and in your magical cores.

As you glanced around, hands touching and holding; you sang without much thought. Your mind drifted to a memory, the first time you and Agatha tried the road.

You had stood in similar formation, though instead of a basement; you were in the middle of the woods. Red and yellow leaves had been pushed o the side, giving you a clean patch of dirt to draw the figure of the road.

You all had sang with the same passion, the full moon above you lightning exactly the door, and you could all see the white lines glowing with power are you summoned forward the door to glory and death. 

~ Down, down, down The Road

Down the Witches' Road 

Follow me, my friend

To glory at the end ~

The song came to an end, and you could feel the magic in the room, your own magical core vibrating with power and life.

And yet, when you opened your eyes and let go of the hands you were holding; you realised the door was not glowing nor had it manifested.

It remained a simple chalked drawing, earning both disappointment but also confused looks at the failed attempt.

Chapter 5

[factorialsotherfandoms]

AU, canon divergent as of the end of OPD, here we find a major divergence in OPC too. Warnings for injury and dissociation. Prompt: Hope

And just like that, Kian is sealed.

Arthur doesn't- he can't-

Step one, check on his teammates. He keeps his backs to Joui's corpse as he glances over them; Balu and Carina have Damir in hand, Dante is checking Kian…

Rubens is still on the floor. Dante would not have left him if he were still unanle to breathe, but that's-

Step two, go to Rubens, check he is okay, wake him up and get him away from Kian. The last thing he needs is to see more of Kian, shortly followed by accidentally getting entangled in the fight happening a few steps away.

Arthur gets him on his feet, and leads him away, and- and Dante says something about checking on Agatha, but all Arthur can see is Joui's corpse. He leaves Rubens at Joui's feet - away from the danger, close enough to Senhor Veríssimo that it is very unlikely that anything will go wrong - and himself stumbles to Joui's head.

He falls to his knees by Joui's head, brushing a hand over his hair. He always… Joui always liked to be a little annoying, and lie over his and Kaiser's laps; gently, trying not to damage the body more than it already is, Arthur brings Joui's head to rest upon his lap.

Kaiser. What… What does Arthur tell Kaiser, he-

Later, later, for now just him and Joui and he thought-

Arthur thought he had his friend back. That they could finally be together, and safe, and move on.

But Joui-

Arthur trembles as tears break into sobs. Droplets stream down his face, splashing over Joui's cheeks. Everyone turns away to give him privacy, but it is not provacy that he wants!

Just pure, uncomplocated revenge.

But Kian is trapped, and comprimising that risks the others, and Arthur…

Arthur leans over Joui, sobbing over his skin. His body is still warm. He died barely minutes ago - of course his body is still warm.

He tells him to rest, to be at peace, that Arthur will carry the burden on. He strokes his hair and he cries and finally, finally he leans down.

A kiss to Joui's forehead, and a coin not thrown on a grave but curled into his hand.

As Arthur pulls away, he feels…

Something cold, in the water on his cheek.

He freezes, pauses, that's…

No, no it can't-

Again.

The closer you are to the paranormal, the more damage your body can take. He's weak, he's struggling, they're all beaten and injured and-

And Arthur could be wrong, but-

Again.

he doesn't think he is.

"Dante!" Arthur screams. "Dante, please, help!"

"Arthur!" Dante calls back, already sounding out of breath. "What's wrong?!"

Dante isn't close, but Rubens and Veríssimo are; Veríssimo's eyes open, immediately worried, while Rubens scrambles closer.

"He's breathing," Arthur barely dares speak the words, desperate not to sob, desperate not to move and hurt Joui further. "He- He's still breathing."

"Keep him still," Rubens orders, own voice thready from his own injuries. "Don't move."

Arthur did not need to be told that; he gently places Joui's head between his hands anyway, so rigid that he barely dares breathe.

There is nothing else Arthur can do but keep Joui still while the others work. Veríssimo orders Balu to fetch things from one of the vans as Rubens assesses, Dante running over with Agatha in his arms.

It is all a blurr from there; Arthur does as he is told, and otherwise focuses entirely on his task. He watches as Rubens and Veríssimo work together to protect Joui's neck and help him breathe. Dante watches Arthur back, watches everyone who has been hurt, but most of all watchea and tends to Agatha, barely conscious and riddled with pain.

Arthur is about to beg Dante to help as well, to do more, a ritual perhaps, but then-

He remembers.

The ritual Dante heals with is a death ritual; if someone is too weak when it is performed…

Rubens is doing… something, and Veríssimo is speaking to Carina. Something about connections, something about a hospital, it's all a bit blurry, and all Arthur can really comprehend is that Joui is not quite dead yet.

He got him back. He's too weak for a ritual, bur Arthur might get him back again…

An arm wraps around Arthur's shoulders. He looks up to see Balu there, and Aaron loitering - watching nearby. Everyone's coats are being used to keep Joui's neck still, and Arthur-

"Hey," Balu's voice is a little quiet, and very wavery. Or maybe that's Arthur's ears? "There's plenty of air for all of us, you breathe too."

Right, right - Joui is gone from his lap, already carefully moved into a better position, and now Arthur can breathe.

He takes one breath, and then another, and then his tears bubble over into sobbing.

Balu catches and redirects him before he can cry on Joui, guiding him a little away do that the better trained medics can help. At times like this Arthur misses Liz most - you could always tell how bad something was by how she talked during work.

Rubens and Dante just don't talk as much at all.

He cries, and he breathes, and he watches, and Balu sits on the floor next to him and holds his hand. He understands nothing but neither can he look away; he sees Joui's face scrunch up in response to something, and Dante grabbing his face harder so he cannot turn with it, and- and it's something, it's something.

It's enough for Rubens to call Dante over, and let him cast.

If Dante can cast, if the ritual safely takes…

Joui does not wake up, but Rubens sits back on his heals and lets go of Joui to treat his own throat, and Veríssimo leans back against the pillar, and Dante kneels between Agatha and Joui, his attention torn between the two.

Carina steps over, and Arthur did not realise she was gone. She speaks to Veríssimo first, and Arthur cannot hear, then to Dante, and finally she approaches Arthur.

"My family have friends at ome of the hospitals," she tells him. "Carla's going to get them to send an ambulance, and get everyone who's hurt somewhere that won't ask questions. She'll pass it off as a crime thing, heist or something. Just follow my lead, okay?"

And it's bad, it's really bad if Joui needs an ambulance, but at least they can get him one. At least more help is coming. At least he might be okay.

Carina hugs him, and she hugs Balu, and then Rubens waves them over.

"Don't touch," are the first words Rubens says.

"He's as stable as we can manage," Dante builds on Rubens words. "But still very fragile. We're best to leave him be unless something changes; he needs surgery to fully stabalise the wound."

"Thank you," Arthur manages, his tears slowed to streams instead of sobs. "Dante, Rubens, Veríssimo, I-"

He gets a thumbs up and two versions of no worries as he wipes at his eyes.

"I should ring Kaiser," he says. "And mum, and-"

"Wait until the hospital has seen him," Dante suggests. "For Kaiser, at least; Ivete could meet us there, but Kaiser can't do anything right now."

Kaiser can't even bribe the hospital - Carina has that under control. Okay, okay, Ivete now, Kaiser as soon as they have actual news.

They can do this. This can be done. Joui looks worse than before, but his breathing is more obvious. He can barely see him for the rolled up clothes cushioning his body, but Arthur knows he is there.

With shaking hands Arthur pulls out his phone. He sits beside Joui, watches him breathe, and finds Ivete's phone number.

Half way through the second dial tone his ear is met with a loud "Arthur!"

"Mãe," the tears twist into sobs once more. "Mãe, it's, I-"

"Arthur, what's wrong?! Are you okay? Who's hurt? Where do you need me?"

"Everyone," he cries a little harder. "Joui, he-"

A sob cuts him off.

"Joui? You found him?" Ivete sounds a little more desperate still. "Is he there? Can I speak to him?"

Arthur shakes his head, a sob choking him for a moment. "He's hurt. Mãe, he's hurt really badly. We're… And Rubens and Balu and me, but we're okay, we're on our feet, but Joui-"

"Arthur," her voice is a little quieter. "He'll be okay, right? Dante's there? And- And Rubens managed to save Zio and I. He's in good hands. He'll be okay; where do you need me?"

"Carina sorted… I don't know," Arthur shakes his head. "Ask Carla. Carina and Carla sorted something out, a hospital, I don't- he's hurt, mãe, I didn't- we thought he was dead. We thought he was dead, but he was breathing, and-"

"And he's still breathing?"

Arthur looks, and checks, and "yes."

"I'm coming. It's going to be okay; I'll find you."

"It'll be okay," he repeats, clinging to his mother's voice on the phone and - fuck, he nearly lost her, he nearly lost his mãe, if not for Rubens grabbing her, he-

"Everything will be okay," she tells him. "I'll meet you at the hospital. It'll be okay."

And it will, it will, because none of them will let it be anything else.

[novelconcepts]

Obviously next week could prove this all dead-wrong, but I don’t think the trial’s quite over. I don’t believe the end of that episode actually took place, because I’m pretty sure we’re still firmly in the “punish Agatha” phase. Rio’s suddenly gone. Alice seems to be dead by Agatha’s hand, and no one—including Teen, who has always been on her side—seems primed to believe she was out of control. The others have been sucked beneath the power of the surrogate son who not only just told Agatha to fuck off, but went full-Wanda to do it. It just all seems too tailored to cut up any of the character progress Agatha’s made on the Road thus far. Getting harassed by her ghost mother and hearing her son’s voice don’t feel like a complete tear-down. This does. It feels like more trial.

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Walking the Road for Her

Wanda Maximoff x Gray Witch!Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You can't live without Wanda and you've tried everything else so when Agatha comes knocking on your door you accept immediately, but the teen that's with her...he seems so familiar

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 3 OF AGATHA ALL ALONG! Grief/Loss, hallucinations, death/mortality, emotional distress, supernatural elements, implied self-sacrifice, character death, reunion with a deceased loved one

Authors notes: Thank you @scarlethexelove for indulging in my random Wanda thoughts.

When Agatha asked for you to walk the witches road, you didn't hesitate. She was put off by your eagerness, but never told her why you were walking. You kept that part to yourself she didn't seem to mind. Everyone had a reason, and everyone had their secrets, so no one asked, and you weren't about to tell them you wanted, no needed Wanda back.

You would give up anything and everything to have Wanda back. If it meant to team up with Agatha, you would do it.

So you did. You met up with her and put on the cheery smile she hated. You always assumed she hated you for being a younger witch still full of life, but since Wanda died, you felt like you died too. You got along well enough with the others. You knew Jen the best being closer in age, though you didn't care for her products.

The teen seemed eerily familiar, but you can't put your finger on it. Why does he remind you of Wanda of a life you can't seem to remember.

You're overly protective of him. You don't let him have the wine, and when you hallucinate from said wine, you blink, and suddenly, you're looking at Wanda. Back in her early twenties with the eyeliner, ripped stockings, painted nails, and rings on every finger. You cry over it, cupping her face until it turns back to his.

“Are you okay.” He looks at you with concern. You pull away quickly and wipe your eyes.

“S-Sorry.” You quickly run the ingredients back, trying to escape the feelings. You need to stay strong. You need to get Wanda back.

You end up getting through the trail. Not without its costs. Losing Sharon wasn't something you had in mind, but the witches road is treacherous and has no place for mortals. You never should have let Agatha do that, but hindsight and all that. You knew you had to press on and on the road Teen asks,

“Are you sure you're okay? You and Sharon called out for the same person.” You swallow hard.

“Yeah I'm fine. We all had hallucinations about things. I'll be okay.” You tell him and then mumble under your breath, “Not like I don't deal with it every morning...” his head swivels.

“What was that?” He asks.

“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.”

The further you journey, the harder it gets. Sometimes, you want to give up, to give in, and join Wanda another way. But something stops you every time. You almost think you can feel her, feel her all around you. In the trees, the air, the leaves beneath your feet. With a quick turn of your head, you think you so the soft auburn color you miss so much. The road is playing tricks yet keeping you grounded to your goals.

You make it to the end. Finally passed the last trial everyone who had made it. Their prize awaited them. You waited, didn't see her, and then you heard a whisper in Sokovian.

Your name.

You looked around everywhere. “Over here milaya.” You hear her call. You whip around and see her. She doesn't look like the Scarlet Witch anymore. Back before that. Like when you were on the run. You run into her arms without a second thought.

You can't help as you cry. Burying your face in her neck as your body shakes with sobs. Her vanilla scent invades your senses. “Shhhh sweet girl, I've got you.” Wanda holds you close. Your heart feels whole again now that you're back in her arms.

Your sobs turn into sniffles. “I've missed you so much.” You mumble against her. Her nails lightly scratching at your back. Something she's always done to sooth you. Kissing the side of your head and letting her lips linger.

“I know Detka. I'm so sorry. I'm here now. I'll never leave you again.”

You held onto Wanda tight, afraid to let go as if she'd disappear again if you stopped.

Wanda opened her eyes, looking past your shoulder her eyes widened in surprise and then softened as she saw him.

“Bi-Billy?” Wanda's voice shakes slightly. You pull back but not fully letting her go. You follow her gaze that lands on the teen. Your brows furrow before you look back to Wanda.

“Wanda?” You question her.

She lets go of you when Teen responds to the name. He tries to say something, but the sigil protects him. A wave of Wanda's hand changes that. “Billy?” She asks again.

“Yes, that's me.” You're really confused as you see Wanda's red tendrils come out sending red waves through his eyes before disappearing. “M-mom? H-how did you...?”

Billy runs towards Wanda, slamming into her, but she doesn't budge. She holds him tightly in her arms. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn't know my own son?” Wanda whispers. It's just loud enough for you to hear. Confusion morphs into realization as you look on.

The reason he looked so familiar, the reason he reminded you of her. Of course, it was one of the twins. Sure you hadn't been a part of the hex, but you had seen the recordings of it. Last you had seen the twins, they were 10 inside the hex.

Your heartbeat quickens when you remember what you had seen next as the hex fell the you Wanda had created was destroyed along with the twins. She had held you tightly until you were no more.

It's a shock to see him in the flesh. To understand who he really is. He pulls away from Wanda and turns to you. “Mama?” He's cautious having been giving the memory from Wanda and realizing that you had never got to meet him. Do you even know who he is? Will you accept him as your own?

Your breath catches. It's like waves of memories flood through you as if they had always been there. Everything from the hex coming to life as tears fill your vision and spill over. “Oh my sweet little boy...look at you!” Your arms wrap around him tightly. It had been there, blurry when you thought about it. Of this being your son. “Mama is sorry you had to go through all of this.”

“Mama don't apologize. I'm happy to have you back.” He pulls away slightly keeping an arm around you and opening his other for Wanda. She joins into the hug.

“I'm happy to have both of you back.” You can feel the tears pricking your eyes.

You hug them both tightly. This still left you without one son, but you knew you'd find him. If Billy made it out somehow, then Tommy must be out there, too.

Wanda cups both of your cheeks and looks between you. “Moya lyubov i moy syn (my love and my son).” Tears in her eyes she can't believe she is back and that she had both of you. Her heart is almost complete, but there is still a missing piece to the puzzle.

You didn't need her powers to know what she was thinking, “We'll find him, milaya.” She smiles at you, giving a soft peck on your lips.

“We will. Now that I have you two I know we will.”

This was more than you could have asked for at the end of the road.

[leupagus]

Guys I Might Have Three Nickels

I've been watching "Agatha Christie's Marple" for the past few days and it's pretty good! Marple adaptations all tend to have a better caliber of actors than a lot of bog-standard mystery shows (looking at you, "Madame Blanc"), and while Joan Hickson's Marple is right up there with David Suchet's Poirot and Jeremy Brett's Holmes as "literally can never be beaten, these are the best anyone's done it," both Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie do a fantastic job as Miss Marple.

Then I got to "The Secret of Chimneys," Season 5 episode 2

and guys

Guys

So there's a murder of a viscount, like there is, and this detective Finch rolls up and immediately spots Miss Marple (in her NIGHTIE! standing at the window like some kind of hussy, honestly Jane) and doffs his cap to her with that little smile that makes you go, "huh."

At this point I've watched a couple dozen Miss Marple episodes where she goes through detectives like wildfire and this guy's supposed to be a "*guru*" so I'm expecting some battle of the egos or something and like, Stephen Dillane is great! But bleh, I might have to skip this one.

Then my dude asks Miss Marple to SHOW HIM THE BODY, with a pleased little smile at her as she goes "uhhhhhhhh but my knitting?" (He even does that thing where you use someone's honorific and wait for them to give you their name, and that's when I was like "ohhh this bitch knows exactly who she is.") What follows is what I can only describe as a meet-cute in the secret passageway where the viscount was shot (and in fact the body is STILL THERE) and where Miss Marple literally asks the police equivalent of "is there a Mrs Finch" and he looks at her like this:

At which point I'm like "ohhh my dude not only knows who she is, he deliberately came here without a sergeant so he could draft her," and sure enough he just starts...handing her pieces of evidence like "hey babe can you decipher this note for me thanks love you" while Miss Marple is like, "this approval and camaraderie coming from a cop... not sure if want."

Next is a series of romantic strolls through the gardens while they discuss murder, during which Finch reveals his undying love I mean his research into Miss Marple and the "dozen case files" of her previous exploits that he's collected like some deranged fanboy. Miss Marple responds to this by BLUSHING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL and stammering about how pish tosh it's nothing really, and I couldn't find a gif of it but he's staring at her like this:

Yeah I bet u r tempted

He also makes a half-hearted attempt at negging her "amateur sleuth" status, only to then immediately assure her that he makes like, so much money being a big fancy detective and can keep her in all the yarn and garden seed she could ever desire.

There's also a late-night tryst at the compost pile right after Finch has been (mildly) poisoned and Miss Marple is like "men are so weak" as she roots through the garbage for clues.

Not how he wanted their first date to go D:

The next morning there's another murder which: bummer, but also allows the two of them to read love letters together and for Finch to give Miss Marple the following look as she explains how secret assignations among lovers can "quicken the ardor":

Miss Marple then goes onto solve the murders and btw hands over the priceless diamond that's been literally missing for two literal decades that she found in her spare time. The entire scene features Finch looking at her like this:

After the dust settles, Finch and Miss Marple have a lovely moment where he calls himself "another one of your casualties," then super casually mentions that he's probably going to have to go on assignment to use the diamond in a daring international espionage case and I can't decide if he's asking Miss Marple to go with him or simply trying to show her that he is cool and smart and would make an excellent wife, but either way the episode ends with her turning him down and Jane, we need to talk about your priorities.

Anyway I've already written 2K about the subsequent 10-year epistolary romance these two have following this episode because I make poor choices.

[dmysterioblog]

Okay I may sound insane but could I request a one shot or short story whatever you are more comfortable writing. The premises behind the story is the reader is an apothecary witch from Agatha’s past. Agatha has asked her to join them in walking the road as well as the others. She reluctantly agreed but not without attitude. The problem with going on this journey at least for the reader is that she’s not just a scorn witch from Agatha‘s past, but one that she would have considered a friend along time ago. Agatha would always come to her in order to be healed or for a remedy due to whatever difficult situation she got herself into overtime. They grew closer together, but Agatha made it apparent that she wasn’t capable of the type of relationship the reader was wanting from her. Not to the readers knowledge, but because of everything that had happened between her and Rio.

How the story starts is that they are currently on the road after completing the second trial in the studio and healing teen from his injury . At the campfire while all the different witches are trading their battle stories you listen to Agatha speak and then Rio. Somewhat connecting the dots on your own, but not fully believing it, not until you follow them both and watch the scene that unfolds between them in the fourth episode. It’s then that the reader realizes that maybe Agatha was always capable of feeling that type of emotional vulnerability but the reader just wasn’t worth it. How it ends is really up to you. It could be somehow Agatha figured out that the reader was spying on them and then fixes it in a sweet way to show that the reader is worth it. or it could be Agatha completely denying any change between her and Rio that she was only using manipulation tactics to see if teen was her son, a mix of both. I’m not picky.

Once again, if this is too insane, please ignore it. I do understand it’s completely random, but I do love your writing style and do you think you would do it absolute justice!!!!

THE GREATEST

Paring: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: look at the request ^

Warnings; angst…

Word Count: 2.0k

A/n: I hope you like this anon! I know you lowkey wanted a happy ending but angst took over. I’m open to making a part two if you’d like! Also this originally had nothing to do with the song “The Greatest” but then I added a part of the lyrics so…

“Jen! Y/n! Do something please!” Agatha pleaded, holding Teen’s hand tightly. You and Jennifer looked at each other, trying to figure out something that would heal his wound and help him survive. You both quickly made a substance and spread it over his wound. He groaned in pain but the wound healed and he continued to sleep. You all gently picked him up and placed him in a better place to rest. Agatha stayed by his side, refusing to leave and the rest of you went to make a bonfire.

You sat down around the fire for an awkward moment before Alice chose to speak up to start a conversation. She shared her experience with her curse and her scars and soon everyone told their experiences except Rio. You didn’t like her from the second she dug herself out of the ground. You could tell there was immense tension between her and Agatha and you detested it.

“How is he?” Alice’s voice brought you back to reality. You looked up and saw Agatha taking a seat next to Rio.

“Mouthy,” she replied sarcastically.

“That’s a good sign,” Lilia commented.

“Agatha,” Jen started, “Why don’t you show us your battle scars?” Agatha hesitated for a moment before she started rolling up the sleeve of her left arm. Your eyes diverted to Rio who chuckled while she gave Agatha a knowing look.

“Knitting needle to the elbow,” she said, showing off the scar on her elbow, “You ever heard of the daughters of liberty?” of course you knew of them, you were the one that healed said scar but the rest shook their heads having no idea, “Exactly.” All the witches chuckled her light joke and you could tell Agatha enjoyed it. The joyful moment suddenly came to a stop when Rio decided to speak up.

“I’ve got a scar.” All eyes turned to Rio as she spoke. Agatha’s expression changed, her face becoming serious and a bit irritated.

“No you don’t,” Agatha was quick to deny. How would she know that? You thought.

“Yes I do,” she insisted, “…A long time ago, I loved someone,” she side eyed Agatha, “…and I had to do something I did not want to do even though it was my job,” she emphasized the last word and you saw Agatha looked away from the corner of your eye. She clenched her jaw, her eyes fixed elsewhere. The other witches exchanged glances, sensing the tension between the two. Rio continued to speak.

“And it hurt them,” there was a pause, “…she’s my scar.” It wasn’t hard to figure out who she was talking about and it angered you even further. Why did Agatha lie to you? Were they still together when you fell in love? Were you just not enough?

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” Agatha said standing and walking away, Rio hot on her trail. Curiosity got the better of you and decided to follow them, the worst decision you could have made.

You watched their interaction, the hug, the loving look, and before their lips touched you walked away. You had seen enough. You fought with every bone in your body trying to keep your sobs at bay. You felt so betrayed but you shouldn’t. Agatha had made it crystal clear that she couldn’t pursue a commitment relationship with you like you wanted. That she wouldn’t. It hurt to hear but maybe it was for the best, especially if she was still messing around with Rio.

You made your way back to the campfire, trying to hide the tears in your eyes. The others looked at you, noticing the change in your demeanor.

“Are you alright?” Lilia asked, her voice filled with concern.

“I’m f-fine,” your voice cracked a bit, “That last trial just had me a little shaken, that’s all.” Alice frowned and shifted closer to you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Mhm…” You gave her a reassuring smile before sitting back down by the fire. Alice didn’t seem convinced but didn’t press further. The others exchanged glances, clearly worried about you but they didn’t say anything. Soon Agatha came back taking a seat next to you with no trace of Rio but you remained silent. Agatha looked at you, noticing your lack of response. She was oblivious to the facts that you had seen her with Rio.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” You didn’t reply and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. She gently placed her hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged her hand off. She was taken aback by your cold response. She was used to you being more open and warm, not this.

“Bullshit,” she said firmly, crossing her arms.

“It’s not like you would fucking care,” you spat out, getting up and walking away. She wanted to go after you but Rio appeared and held her back.

“Let her cool off. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She said into Agatha’s ear.

“Yeah…maybe you’re right.”

—

After everyone was rested, you all continued to walk the road onto the next trial. Usually you would have stayed by Agatha's side but you chose to stay with Lilia and Alice this time. You thought Agatha hadn't noticed, too deep in a conversation with Rio but she did and she was not happy at all.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed as she watched you walk with Lilia and Alice. She tried to keep her cool, but the sight of you ignoring her and choosing to stay away from her made her feel frustrated and angry. She couldn’t understand why you were acting this way and why you were avoiding her. Her fist balled up tightly when she saw you laughing with Alice. Rio noticed Agatha’s reaction and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Calm down, sweetheart. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.”

“I just don’t understand what happened!” Agatha said, frustrated. Rio rolled her eyes before cupping Agatha’s face, making her look at her.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s probably just throwing a tantrum.” Agatha’s face was filled with irritation as she listened to Rio’s words.

“Tantrum? She’s never like this! I’ve never seen her this upset before, she’s avoiding me, she’s acting like a brat.”

“Relax, Agatha,” she kissed her cheek, “Just focus on me.” Her irritation slowly melted away as Rio kissed her cheek. She looked at her and took a deep breath, trying to push her worries about you to the back of her mind.

“You’re right,” she said, forcing a smile. She needed to keep Rio happy for now, just until they got to the end of the road.

Your eyes had wandered to the two women at some point and you regretted it immediately, seeing Rio kiss Agatha’s cheek. Rio looked in your direction while doing it with a smirk on her face. You wanted to lounge at her but for what? For Agatha? She didn’t want you anyway, you just had to come to peace with that.

Rio caught your eye and noticed the hurt and jealousy in your expression. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She knew she was getting to you, and that only made her more determined to keep Agatha away from you.

You all eventually found the next trial inside another house. You all split up into pairs to find some sort of clue. Alice and Teen, Jen and Lilia and of course, Agatha and Rio. Lilia offered to go with you but you declined and said you could take care of yourself if something happened.

She had looked at you with concern but respected your decision. She nodded and went off with Jen to search the house. You were left alone, walking through the house and looking for clues. You could hear the others calling out to each other as they searched different rooms. Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching you and you already knew who it was.

“Agatha, shouldn’t you be with Rio?” She appeared from behind you, her expression serious.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“You seemed busy with Rio, that’s all.”

“You saw that…” she said, realizing what you were referring to.

“Yeah. You know, I thought you said you couldn’t pursue the type of relationship I wanted from you. Now I know you simply wouldn’t do it, with me at least. Why don’t you go back to your precious green witch. I’m sure she’s already missing you.” Agatha’s expression softened and she looked hurt by your words.

“It’s not like that…”

“Please,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Save it. I literally saw you two about to kiss.”

“You don’t understand…” she stepped closer.

“Agatha, what is there to understand? You lied to me. You said your heart was jaded and then I find out you have an ex lover who you seem to still be in love with.”

“Don’t act like you know everything. You don’t understand the situation between Rio and me.” Her eyes flashed with irritation.

“Then lay it out for me Harkness!” She clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“Rio and I…we have a complicated history. We were together a long time ago, and it didn’t end well. We had a falling out and we haven’t spoken in years. Seeing her again has brought up a lot of old feelings and emotions that I didn’t know how to deal with.”

“…do you love her?”

“No, of course not-” she said without hesitation.

“Then what’s the deal? Does she know that? Because she seems to know the effect you two have on me.”

“My sweet Y/n,” she cupped your face, “I just need her and the rest of the witches to get me to the end and then you and I can be together-”

“It’s not that simple Agatha,” you shoved her off, finally letting the tears fall, “I don’t even know if I can trust you. And what of her, huh? You’re just gonna leave her hanging? How do I know you won’t do the same with me? How do I know you’re not just using me?!”

“I’m not using you! I care about you, Y/n. You have to believe me.” She reached out to touch you but stopped herself.

“How can I?! You have a reputation, Agatha!” Her face fell, hurt by your words.

“You don’t trust me because of my reputation? I thought you knew me better than that…”

“So did I...” your voice broke at the end. She was speechless. She knew you were right. She had hurt you, and now you didn’t trust her. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.*

“I…I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything,” you tried to walk past her but she quickly grabbed your arm, stopping you from walking away.

“Please, don’t go. We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve made your choice and it clearly isn’t me.”

“That’s not true! I do care about you. I just…I don’t know what to do. Seeing Rio again has brought up all these memories and feelings that I thought I buried a long time ago. I don’t know how to handle it all.”

“Then come back once you’ve figured it out,” you roughly freed yourself from her grip and walked away to find Lilia and Jen. You didn’t want to walk away. You wanted to cling to her but you couldn’t get yourself into a situation where you would eventually get hurt…again.

Agatha watched you walk away, her heart breaking. She wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay, but she knew she had messed up. She felt a mix of guilt and regret, knowing that she had hurt you deeply. She sank to the ground, her head in her hands. She replayed the argument over and over in her head, regretting every word she said. She wanted to make things right with you, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy. As much as she cared about you, she couldn’t deny the history she had with Rio. She was at a crossroads, torn between two people who both meant something to her.

Taglist; @oh-no-bummer @wandasreallover @polaris-likethestar

Agatha Harkness Taglist Sign Up Sheet

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello ! Just so Agatha all along and I have a request if it's ok 😊

How Agatha will convince witch!reader who has a crush on her to join her in the witch road 👉👈

Gn reader if possible

Thank you ! 😁

Agatha would probably be aware of your feelings in all honesty, and she couldn’t blame you! She’s amazing!

However she’s probably use this infatuation with her to her advantage when her and ‘teen’ come over to your home, following the trail of magic that drew them there. It was noticeable, stronger the other witches she’s recruited but still there was room for growth and new powers.

‘What tricks are we going to have to use to recruit this witch/wiccan?’ Teen asked Agatha as they stood on your doorstep.

‘No tricks, this one’s got a little thing for me, it’s adorable but it means that most of the work in convincing them has been cut out for us.’ Agatha replied as she went to knock on the door, only for it to open on its own to reveal you on the other side.

‘How did?’ Teen questioned.

‘I could sense you the moment you drove into the driveway, your magic is far more potent than others.’ You answered as you stepped to one side with a welcoming smile. ‘Want to step inside and continue this conversation because I don’t think the neighbours will want to hear about the sales pitch you’re bound to give me into joining your cult.’ You add.

‘It’s not a cult it’s a coven.’ Teen interrupts but you weren’t listening when Agatha moved past you, making sure to brush her hand against the back of yours as she does, and immediately you felt your resolve to stand your ground crumble like a deck of cards. It must’ve been obvious as teen only looked at you knowingly as he past into your house and once they were both inside, you shut the door harder then you should’ve but at this point you wanted this to be over with.

‘Go on then, convince me to join you on your journey to the witches’ road.’ You crossed your arms over your chest.

‘I’m assuming you’re more than aware of the fact that if you were to make it to the end of the road, any wish your heart desires can be granted.’ Agatha started.

‘I do know this factoid, yes.’ You said and Agatha crept closer to you until you were a hair’s width away from one another as she now spoke lowly. ‘Then I’m also lead to assume that you know that extends to crushes, infatuations, all that important stuff also.’

‘Yes but I’d much rather the feeling to be mutual without the usage of magic, as ironic as that sounds.’ You replied as you stared deeply into her beautiful eyes.

‘And it can be,’ Agatha whispered as she grasped your hands with her own, intertwining your fingers, ‘I really need you by my side y/n as my moral support, my confidant and my strength during the most difficult situations that we’ll face.’ Agatha could see that you were buying her sales pitch into getting you on the witches road, but knew she couldn’t stop there and decided to make this visit short and sweet she adds.

‘I wouldn’t want anyone else to join me on the witches’ road other then you my dear, you have the potential to be the most powerful witch/wiccan in our coven. All those other witches can barely hold a candle to your fire. I need you.’ She finishes and teen had to give it to Agatha, she was certainly an actress when she needed to be as he watched you both as though he was watching his favourite drama.

You were at war with yourself. You swore that you wouldn’t resort to magic for even the most simplest things, never less the witches’s road, you knew the stories of how dangerous it was but your infatuation with Agatha tended to lead you into doing something stupid; even agreeing to going on the Witches’ road with nothing but the hope that Agatha might actually see you for once.

However before you could reason with yourself, your mouth moved faster then your brain could intervene with logic and common sense. ‘Fine, I’ll join.’

‘Yes!’ Agatha and teen cried as Agatha brought you into her arms, holding you tight so that you didn’t see the smirk across her face, that wasn’t so hard if anything it was barely even took her five minutes to get you to say yes; she didn’t understand why she didn’t come to you first just to get it over and done with, every other witch before you was a tougher nut to crack then the last. You were merely the reward for a hard days work.

‘You won’t regret this darling, that I promise you along with power, love and so much more.’ Agatha tells you as she rubs your back.

You poor, idiotic fool, let’s pray you do survive the road and not die with a broken heart when you realise the truth…

[lollyposp]

okay im only slightly going insane right now about how MUCH i adore the way agatha is being portrayed in agatha all along. she's this awesome mix of horrible and sympathetic BUT not in the way that excuses everything she does. like, the other witches dislike her for good reason and even when agatha is nice to them or they realise she's got her own issues too like, that doesn't change what she's done in the past to get her reputation.

but ALSO it's so obvious that 90% or something of Agatha's personality is either a facade or an exaggeration of her bitterness because after everything we know of that's happened to her ("i can be good" "no you cannot", her son dying and rio's obvious involvement in that) it's like. how can she love. how can she trust when those she loved made her feel betrayed, or she lost them, or even both.

i think the first clue that a lot of her personality is a facade was the whole "just blast me" situation, because to me it felt like "well yeah Agatha's clearly nasty but how much of that is because she needs to annoy people into trying to kill her so she can grab their magic?" but I hadn't quite realised that there could be more to it than that

but episode 4 had SO MANY examples. i mean, Agatha's entire "no fucks given" attitude just fizzles out when the teen is dying and i feel like even the other witches picked up on it, like jen was clearly stunned by Agatha's grief as well as by Teen's condition. and then her sitting with Teen until he woke up, not even taking her eyes off him but as soon as he wakes up she pretends she just Happened to check on him Just as he woke up and that she didn't stay there the entire time.

and don't even GET ME STARTED on everything else. the scene at the fire where she very clearly struggled through having a positive interaction with the other witches?? and also the whole "she is my scar" but if i think too much about that i will actually go insane.

the scene that REALLY hasn't left my head all day is the scene where rio tells agatha that Teen isn't hers. ALL THE PROPS to kathryn hahn here she's an INCREDIBLE actress, but the way agatha just says NOTHING and slowly puts on a smile....😦 i was watching the episode with my housemates and the only thing i could say to them was "i literally saw the moment she put her act back on". because for all that agatha is so brash and loud, and no matter how much she might seek conflict with others, she runs away from all her emotional pain because it's too much for her to bear. because how do you even move on from the woman you loved being at least partly complicit in your son's death? whether agatha really DID trade him for the dark hold and regretted it immediately or whether the rumour IS just a rumour and nick and the dark hold aren't connected at all, RIO still is connected to either of those ideas.

(honestly as it stands right now im in whatever camp believes he WAS traded for the darkhold, but agatha somehow didn't realise he would be traded until after it was too late, because i feel like it's what explains her actions in WV and her hallucination the most. also it makes rio's actions all the more painful to agatha because it would have been a mistake she didn't mean to make, and rio would not budge even with that knowledge and OUCH. but that's neither here nor there)

honestly this whole incoherent essay was just to say that i love Agatha's character. i love that the question surrounding her isn't really "is she good or evil?" or even "can she be good?". i feel like it's clear there IS a good person in agatha but because she's ignored it for so long (some of that is probably due to the darkhold) the question kind of becomes "does it matter that she's got good inside her if she refuses to show it?". she's so firmly in the morally grey camp that while i do kind of want her to have a redemption arc and to have a whole found family thing go on, i honestly don't see it happening and i also at the same time DON'T want her to be redeemed when she's so interesting because she's this person who clearly has the capacity to be good and chooses not to out of pride and fear of being vulnerable and all the trauma she's accumulated.

oh i completely forgot to mention that im also obsessed with the sound booth scene???? i honestly can't figure out if she's just shit stirring when she projects her and rio's conversation for the fun of it, or if it's like a fucked up agatha way of trying to protect her new coven by giving them reasons to distrust rio and be wary of her, specifically because she thinks rio will betray her/betray them and reap them. I can't figure it out. it might even be both.

anyway live laugh love agatha

[phoenixes-and-wizards]

agatha’s words to teen take on a whole new meaning when you recall that wanda was always at her most powerful whenever she was experiencing strong emotions, so it doesn’t really come as a surprise that teen’s/billy’s powers finally come out after agatha tries to downplay alice’s death, especially since one can argue that while everybody else in the coven kinda saw him as a “pet” of some sorts, alice was the only one who actively tried to bond with him, complimented his outfit during the first trial, and wanted to do the broom spell with him. she was the closest thing he had to an older sister, agatha took her away, and the others simply stood aside and did nothing so yes, “you’re so much like your mother” indeed

[theteasetwrites]

Daddy's Home | Part 1

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 (Alexandria) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)—oral sex (male receiving), dominant-ish Daryl, doggystyle, so much dirty talk, like one tiny spank (just a little one), mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oh yeah and DADDY KINK, language ❧ Word Count: 4.3k

❧ Summary: When Daryl comes back home from a week away, he doesn't want to sleep. He just wants you.

❧ A/N: Ok so yes I know the title is ridiculous, but like... what else was I gonna call this oneshot ok? Anyway, here's some major daddy kink. Like a lot of daddy kink. Daryl is just daddy. Sorry but he is. I can't explain it. Actually, yes I can. He's a protector, a provider, a big softie. He's a daddy, and I don't even have daddy issues but just let me have this. Goodbye I am never showing my face here again. <;3 Also I simply cannot get over how hot he is in this gif holy mother of god.

The quiet was nice, late nights in Alexandria, gentle summer breeze prickling at your skin. It was nice to leave your bedroom window open through the night. Daryl hated it, always going on about how someone could climb the trellis outside your window and sneak in while you slept, but when he was gone, you’d indulge yourself in that one simple luxury.

When he told you that he was Alexandria’s newest recruiter, you knew you’d be in for some lonely nights ahead. Still, you also knew Daryl was the best man for the job—you’d seen him bring dozens of people to the prison, providing them shelter while expecting nothing in return, and then going out the next morning to do it all over again. That was when he wasn’t going out on his hunts to find food for everyone, often bringing home the biggest deer you’d ever seen, until he’d do it again next week, and bring home an even bigger one.

Yes, there was no doubt about it—Daryl knew what he was doing out there, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about him. Missing him. So while the quiet was, indeed, nice, you still could not get used to being alone, in this perfect little suburban townhouse, waiting. 

Your waiting became so monotonous, sitting up in your bed and reading another old Agatha Christie novel, that you decided, at length, to migrate downstairs, the living room. When Daryl would come home, you thought, you’d greet him right away. That was how much you were anticipating his arrival. 

One week was nothing, really, but it was the longest you’d been apart since knowing each other, and with the world the way it was, a lot could happen in seven days. A lot of bad, bad things. 

So you flicked on the lamp, snuggled yourself into a knitted blanket, and curled up on the sofa, book in hand as you let out a quiet huff. “Daryl…” you said to yourself, scanning your book to relocate the exact sentence where you left off. “Where are you, you big meatball.”

Your nervous jitters only worsened with the passing hour, your legs shaking involuntarily, your finger tapping on the edge of the book, your toes wiggling nonstop. All you needed was the sound of that bike, that big, stupid bike. That would ease your fretful heart. Well, what would really make you happy was seeing that man of yours, no doubt in need of a shower, but still, your man nonetheless. 

Speak of the Devil, as they say, and he doth appear.

It started out as just a distant hum, perking your ears and making your spine straighten in anticipation. Still frozen, you listened intently. A rumble, now, mechanical and getting louder with each second your heart began to beat faster. At one fateful moment, the roar of the makeshift machine was at its highest volume, and before you could even stand, a bright beam of white light shone through the blinds of the front window. 

All at once, the light and the rumble ceased, punctuated by a low huff, followed by an exasperated grunt. Heavy footsteps plodded along in a familiar pattern—you even recognized the sound of his no doubt mud-caked boots scraping against the edge of the steps leading to the front porch. You could only hope that this time, he’d take the extra precaution of removing his boots before he stepped over the threshold. 

There was a spring in your step, you wrapping the terry cloth fabric of your robe over your chest as you flitted towards the front door. Finally, you stood just a few feet back, your eyes transfixed on the shiny bronze doorknob. Inevitably, a wide grin made your cheeks swell until they almost ached, but the wait was worth it. 

When he came through the door, his head was hanging low, until he felt your presence. Lifting his gaze, he met your great big smile with a smaller one, though the movement of his body betrayed him. The door shut with a strong thud, just before he stepped forward to let his crossbow fall from his shoulder. With a soft grunt under his breath, he buried his nose in the warmth of your shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. 

For a good while, he stayed like that, only taking in the sensory relief you provided him—your faint scent of rose, your softness, your tender chuckle as your hands rubbed in vertical motions up and down his aching back. Despite the rigidity of his tired muscles, he melted into you, letting himself bask in the comfort you provided him. To hold him like this was nothing short of a ritual between you two, whenever you were apart for long enough to begin missing each other to the point of near grief. 

A man like Daryl—who’d been through so much as he had, who’d seen so much and had still so much room in his heart to give of himself to others—deserved to be held the way you held him. Few people in this world had a heart as big as him, though he did not show it in ways most people would recognize. He showed it in acts of service, in providing for people who could not provide for themselves, in the ones he loved safe. It was what you always adored about him: how he gave of himself, and expected nothing in return. 

“Hey, there, tough guy.” Daryl buried his face deeper into you, now snug in the crook of your neck, where he caught the scent of your perfume, applied much earlier in the day, yet still lingering sweetly. Though you adored how much he clung to you, you longed so much to see his face. Your hands grabbed a hold of either side of his head to lift his gaze to yours. 

As usual, his disheveled hair hung low over his forehead, obscuring one of your favorite features of his—his eyes. Between strips of tattered brown curtains, you could make out the blue-grey hue of his irises. Pushing them back, you smiled again at those deep-set pools of silvery cobalt blue. You always found their mystery to be intriguing. 

“How are you?” you asked, though you knew from the state of him that he must’ve been exhausted. He hadn’t even muttered a word, and yet the more prominent than usual bags under his eyes spoke for him. “You must be tired, hon. Let’s get you in bed.”

But as you turned towards the staircase, a firm grip pulled you back by the wrist, until you were in his arms now, laughing at his sudden burst of energy. Despite your amusement, he did not smile, only looked at you with a heavy, dark gaze, and a lick of his lips.

In your surprise, you hadn’t even noticed that both of his hands were now wrapped around each wrist, so tight that you nearly feared he’d cut off your circulation. 

Something was wrong, had to have been. You’d never seen him so… intense. Of course, Daryl could often be intense, when he was angry especially, but this wasn’t that. Anger was something you could recognize in Daryl. He’d never directed it towards you, but you knew it, and this was something different. 

“Are… are you feeling okay, sweetie?”

Silence, just that gaze holding you hostage, and a heat rising from his body that you could’ve sworn caused a bead of sweat to form on your brow. 

Now he was scaring you. 

“Daryl?” 

Your voice tempted him further. If only you knew just how much he missed you, how much he needed you. A week was too long. A week without you, a week without your touch, a week without your sweet, dulcet voice. And oh, how that voice awoke in him a terrible burning, a conflagration of deadly proportions, a fire that could only be extinguished by the one he loved. 

Entranced by his stare, you hadn’t noticed that he had you pinned against the wall, his strong, heaving chest keeping you there. 

And when he pressed himself against you, you knew. It was obvious, the way he nearly thrusted into you. 

When you realized what he wanted, you felt a wave of relief wash over you: he needed you just as much as you had needed him the past week. From the night he left, you’d not stopped thinking of him, and when you’d turn in your bed to feel for him, and he wasn’t there, the ache for him only worsened. 

There was no way in Hell, though, you were going to initiate sex when he got home. You knew he’d be tired, and a good night’s rest was what he needed before you even thought of asking him to make love to you, but now, with that wild look in his eyes, that hungry snarl in his lip, that flare in his nostrils, that beating of his heart… 

“Oh,” you sighed, your teeth biting back your lower lip as your eyes trailed up and down his body. With your hands finally free, you ran them up his arms, letting them settle on the broad, firm shoulders you loved so much. 

For just a moment, he leaned forward, forehead and tip of his nose meeting yours. With his hardening cock beginning to dig between your thighs, and his vaguely tobacco tinged musk tickling your senses, you could only utter one word. 

A soft, nearly whimpering mewl: “Daddy.”

By the time he got you to the sofa, each of you were already panting, hands moving relentlessly as you both clawed for any part of each other’s body you could get your hands on. Your mouths worked tirelessly, tongues spinning sloppily around the other’s in your haste to finally have each other again. 

When you successfully removed his leather angel-winged vest, you worked on unbuttoning his black shirt, but his hands stopped you. 

“Need your mouth,” he said. 

Leaning back on the sofa with a low grunt, he began unbuckling his belt, while you slotted yourself between his legs, hands massaging his clothed thighs, thick and flexing against your palm. 

When his cock sprang out of its confines, you’d already stripped yourself of your underwear and your robe. In only a transparent silk nightgown, your hips swayed instinctively as you watched his hand begin to stroke himself, up and down the long, thick shaft you’d come to know and love so much. 

“Come ‘ere.” His hands reached out to grab either side of your head, bringing you down to his cock. Panting lips began to drool a bead of saliva down the side of his growing erection. Knowing what he wanted, of course, you took the reddened, swelling tip into your mouth, much to his immediate relief.

“Fuck.” As your mouth slid a little lower, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His grip on your hair tightened as his head fell back on the arm of the sofa, a soft breath of your name on his lips. 

Returning to watch you, he lifted your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tilting his head to get a better look at you, your eyes fluttering up to meet his gaze.

“Pretty angel.” Even just the utterance of that affectionate pet name made you feel an overwhelming need to touch yourself. With your free hand, you lifted your nightgown to slot your fingers between warm, velvety folds of aching flesh. “Ya look so good like this… Suckin’ on Daddy’s cock.”

It was somewhat of a tradition now, using that phrase, though only in the context of sex, in your most private, intimate moments. It was silly, you knew it, and he knew it, too, but you both found it excruciatingly sexy all the same. It was sacred in that you’d probably die of embarrassment if anyone else besides Daryl knew of your little… kink.

But neither of you could quite help it, you adoring his strong, protective nature, and him just finding it so alluringly sinful. Guilty pleasure type of thing, with emphasis on pleasure.

And besides, his dirty talk was sex all on its own. 

As your mouth took him in progressively deeper, your fingers moved faster, increasing the friction against your sensitive spot, then slowly dipping down into the embrace of your entrance. 

Not only could he admire your mouth, and your sweet soft moans, but he could watch your fingers enter you, your hand shaking as you penetrated yourself to match the rhythm you knew he liked when he had his cock in you.

“Love when you fuck yourself like that.” He only wished he was the one doing it. “You thinkin’ of me?”

Well, it was hard not to think of him, with his cock in your mouth. 

Taking the opportunity to catch your breath, you answered him. “Yes, Daddy.”

His hands pulled you back down onto his cock, your lips forced open by his tip. “Just don’t make yourself come,” he said. “That’s for me.”

Yes, Daddy. 

Sliding over your tongue, his cock dug deeper, towards the back of your mouth. Going down on him was always a bit of a challenge, given just how big he was, but the weight of him inside you, wherever that may be, was far more rewarding. And when you got to feel that little twitch, his cock moving all on its own as it begged for release… It only made you suck harder, sliding your mouth up and down, taking him in deeper until you were nearly gagging. 

But he liked that, the sound of you struggling just a little to take all of him. Daryl was a sensitive man, yes, but he was still a man—proud of his big cock, even if he was insecure in most other areas. At least he was big, and at least he knew how to use it. 

With his hand on the back of your head, firm, but still gentle enough to let you up if you needed it, he pushed you down just a bit more, hearing your gag become more guttural, more strangled. It did not hurt, though. It only turned you on, your fingers curling inside you to tickle that special spot, and your other hand fondling his balls, tightly drawn to the underside of the base of his cock. 

For several moments, the only sounds coming from either of you were your strained groans, his slipping from between his agape lips, yours muffled by his length filling your entire mouth. Between those sounds of pleasure were the sloppy squelches of your lips soaking him with your saliva. You were always so messy when you went down on him, but how could you not be? His cock provided you no room to lick up your drool, stuffing you until your spit had nowhere else to go but down his veiny, hard length.

Of course, he’d have to tease you about it, how sloppy you were. “Messy girl,” he said, his hand gripping your hair to pull back your bangs. You fluttered your eyes open to meet his, and you were greeted by his crooked smile, with just a sliver of those shiny teeth showing. “Gettin’ Daddy all wet, huh? Nice and wet so I can fuck you good.”

Yes, Daddy.

Eyes rolling back slightly, he bucked his hips up with a jolt, your sucking beginning to tip him over the edge. Just in time, too, for your hand was getting tired of rubbing, and you needed him to finish you off.

“F-fuck, angel. Imma need ya to get that pussy ready for me.”

Whatever he wanted, you’d give him. After all, you were his good girl. Always his good girl. You couldn’t think of a time you’d ever been a bad girl for him. Daddy deserved his good girl.

Yes, you were a good girl, but you could still be… needy.

“Oh, Daddy.” Now straddling his waist, your fingers went straight for the first button on his shirt. “Want you.” He loved when you whined, just a little, and when you were so needy for him that you couldn’t quite make out a completely proper sentence. “Want your shirt off.”

He let you undo just a few buttons, exposing the hairs on his chest that drove you crazy, made you want to feel those wiry hairs between your pursed lips as you trailed your kisses all over his broad chest, made so strong and big by all the manual labor he did, and that heavy crossbow he always used. 

That very same strength pulled at your wrists, then raised you up only to lay you down, sprawled out on the other side of the couch. Now he hovered over you, the tip of his cock hanging down to be tickled by the fabric of your blush pink nightie. He always liked pink on you, matched the color of your cheeks when he talked so dirty to you, made you feel like a whore, but not in a disrespectful way. Never in a disrespectful way.

Besides, you knew you were more than that to him. You knew he loved you. Two years together, through some of the most abject pain and suffering imaginable, would do that. But in moments like this, it felt good to be just his personal whore, whom he happened to love very, very much.

Tenderness blossomed between your lips and his, where he kissed you so deeply, so sweetly. And yet, you still clawed at his shirt, your fingers begging for him to let you see his gorgeous body, after so long away from him.

“Shit,” he laughed into your mouth. Sitting up, he began to undo the rest of the buttons, then peeled off his shirt with his chest puffed up, clearly a bit cocky. When your hands shot up to grasp at his pecs, the faded ink of the tattoo above his left nipple having taunted you, he chuckled again.

“Daddy,” you laughed back, your voice a drawn out, dramaticized whine. “Come on.” 

Now you were testing him, and he held back the rest of his laughter to put on a stern, domineering face. “Hey, now. Be a good girl.”

He felt your thighs squeeze together underneath him, and your hips jolting upwards. He knew what you wanted, and he’d give it to you, but this position wasn’t quite right. 

With a breathy grunt, he grabbed you by your waist, flipping you over, then lifting your bottom until it was sticking out at just the right angle. Lifting your nightie, he licked his lips to watch you move your hips from side to side, as if to taunt him. 

“Cute little ass,” he practically cooed. Leaning over you, his chest pressed firmly to your back, he nuzzled his nose against your pillowy cheek. All the while, you felt his hand slide between your now nearly dripping wet folds. Eyes closed softly, you hummed a soft whimper at the feeling. His hands were always different from yours, so much bigger, stronger, rougher. You’d never felt a touch quite like his, and part of it was because he touched you with such tenderness, even if he tried to manhandle you a little. He was still always gentle, somehow.

In the most honeyed, silky, yet scratchy, voice, he rasped in a whisper, “Did ya miss me, angel?” 

“Yes… Daddy, I missed you so, so much.”

“Mm, I missed you, too. So much.”

Finally, you felt his tip just barely graze your hole. Not only was he torturing you, he was torturing himself, but he loved it. He needed it, otherwise he was sure his peak of pleasure would go away just as fast as it would come. With you, in this moment, he needed to prolong the desire as much as he could. He could feel it coming soon, though, that tensing in his muscles, that tingling in the pit of his stomach, that twitching that made his cock seem to bounce against your folds on its own accord. 

As he slid further into you, you felt his lips find the back of your neck, where he left little kisses the more he sank into you. It felt so good to feel him again, that fullness. It was a feeling only he could give you, his unique way of moving, his cock fitting so perfectly inside you. 

Underneath your nightgown, his hands found your breasts. Tense, strong fingers curled like claws at the soft tissue. Even in his dreams, of which he had many while he was away, he could not recreate that texture—that pillowy soft flesh swelling against his fingers. And the inside of you, the warmth and tightness that hugged his cock and accepted him with each pass, in and out. 

Soon, he leaned back to watch your body envelope his, the shiny, milky coating of your arousal making it easier to slip in and out of you, his hips thrusting in ever increasing speed.

“Daddy…” 

God, he loved being called that. Much more than he should’ve. But, then again, he’d probably find you sexy even if you were calling him “dickhead.” He really didn’t mind, as long as you were calling him something. 

“Mm, angel… Daddy’s here now, sweetheart.” He delivered a harder, stronger thrust, pulling a loud, strangled moan out from deep inside of you. “That feel good?”

“Fuck, yes!” 

As if to praise you, he delivered just a small, weak slap to your bum. That was about as hard as he was willing to spank you, given how much he hated the idea of hurting you, but he knew you liked it, and he liked it, too, the clench of your body from the slap making him jolt forward. 

“Takin’ it good… Real good.”

With one hand still squeezing your breast, the other now drawing tight circles over your clit, he made your lips tremble and your muscles tighten as you began to approach the height of pleasure. You could feel it, just on the brink of release. And he felt it, too, which was why he pulled himself out of you, flipping you over again like a ragdoll. 

You were startled when he pulled you down by your ankles, until you were closer to him. He gave his fingers a good, long lick, then let them sink into you, where his cock had left you stretched wide open and dripping wet. 

Three fingers. Three thick, strong fingers, curling up inside you, making you writhe and groan as your hands shot up to grasp at his shoulders. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his neck bulge with the strain of trying to keep himself from coming, and it only aroused you more—those muscles flexing and throbbing and burning underneath hot, sweat-dripping skin, tanned by days on end out in the sun. 

What he needed so badly was his own release, after so long of working so hard out there, risking his life for the good of Alexandria. As his forearm and biceps flexed with every push of his fingers inside of you, his chest heaved harder and harder, while you reached between your legs to find his cock. With your hand pulling on his length, and your walls clenching around his fingers as your release reached a tipping point, you both would soon be giving each other much needed relief. 

“Daddy,” you sighed, tugging harder on his cock as frustration overtook you. The closer you got to orgasm, the more you couldn’t wait any longer. “Make me come… I wanna come.”

“Ah, angel… I’m gonna come, too.”

Just moments later, you tensed and gasped and writhed and moaned, rocking your hips upward as his fingers stayed inside you, squeezed by your contracting walls. “Oh, Daddy!”

He leaned forward to lay on top of you, his sturdy weight keeping you in place as you rode out your high, soaking his fingers with your arousal. The heat of your cheek seemed to burn his lips as he kissed you there, then rubbed his button nose in delicate circles to soothe you. “Yeah… Daddy’s got ya, sweetheart.”

With your hand still tugging on him, he gasped a heavy breath, spilling out over you right then and there, his hips thrusting into your hand in desperate, sloppy motions. The orgasm was so strong that he lost his composure for a moment, his head falling into your chest as he groaned your name, over and over and over again. 

And now he freed his hand, using it to rub up and down the sides of your torso, your skin like fine silk under his worn, calloused fingers. In his hair were your hands, massaging his scalp the way you knew he liked, until he lifted his head to offer you a gentle smile. 

“Mm, I’ll never get tired of that.”

You tilted your head with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you’d want to do it tonight. I thought you’d be exhausted.”

He breathed a low huff before rolling over onto his side. You did the same, letting him hold you with his chest pressed firmly to your back. There wasn’t much room on that tiny couch, but you made it work. After all, even if you were in bed upstairs, you’d probably still be this close to each other, clinging for dear life, never wanting to be separated again, though you knew someday you’d have to.

“I am,” he said. “Just… I dunno, needed you, s’all.” Observant as he was, he took notice of your shivering, and reached back to grab the knitted blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He covered the both of you, then tucked his chin into your shoulder, where it seemed to fit perfectly. “Missed ya so much, could hardly stand bein’ without you.”

Even now, after you thought you’d be used to his sweet words, he still had a way of sending those butterflies aflutter. “Well, now you’re back home.”

That sounded so good to him—back home.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Part 2 (coming soon)

[rezwrites]

Nowhere Safe

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Reader

Summary: Lost in the woods, you're tired and desperate when you stumble upon a strange cabin.

word count: 2.6k+

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, spell casting/drugging on reader so-noncon, porn w/ a lot of plot, magic bondage, thigh-riding, fingering, strap-on, young adults messing around with a ouiji board

a/n: I have risen from the dead for spooky season!

You do NOT have permission to copy or repost my works anywhere.

You feel a chill run down your spine as you and your friends huddle around the Ouija board, moonlight filtering through the dense canopy above. The forest seemingly holding its breath, waiting. You’re berating yourself for letting Cassie drag you into this, you remember her begging, pleading with you to come along.

With wobbly fingers, you place your hand on the planchette alongside your friends. The cool, smooth surface feels almost alive beneath your touch. You exchange nervous glances, hearts pounding in unison.

"Is anyone there?" you call out, voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

The planchette begins to move, slowly across the board. Your eyes widen as its spells out its message. You can't tell if it's your friends moving it or something... else. A twig snaps in the darkness beyond your circle. You all jump, pulses racing. “Was that just an animal, or something more sinister?” Your friend tries to make a joke as he laughs, the others letting out a few chuckles. Everyone falls silent as the planchette picks up speed, darting from letter to letter. The message it spells makes your blood run cold.

R-U-N A-W-A-Y

You want to pull your hand away, to end this game, but something keeps you frozen in place. A gust of wind extinguishes the lanterns, plunging your group into darkness. In the split second before your eyes adjust, you swear you see a figure standing just beyond the trees, watching. You blink, and it's gone. The forest suddenly feels alive, aware, closing in around you. Everyone starts screaming, darting into the forest at different directions. You spot Cassie and try to follow her so you both aren’t alone.

Stumbling through the dense forest, your heart pounding in your chest. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut: you've lost sight of Cassie. One moment she was right in front of you, and the next, she vanished into the green labyrinth surrounding you.

"Cassie!" you call out, your voice trembling. "Cassie, where are you?" Only the rustling of leaves answers your desperate cries.

Panic begins to set in as you spin around, trying to get your bearings. Every direction looks the same – an endless sea of trees and undergrowth. You struggle to remember which way you came from, which path you were following. Everything blurs together in your fear-addled mind. Hearing a loud crunch from behind, you took off in the opposite direction.

The branches whipped across your face as you tore through the dense forest. Lungs burning with each ragged breath, but you didn't dare slow down. Pounding heartbeat was deafening in your ears, nearly drowning out the ominous rustling behind you.

Risking a quick glance over your shoulder, only for the thick foliage to reveal nothing. Still, you could feel it - that nameless, faceless terror pursuing you relentlessly through the shadows of the trees. You couldn't say what is was. All you knew was the primal fear coursing through your veins, urging you to run faster, harder; anything to get away.

Seeing a dim light in the distance hope blossomed in your chest at the thought of help, and a way out these woods. You’d be sure to scold your friends once you found them again in town.

Coming up to the clearing you see an old cabin looming before you, its weathered wooden exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest. You approach cautiously, however passing the fence at the tree line, an eerie silence descends. The porch creaked ominously under your weight as you reach for the rusted door knocker.

Suddenly, the door creaks open. Startled, you take a step back, your heart racing in your chest. A middle-aged woman emerges, her silhouette framed by warm light spilling from inside.

"Oh? You poor thing lost out here," she coos, her voice dripping with sympathy. She opens the door wider gesturing you forward, "Come in, come in."

Before you can explain, she ushers you inside. The cabin's warmth immediately envelops you, a stark contrast to the cold forest night. The woman guides you to a seat near a rustic fireplace, its flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. As you sit in the chair, fatigue washes over you.

She bustles about, humming softly to herself. "Let me get make you some tea," she urged, disappearing into what you assume is the kitchen. The crackling fire fills the silence, its heat seeping into your bones.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The cabin, for all its apparent coziness, feels like a place out of time. Flames swirl in the firelight, and you notice strange symbols carved into the wooden beams above.

The floorboards creak softly as the woman returns, a steaming cup in her hands. Her auburn hair framing her face, falling over her shoulders as she holds out the small, porcelain cup. Her eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you swear they flash an unnatural purple. "Drink up, dear," she insists, her voice suddenly lower, more resonant. "It'll help you relax."

You force a smile, swallowing hard. "Thank you," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers tremble as you accept the tea, the warmth of the room unable to quell the shiver traveling down your spine.

The woman watches intently as you raise the cup to your lips. The tea has an odd, bitter aftertaste that lingers on your tongue. You try to hide your grimace, not wanting to offend her. As you drink, a strange fog begins to creep into your mind. The edges of your vision blur, and the room seems to tilt and sway. You blink hard, trying to clear your head, but the fog only thickens.

You furrow your eyebrows trying to speak, to ask what's happening, but your tongue feels heavy and useless in your mouth. You start seeing purple wisps floating in your vision as you try to remain focused.

“So beautiful, so pliant now,” she breaths out, taking a step back from you. Before you can react, she raises her right hand in a swift, deliberate motion. Instantly, you feel an invisible force yanking your arms behind your back, your wrists binding together as if tied by unseen ropes.

Panic surges through you as you attempt to struggle against the magical restraints. The cup of tea clatters to the floor, its contents spilling across the worn wooden planks. The woman's gentle demeanor vanishes, replaced by a cruel smirk.

"Now, now," she chides, her voice no longer sickly sweet but stern and commanding. "There's no need to struggle. You're not going anywhere."

The shadows in the corners of the room seem to deepen and writhe, responding to her will. The symbols carved into the beams above pulse with an eerie purple light, matching the glow in her eyes. You realize with growing horror that this is no ordinary woman, but a witch of considerable power.

"You and your friends playing with that silly board, sweetie, you were practically begging for something to happen.” she laughs, circling you like a predator. Placing her hand on the armrests of the chair, caging you in, "and who am I to say no to such a pretty toy.”

As she speaks, tendrils of purple mist begin to curl around your feet, slowly creeping up your body. Your mind races, albeit sluggishly, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare, but with your hands bound and the witch's magic surrounding you, escape is impossible. She steps behind you, her lithe fingers trailing your shoulders.

“Hold still, little one," she murmurs, her voice both soothing and commanding. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as your shirt is torn away, she rips your bra straps before tossing it to the side. The witch's hand presses against your right shoulder blade, and you gasp at a brief flash of heat followed by a freezing cold that spreads throughout your body.

You can feel the sigil taking root within you, its power pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Strange symbols dance at the edges of your vision, and you swear you can hear whispers in a language you don't understand.

The witch steps back, admiring her handiwork. "There," a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "You're mine now, marked by my magic." She kisses around the sigil carefully with your tender skin. Her lips trail up behind your ear, hands moving to your waist, moving you over to the sofa.

The violet upholstery gave way as she laid you down gently. The soft velvet of the sofa felt abrasive against your fresh mark. You tried lifting your shoulder to lessen the pressure but your body felt heavy as stone.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend on hurting you… too much,” she presses a soft kisses against your lips, deep and languid. Your whole body was sensitive as she kissed down your chest, sucking a nipple into her mouth pinching the other. One hand found purchase on your waist while the other grabbed your pants catching the waistline of your panties, pulling them down in one tug. Each touch, each gesture, sent waves of sensation coursing through you.

She released your nipple with a pop, pulling you up above her, settling you onto her thigh as she laid back into the cushions. Your slick already making a mess on her black leather pants. She smirked watching your eyes close and roll back, your hips bucking.

“There you go, doll. Give me a little show.” She grinned as you speed up, tossing your head back, chasing the pleasure her thigh gave you. She latched herself to your neck sucking deep purple marks all over. Her hands pulled your hips down, giving your clit more pressure as your hips jerked.

Pulling her thigh away she slips two digits into your wet cunt, thumb brushing over your clit. Her fingers curl as she slides them deeper, against the spongy wall of your pussy. Digging her nails into your hips, engraving crescent marks, your jaw dropped whimpers escaping you. This woman was itching to get all the sounds she can out of you. Your mind hazy as you rode her fingers faster, the coil tightening in your lower stomach, your breaths heavy, you were so close.

“Agatha!” you cried out, hips stuttering, waves of pleasure crashing down on you, body trembling above her. You don’t know how you know this woman’s name, all you know that her name is chanting in your mind like prayer and it’s the only keeping you sane right now. “My names sounds so magical falling from your mouth, doll.” She gasps, locking her lips onto yours again as she lays you back down.

You try catching your breath as you hear the rustling of clothes being thrown about. You register the soreness in your upper back and wrists, as you feel cool tendrils wrap around your thighs holding them apart. Agatha’s hands replace the tendrils, scooting herself closer to your core. Conjuring a strap on her hips out the thin air, she runs the tip up and down your slit, gathering your wetness on her shaft.

Your eyes open to find her hovering over you, her azure orbs shockingly holding concern. You hadn’t realized you were crying until now, tears blurring your vision. “Deep breath for me, doll,” she shutters pushing the tip into your quivering hole, the harness rubbing against her clit. Thumbs tracing patterns on your outer thighs as he bottomed out, allowing you a second to adjust. She made tiny pumps, transfixed on how your cunt took her.

“Taking me so well, doll.” Agatha panted above you, leaning her head back as she brought your knees over her shoulder, driving into you faster. The loud squelch of your pussy was drowned out by your moaning, back arching as your body ached for release.

She dropped her head nibbling at your ear lobe as she added a finger to her strap, curling it again. You whined at the little stretch, her thumb returning to your clit. “Come on, doll, I know you’re almost there. Be good and come for me,” she encouraged you, her voice soft. Your body froze, then shook in tandem with hers. “Good girl” repeatedly falling for her lips as she dragged out both of your orgasms.

Her moans low in your ear, breaths heaving as she flips you both over, pulling you close her chest. “Shh doll. It’s over for now, you can rest.” Exhaustion steeps within your bones, sleep calling you as your body grows heavy once more. She grabbed your chin and tilted your head up, her voice low and stern, “but don’t you dare think I’m done with you. Not by a long shot.” Your vision blurred as felt a cozy blanket being placed over you, going limp in her arms.

-

Your eyes snap open, heart racing as you find yourself lying on a cold, dusty floor. Soft sunlight streams through grimy windows, illuminating dancing dust clouds. The musty smell of damp wood fills your nostrils as you slowly sit up, your body aching with every movement.

Looking around, you see cobwebs clinging to the corners of the room, and a thick layer of dust covering every surface, confused as to how you got here in the first place.

Suddenly, you hear voices in the distance. They're calling your name, their tones urgent and worried. You recognize them – it's your friends. They've been searching for you all night, their calls growing more frantic with each passing hour.

Relief washes over you, but it's quickly replaced by a new sense of urgency. You need to let them know where you are.

You struggle to your feet, your legs unsteady beneath you. Dusting yourself off, the floorboards creak as you make your way to the cabin's door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the rusty doorknob, ripping the door open and almost off its hinges. You try to call out, but your voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. Your throat is dry, and you realize you're desperately thirsty.

"There you are!" Cassie's worried voice fills the space as she rushes towards you from beyond the tree-line, “We were looking all night for you!"

"What happened?" you ask, your voice hoarse and shaky as you try to quell the tears welling up. She’s shaking as she grasps your shoulders, looking you over for any wounds.

Cassie's brow furrows, concern etched on her face. "You suddenly got up and started running, and we ran after you. You don’t remember anything?”

Her words freeze you in place. You have no memory of running, let alone how you ended up in this dilapidated cabin. The gap in your recollection is unsettling, a black void where your memories should be.

"N-no, I just remembered us around the board then-," your voice trembles, gasping as you struggle to remember.

"You're safe now. You gave us quite a scare. The others are still searching. We should let them know you're safe." Cassie comes beside you, her hand gently resting on your back, wincing in pain as her arm passed over your shoulder blade, igniting a deep ache.

As you stumble off the cabin porch on unsteady legs, questions swirl in your mind. What happened during those lost hours? What compelled you to run into the woods? And why can't you remember any of it?

The forest around you seems to hold its secrets close, the trees silent witnesses to a night you can't recall. As you and Cassie make your way back to your friends, you can't shake the feeling that something inexplicable occurred in these woods - something that may have changed you in ways you've yet to understand.

[xreaderwrites]

Grey Areas

Summary: Cheating Death is so much harder when she claws her way out of the dirt.

Tags: scheming, complex feelings, pining, Teen is Billy Maximoff, to be continued

Words: 1k+ | AO3

A/N: a story is a-brewing but the story must marinate…gestate even

A hand bursts from the ground and you shove Billy between yourself and Agatha. He doesn’t protest, his eyes stuck  on the woman clawing her way out of the dirt as he yells about reanimation.

It’s worse. Instead of the spell going horribly wrong it’s gone horribly right, with the best Green Witch they could have possibly gotten. Death herself.

You swallow harshly and pull Teen back with you (and he is Teen now. No other name shall be uttered with Death so close). He’s in such a grey area that both sides can be made. He was never technically alive, not in the way the people Death take are, so him coming back doesn’t break any rules and yet it is his soul that is here on this plane, something she very much deals with. 

Both sides can be made but you are much weaker than she is. You won’t stand a chance.

Agatha screaming and clawing for Death sends your stomach plummeting. It’s good that they won’t be teaming up against you together, your chances of success in that situation are so infinitesimally small, but now you’re fighting on three fronts.

This isn’t the first time you’ve regretted Teen finding your work but this is the first time you’ve hated yourself for it. To have him die so young during his second chance of life…Wanda will never forgive you. In this life or the next.

Agatha storms off and it isn’t long before Rio skips after her.

Teen calling your name makes you realise how harshly you’re clinging to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.

Your gaze stays firmly locked on the two witches ahead. Rio sends you a knowing smile mid-twirl. 

It makes you sick. Instead of bringing Wanda back, you’ll be protecting the boy she lost her mind trying to save.

“I’m fine,” you give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and, ignoring the looks the other three are giving you, you follow Rio up the Witches Road.

Jen and Alice start up behind you and what would’ve been a fun conversation about liking scary women is made easy to ignore with Teen beside you.

“Do you know her?” he asks cautiously. 

He knows how touchy you can be with your past. You have to push the guilt away to concentrate on the question. You’ve to be so careful with everything you say for so long one would think it would be easier by now.

“I know of her, yes,” you allow. “She’s extremely powerful. A good catch for the Road.”

“But?” Teen pushes.

“But…” how to put it, “Her connections to others can be weak, or at least slow to build. Not a quality you want when facing the trials.” Your eyes slide to Agatha, “But that isn’t exactly a new danger. We couldn’t trust Sharon to get us out of a bind, either.”

A frown creases Teen’s face.

“But she was so nice.”

You cast him a long look. Does he really not know she wasn’t a witch? It’s so hard to tell.

“She was incredibly weak, power-wise, and her knowledge was extremely limited. We couldn’t trust her to help us because she wouldn’t have been able to. It’s nothing against her.”

This seems to ease him as his body relaxes and his usual smile begins to poke through, dampened by seeing death so closely. 

It’s your turn to frown. You wish you had known him before the sigil. Then you’d be able to know how much of his naivety is real. He’s a sixteen year old witch and he broke his mother’s curse. That isn’t a small thing. He shouldn’t be this powerful and yet have so little knowledge of what the world is capable of.

You don’t even know what he’s looking for at the end of the Road.

Your frown deepens as you watch Rio shadow Agatha.

It’s no use telling Teen to keep his distance. He’s been glued to Agatha’s side and Rio seems intent on subtly doing the same. Not to mention being on the Road means distance from one another is deadly. This whole situation is frustrating to say the least. But what were you really expecting when traversing the Witches Road?

He gives you a look and you manage to nod your head without rolling your eyes. He scampers ahead to Agatha’s side.

Rio was a few step behind her but she allows a gap to grow as Teen passes her.

You sigh to yourself and catch up to Rio. Matching her pace, you allow the distance between you and Teen to grow before speaking. 

“Interested in a trade?” you ask her. 

Her sharp grin has the hair on your arms rising.

“Do you have anything interesting?”

No, that’s why you’re on the road. It’s too late to offer a life for a life and Wanda would never forgive you if you went to the lengths needed to bring her back whole. Lengths that have only ever been rumoured.

You ask the question anyway to get to the one you want to ask most.

“My life?”

“You know the rules.”

“Yes, but if something much more…powerful than myself attempted to bring her back, would you stop it?”

Her calculating gaze is more terrifying than her crazy grin.

“The Road gives you what you’re missing,” is her only response.

It’s not the straight answer you were hoping for but it’s also not a yes. Which means your plan isn’t completely fucked. 

“While I have you here,” you say before she flutters off back into Agatha’s orbit, “I would like to make it very clear that any delusions I had of revenge or…roadblocks regarding Agatha have been thoroughly discarded with your arrival.”

Rio flashes a smile that is pure threat. 

“Smart girl.”

It’s easy to ignore the effect she has on you when are currently so aware that the threat extends to Wanda too.

You also want to tell Death about Wanda not being a threat to Agatha but you can’t. It may be true now, but who knows what will happen to Teen between now and when you see her? Your best will mean nothing to the Road. Your life probably will too.