#if she would take it or not is all up to agatha

[ennn]

#I enjoy that in order to get Agatha to listen to her #Rio had to say these things to the group and indirectly to Agatha #bc when she tries to talk to Agatha about the very thing that broke them Agatha puts her walls all the way up #what’re you gonna do Agatha? blow your cover and get mad and defensive and show everyone all the vulnerable feelings you have? #(nah instead Rio and Agatha are gonna take turns lookin sideways at each other this whole monologue in a way that is NOT obvious [jk it is]) #(and then Agatha’s gonna wriggle away like everybody didn’t just witness something extremely homosexual happening in front of their salads) #Agatha like ‘okay everybody knows I’ve had a situationship here but hopefully they’re so distracted by that they forget about the part where #I had feelings to hurt’ #Agatha you too would do some shit like writing the Reynolds Pamphlet (via @gleerant)

I had to do something that I did not want to do, even though it was my job. And it hurt them.

AGATHA ALL ALONG 1.01 | 1.04

[covenofagatha]

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

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

Word count: 4200

Warnings: mentions of murder, manipulativeness, light gaslighting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rio would’ve made it prettier. 

Patience, she reminds herself. 

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

***

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

Nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally you think of something. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“New perfume?” She mutters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does a spiral look like for you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snow. 

Trees. 

A clearing in the woods. 

Red birds flutter from the branches, startled by something. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Detective Harkness?” Dr. Vidal asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me guess, she’s been flirting?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s cold, but you can’t feel it. 

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

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

A purple wolf. 

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

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

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

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

How did that happen? 

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

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

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

[lotsofmilfs]

Shades Of Cool Part 1

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : You and Agatha were close in Salem, but things happen of course, and now you’re reunited due to the Witches Road

Word Count : 7kish

Authors Notes : I took creative liberties with the road !!! but i’m hoping you still like !

Warnings : Angst, Brief mention of suicide, longing, i think that’s it.

You were in Agatha’s trial on the witches road, you had on the same outfit as her, only it was a pink jersey, instead of the purple. Your hair was down instead of up in the hairstyle that Agatha was wearing, and your knee high socks were white with two purple stripes at the top. You don’t even know how you got here, but that was just how strong Billy was. Summoning you for a trial you had no idea you were taking place in.

You’d met Agatha during the Salem Era, both of you young, and close. You hated your own parents, and when Agatha told you about her mother, you planned to run away together. Things never worked out that way though, the closer you got with Agatha, you wanted to bond with her.

Bonding was something ancient, bringing together two witches. It would open their souls, their minds, and their hearts to one another. Agatha was petrified of being that open with someone, the vulnerability was just too much, and even though it hurt, she left you the next day after you poured your heart out, asking for her to break the barrier and become one.

Now it’s been centuries, and you freeze as you stop messing with the game in front of you, hearing a collection of voices from your right.

“Who’s trial is this?” Jen asks as they all look around

“Agatha’s.” Rio smirks. That name. You’ve not heard that name in so long it brings a flush to your cheeks, and your face lifts up, your side profile now visible to the group.

Agatha freezes when she sees your face, she’d remember it anywhere, she had dreams about it. She doesn’t say anything, she couldn’t. How were you even here? She… Thought maybe you’d died years ago. You never approached anyone about the road, and so she assumed.. She looks at you different then when she seen Rio again, there’s no anger or malice in her gaze. Just a deep set of longing. Her feet carry her involuntarily towards you and she breathes out.

“Darling.”

Your head snaps toward the voice, sharp and familiar, dripping with a need that makes your stomach twist in ways you wish it wouldn’t. “Agatha,” you say, her name cutting through the charged silence like a blade. It comes out too soft for your liking, so you harden your voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. There’s something in her eyes that makes it clear you’re not the only one thrown off balance. “The feeling’s mutual, darling,” she says, her tone breezy, almost mocking, but there’s a crack in the façade. She’s staring at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Maybe she has.

You’ve got centuries of practice keeping your emotions in check, but something about the way she’s looking at you, the way her breath catches for just a moment, has your carefully maintained armour slipping. You clench your fists to stop them from shaking.

“What have you done now Agatha? Have you stolen someone’s broomstick?”

Her smirk comes back, sharp and self-assured, like she’s trying to regain the upper hand. “If only it were that simple,” she says lightly, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of... dabbling.”

“Dabbling?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s likely one way to put it.”

“Careful,” she says, her voice dropping into something silkier, more dangerous. “You might hurt my feelings.”

Your laugh comes out more bitter than you intend. “Oh, I’m sure they’re well-protected under all that... dabbling.”

The others in the group exchange uneasy glances. Rio, ever the instigator, pipes up again, clearly loving the drama. “So... you two know each other?”

Neither of you answers, too locked in a silent, electric standoff. It’s Agatha who finally breaks the moment, turning to address the group, her voice dripping with the kind of theatrical charm only she can pull off. “Let’s just say we have history.” Her eyes flick back to you, and her tone turns pointed. “Though some of us are better at leaving the past where it belongs.”

Your lips part, sharp words ready to fire back, but you stop yourself. This isn’t the time, and you won’t let her get the better of you. Not again.

Instead, you tilt your head, levelling her with a look. “So, this trial. What’s the serious charge? Not just the accusations.”

Agatha hesitates, just for a moment. “They think I stole something.” Her tone is measured, but there’s a flicker of guilt—or defiance, maybe—in her eyes. “Power. Something I didn’t earn.”

You cross your arms. “And did you?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, she looks like she might actually tell you the truth. Then she shrugs, her smirk slipping back into place. “Does it matter?”

“It does if you want to walk out of here alive.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken history, the weight of centuries hanging over every word. Agatha steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “You’ve always been good at seeing through me, haven’t you?”

You swallow hard, hating the way her words make your chest tighten. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, stepping back just enough to reestablish your ground. “I just know your type.”

She chuckles, soft and low. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve always known me. That’s what made you dangerous.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you hate that she knows it. She’s always been good at that—finding your cracks and slipping through them like smoke. But this time, you won’t let her.

Before you can respond, Rio claps their hands, breaking the tension. “This is all very riveting, but shouldn’t we, I don’t know, do something? Trials, consequences, accusations—ringing any bells?”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to Rio, her smile vanishing in an instant. “Stay out of it,” she says sharply, her voice like ice.

But as much as you want to stay angry, to keep your walls firmly in place, there’s something in her eyes when she looks back at you—a flicker of vulnerability, of something real—that shakes you.

“Why am I here, Agatha?” you ask quietly.

She hesitates, her confidence faltering for just a moment. “I didn’t bring you here,” she says. “But... maybe the road thought I needed a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

Her gaze softens, and for a second, it’s like you’re back in Salem, two young witches on the brink of something extraordinary. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, she steps back, her expression hardening again. “You’ll see soon enough,” she says, her tone deliberately flippant. “Just try not to get in my way, darling.”

You narrow your eyes, but there’s no time to respond.

The ground beneath your feet rumbles—a low, ominous vibration that sends chills up your spine. The witches’ road is alive, its energies twisting and pulling, urging the trial forward. Around you, the air grows thick with power, sharp and unrelenting, and the others in the group exchange uneasy glances.

Agatha stands still, her gaze fixed on you, as though the trial itself is secondary to the unfinished business crackling between you. But her expression hardens when the light around you shifts—a brilliant blue glow forming a circle in the center of the road.

"Right on cue," Agatha mutters under her breath. She turns to the group, her sharp tone carrying authority, even here. "Stay behind me. All of you."

"Why would we do that?" Rio asks with a smirk, stepping closer to the circle. "You’re the one on trial, remember?"

Before Agatha can snap back, the blue glow bursts upward, spiralling into a towering column of light. From its core, shapes begin to emerge—silhouettes, shifting and indistinct at first, but then solidifying into forms you recognise all too well. Witches, cloaked and severe, their eyes glowing with unnatural light. The Coven.

“Agatha Harkness,” one of them speaks, their voice cold and resonant. “You stand accused of theft, treachery, and the violation of sacred laws.”

Agatha lifts her chin, the picture of defiance, but you catch the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the slight clenching of her jaw. “Well, don’t hold back,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me how you really feel.”

The Coven doesn’t react, their collective gaze shifting past her—to you. The intensity of their focus sends a shiver through you, but you don’t flinch. You know better than to show weakness here.

“Who dares to stand beside the accused?” another witch asks, their glowing eyes narrowing.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Agatha says quickly, stepping in front of you. “This trial has nothing to do with her.”

“Is that so?” The lead witch tilts her head, studying you with unnerving precision. “And yet, the road brought her here. Why?”

You meet the witch’s gaze, refusing to let the weight of her scrutiny drag you down. “I’d like to know that myself,” you say coolly. “But whatever this is, I’m not here to play spectator.”

Agatha casts you a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something between irritation and concern. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Then enlighten me,” you snap back, your patience wearing thin. “Or is keeping secrets still your favourite game?”

“Enough,” the lead witch commands, her voice cutting through the tension. The others fall silent, their glowing eyes shifting back to Agatha. “The accused will answer for her actions.”

“Gladly,” Agatha says, folding her arms. “But let’s be clear—I didn’t steal anything. I earned that power.”

The lead witch’s gaze sharpens. “You twisted ancient magic for your own gain, defied the natural order, and corrupted forces beyond your comprehension. Not to mention murdered hundreds. You are a danger to all witches.”

“Funny,” Agatha retorts, her voice venomous. “I seem to recall you trying to kill me for simply being too powerful. Guess some things never change.”

The Coven bristles, their forms glowing brighter, but before they can respond, the road itself shifts again. The ground beneath you ripples, and for a moment, you’re weightless—floating in the charged air. When you land, the circle of light has expanded, now encompassing you, Agatha, and the Coven.

You glare at her, your frustration boiling over. “What exactly did you do, Agatha?”

Her eyes flicker to you, something almost apologetic flashing across her face before she buries it under her usual mask. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you bite back.

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the lead witch cuts her off. “The accused is bound to the truth. Let us see if her lies can survive the light.”

At her words, the blue glow intensifies, and the trial begins in earnest. The road reacts violently, pulling memories and illusions from the air—scenes of Agatha’s past swirling like a storm around you. Her betrayal of the Salem Coven. Her hunger for forbidden power. Her darkest moments laid bare.

But then the images shift—scenes you recognise. A younger Agatha, laughing beside you in the moonlight. The two of you whispering secrets, planning your escape. The night she left you, her face a mask of regret as she vanished into the darkness.

Your breath catches, and Agatha’s head snaps toward you, her expression unreadable.

The Coven doesn’t miss the exchange. “Ah,” the lead witch says, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Perhaps the accused’s greatest crime is not against magic, but against the heart.”

Agatha’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes as she turns to you. “Don’t let them twist this,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “You know me better than anyone.”

You take a step closer, your anger warring with the pull of old, buried feelings. “Do I? Because the Agatha I knew wouldn’t have dragged me into her mess.”

“I didn’t!” she snaps, the crack in her composure widening. “But if I had... maybe I should’ve. Maybe you’re the only one who can—” She cuts herself off, looking away.

The Coven watches, their glowing eyes unrelenting. “Speak your truth, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch commands. “If you can.”

You don’t know what’s worse—the thought that she’s hiding something from you, or the thought that she’s telling the truth and you’re still tied to her, even now. Either way, you’re not letting this end without answers.

“Start talking,” you say, your voice sharp but steady. “Because if you want me to trust you, Agatha, you’d better earn it.”

Agatha remains silent, though her eyes are pleading. The road trembles beneath you, the Coven's chanting growing louder, more insistent. The blue light twists and contorts, creating shadows that dance around you and Agatha. You’re too close to her now, her presence almost overwhelming in its familiarity. After all this time, she’s still the same—still sharp, guarded, impossible. And yet, beneath it all, she’s still her

You steal a glance at her, and for a moment, you see a crack in her defenses. The weight of the trial, the memories, the raw, unspoken tension between you—it’s all there, etched across her face. But she’s too proud to acknowledge it, even now.

“You’re scared,” you say, your voice low enough that only she can hear.

Agatha’s gaze snaps to yours, her eyes narrowing. “Of them?” she asks, gesturing toward the Coven with a sardonic smirk. “Please.”

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her deflect. “Not of them. Of me. Of us.”

Her smirk falters, just for a moment, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. She takes a step back, but you follow, unwilling to let her retreat this time.

“I’m not scared,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Liar,” you counter, your tone soft but unrelenting. “You’ve always been terrified of letting anyone in. Of letting me in.”

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the Coven’s chanting suddenly shifts, the words growing sharper, more pointed. The blue light swirls between the two of you, pulling at the air, at your magic, at your connection . The Coven has sensed it—the bond that could’ve been, the bond you once wanted more than anything.

“You thought about it,” you say, stepping closer. “All those years ago. You wanted it, too.”

“Stop,” she snaps, her voice cracking slightly, her control slipping.

“You left because you couldn’t handle it,” you press on. “Because you were too afraid to open yourself up. To share everything—your power, your heart, your soul.”

“I said stop,” she hisses, but she doesn’t move away.

The blue light flares between you, the energy shifting, bending, until it forms a thread, a thin, shimmering line connecting the two of you. The sight of it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s the bond, raw and unfinished, still lingering after all this time.

Agatha stares at it, her face pale, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. “It’s not real,” she says, her voice almost desperate. “It’s just the trial, just a trick.”

“You don’t believe that,” you say quietly.

The thread pulses, glowing brighter, and you can feel it now- the pull of her soul, of her essence, intertwining with your own. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, and you can see the same war playing out in Agatha’s eyes.

The Coven speaks again, their voices cold and cutting. “The bond remains unfinished. A betrayal of magic, a betrayal of trust. It is a wound that festers, unresolved.”

Agatha clenches her fists, her gaze snapping to the lead witch. “This has nothing to do with them,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “You’re trying to twist this into something it’s not.”

The lead witch tilts her head, her glowing eyes boring into Agatha. “The trial reveals truth. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her gaze shifts to you, and her next words are deliberate, cruel. “Perhaps the accused should explain why she ran. Why she rejected the bond when it was freely offered.”

Agatha flinches, and you feel the thread between you tremble. For a moment, you think she’s going to lash out, to fight, but instead, she turns to you, her expression raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I didn’t run because I didn’t want it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I ran because I wanted it too much.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

“I knew what bonding meant,” she continues, her eyes locking onto yours. “It would’ve made us... tied in ways I couldn’t undo. And I couldn’t let myself—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I thought I was protecting you. Protecting-“ she cuts herself off and then, “But maybe... maybe I was just protecting myself.”

The thread glows brighter, the magic between you surging, and you can feel it now—her fear, her regret, her longing. It’s all there, laid bare, and for the first time, you see her for who she truly is.

“You didn’t need to protect me,” you say, your voice steady. “I was ready, Agatha. I’ve always been ready. But you never gave us a chance.”

Her lips part, but before she can respond, the Coven’s chanting rises to a fever pitch. The thread between you stretches and trembles, the energy reaching a breaking point.

“You must choose,” the lead witch says, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever. There is no more middle ground.”

Agatha’s eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. She looks at you, her composure crumbling, and for the first time, she seems truly vulnerable.

“Don’t let them force this,” she says, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

The glow of the thread between you pulses, trembling like a fragile lifeline. The Coven’s chanting grows louder, demanding resolution, pushing you both to a precipice. Agatha’s eyes dart between the shimmering connection and your face. You can see the fear in her eyes, the weight of her indecision pressing down like a storm.

“Choose, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch demands. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever.”

Agatha’s hand hovers over yours, trembling. The vulnerability on her face is something you’ve never seen before, and it twists something deep inside you. For a moment, you think she might do it—reach out and let the bond fully take hold. But then her jaw sets, her gaze hardening.

“No,” she says sharply, yanking her hand back. The thread snaps violently, the energy spiralling outward like a scream. The sudden emptiness is immediate and gut-wrenching, leaving you gasping as if something vital has been ripped away.

Agatha steps back, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t,” she whispers, her voice brittle. “I won’t.”

The lead witch smiles coldly. “So be it.”

The thread between you vanishes, and the road trembles again, this time more violently. The energy shifts, the air growing heavy with the finality of her decision. You feel the hollow space where the bond once was, an ache that settles deep in your chest. It’s unbearable, and when you meet Agatha’s eyes, you see that she feels it too.

Her face twists with something you’ve rarely seen from her: regret.

“Wait,” she breathes, but the Coven’s chanting drowns her out. The blue light around you sharpens, cutting like a blade, and you can feel the road enforcing her choice, solidifying the severance.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice raw, stepping toward her. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“I already have,” she interrupts, her voice breaking as she turns away from you. “It’s done.”

But even as she says it, her steps falter. Her hand rises to her chest, where the bond once pulsed with life. Her expression crumples, the emptiness hitting her like a physical blow. She gasps, clutching at the air as if she could pull it back, undo the severance.

The lead witch tilts her head, her voice cutting like a knife. “Feeling the emptiness already, Agatha Harkness? Such is the price of fear.”

Agatha spins back to face them, her mask of confidence shattering completely. “Bring it back,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Impossible,” the lead witch says coolly. “You made your choice.”

“No!” Agatha snaps, desperation lacing her words. She looks at you, her eyes wide and pleading. “I—I didn’t mean it. I can fix it. Just—” She turns back to the Coven. “Just let me fix it.”

The lead witch’s gaze is unforgiving. “The road answers only once. To sever a bond is to sever it forever. That is the law.”

Agatha shakes her head violently. “No. That’s not—no!” Her voice cracks, and for a moment, she looks like she might collapse under the weight of her mistake.

You step forward, your own pain mingling with hers. “There has to be a way,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You can’t leave it like this.”

The Coven is silent for a long moment, their glowing eyes unreadable. Finally, the lead witch speaks. “There is one way, but it requires both souls to agree. And the cost will not be light.”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes searching yours. For the first time, there’s no deflection, no bravado just raw, unfiltered need. “Please,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You take a breath, the pain of the severed bond still fresh and raw. You should walk away. You should let her feel the consequences of her choice. But you can’t. You’ve never been able to. And now hearing her beg? You fear you’d do anything she asked.

“Fine,” you say, stepping forward. “What do we have to do?”

The lead witch smiles faintly, as if this is what she wanted all along. “Rekindling a severed bond requires sacrifice. Magic, power... a piece of the soul itself. Are you willing?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Agatha looks at you, her eyes filled with both gratitude and guilt. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” she says softly. “Not after what I—”

“Then don’t make me regret it,” you interrupt, your voice firm.

She swallows hard, nodding. “I won’t.”

The Coven begins chanting again, the air growing thick with magic. The blue light spirals around you and Agatha, pulling you closer together. This time, the bond doesn’t form gently—it crashes into you, fierce and unrelenting, flooding every part of you with her essence. You feel her fear, her regret, her longing—all of it laid bare. And she feels you, your unwavering determination, your pain, your love.

The connection is deeper than it was before, forged not just from desire but from sacrifice. When the light fades, you’re left standing face to face, your souls intertwined in a way that can never be undone.

Agatha exhales shakily, as if the bond settling between you is more weight than she expected. Her gaze flickers over your face, searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe reassurance. You give her neither, not yet. She’s made too many mistakes for things to be that simple. But you can’t deny the way the bond thrums, anchoring you to her in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The road quakes beneath you again, the energy of the trial still humming in the air. The Coven watches silently, their glowing eyes unreadable, as if they’re waiting for the next move.

Agatha takes a tentative step closer, her voice low. “How does it feel?” she asks, her words almost hesitant. “Having me in your head again.”

You let the question hang for a moment, savouring the way it makes her squirm. “Heavy,” you finally say, your tone sharper than you intended. “But that’s no surprise, is it? You’ve always been a lot to handle.”

Her lips quirk into a faint smirk, the familiar spark of defiance flaring in her eyes. “And yet, here you are. Handling me.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. The bond hums in agreement, pulling you closer even as you try to keep your distance. “Don’t push your luck, Agatha,” you warn. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Her smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. “I know,” she says softly. “But it’s a start.”

Before you can respond, the lead witch steps forward, her presence as cold and imposing as ever. “The bond is reforged,” she announces, her voice echoing through the space. “But it does not absolve you, Agatha Harkness. This trial is far from over.”

Agatha straightens, her bravado snapping back into place like armour. “Of course it isn’t,” she says, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy.”

The lead witch doesn’t react to the quip, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “The bond may strengthen you, but it also binds you. Your fates are now intertwined. Should one of you fall, the other will follow.”

You glance at Agatha, and for the first time, you see genuine fear flicker across her face. “What does that mean?” you ask, your voice steady but firm.

“It means,” the lead witch says, “that the bond is both your greatest power and your greatest vulnerability. Use it wisely—or perish together.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into your chest. Agatha glances at you, and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing: what have we just done?

“Fine,” Agatha says finally, her voice tight. “What’s next? Another test? Another round of judgment?”

The lead witch’s lips curl into a faint smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think this is a game, Harkness. But the road has already given you its answer. The only question now is whether you’re strong enough to face what comes next.”

The ground beneath you shifts again, and you feel the magic of the road pulling you deeper into its grip. Agatha reaches for you instinctively, her hand brushing against yours. The bond flares at the contact, filling you with a rush of her emotions.

Fear. Regret. Determination. And something else, buried deep, that feels almost like hope.

One again the road surges to life around you, swallowing the quiet moment between you and Agatha. The blue glow deepens, swirling with flecks of violet and gold, and the air feels like it’s being pulled apart. You grip her hand tighter, instinctively bracing yourself, and she doesn’t pull away.

The lead witch raises a hand, silencing the murmuring Coven. Her gaze fixes on the two of you like a blade about to strike. “The reforged bond is only the beginning. What lies ahead will test the strength of your connection—and the truth of your intentions.”

Agatha scoffs, though the sound is weaker than usual. “Another vague warning? How original.”

The lead witch’s smile is razor-thin. “The road reveals what is hidden. It will force you to confront the past you thought buried—and the consequences of choices you’ve both made.”

You glance at Agatha, whose jaw tightens. She’s always been so good at hiding what she’s feeling, but the bond makes that impossible for her now, you wonder if she knew that.

Before you can press her, the ground beneath you crumbles. The Coven’s chanting rises into a deafening crescendo as the two of you are plunged into a swirling abyss of light and shadow. Xx

When the world solidifies again, you’re standing in a dimly lit forest. The air is heavy with the scent of earth and moss, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting everything in an eerie silver light. The road is gone, as is the Coven. It’s just you and Agatha now.

You turn to her, your heart still racing. “Where are we?”

Agatha looks around, her expression unreadable. “This… this is Salem,” she says quietly. “But not the Salem we knew. It’s different.”

The forest feels alive, the trees whispering secrets you can’t quite make out. The bond hums in your chest, tugging at something deeper, and you know without needing to ask: this place isn’t real. It’s a manifestation. A memory.

“Why would the road bring us here?” you ask, though the answer is already forming in the back of your mind.

Agatha’s lips press into a thin line. “Because it’s cruel,” she mutters. “And it knows where to hurt.”

A sound echoes through the forest—laughter, high and clear, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your stomach twists as you recognise it.

It’s her.

Your younger self steps into the clearing, a vision pulled straight from your memories. She’s vibrant, her eyes bright with hope, her laughter filling the air. And beside her, laughing just as freely, is Agatha.

The sight punches the air from your lungs. You can feel the echoes of that time through the bond—the joy, the connection, the longing that neither of you dared to name.

Agatha stares at the scene, her face pale. “Why are they showing us this?” she whispers.

“You know why,” you say, your voice low. “Because this is where it all started.”

The memory shifts, darkening at the edges. The laughter fades, replaced by tense whispers. The younger version of you steps closer to Agatha, her expression vulnerable, open.

“I don’t want to run,” your younger self says, her voice trembling. “I want to stay. I want to bond with you, Agatha. I—”

“Stop,�� the real Agatha mutters, her voice tight.

But the memory plays on. Younger Agatha’s face twists, fear flashing in her eyes. She steps back, shaking her head. “No,” she says, her voice sharp and final. “We can’t. I won’t.”

“Why?” your younger self pleads.

“Because you deserve better than me!” Memory Agatha snaps, her voice cracking, before you hear her internal voice, one that’s truly broken and screaming out in fear “Because I’ll ruin you. Don’t you see that? I ruin everything I touch.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and you see the real Agatha flinch beside you. The memory fades, leaving the clearing silent once more.

You turn to her, your chest tight with emotion. “That’s why you left?” you ask, your voice raw. “Because you thought you’d ruin me?”

Agatha doesn’t meet your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “I did ruin you, didn’t I? I left, and you—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. “Don’t turn this into a pity party, Agatha. You don’t get to decide what I deserved. That was my choice to make.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “And look where your choice got us,” she spits. “Centuries apart, and now we’re tied together because of this damned road. Is that what you wanted? To be stuck with me forever?”

The bond flares at her words, the tension between you sparking like a live wire. You take a step closer, your voice steady but furious. “What I wanted,” you say, “was for you to trust me. To trust that we could’ve been something more. But you ran because you were too scared to face that.”

Agatha glares at you, but her shoulders sag, the fight draining out of her. “You think I don’t regret it?” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve regretted it every single day. But I thought... I thought it was better this way. Safer. For both of us.”

“Safer?” you echo bitterly. “Do I look like someone who needed to be saved from you?”

The air between you crackles with magic, the bond pulling tighter as your emotions clash and collide. You can feel her guilt, her longing, her fear—and beneath it all, her love. It’s raw and messy and imperfect, but it’s there, undeniable.

You’re about to say something before the forest grows darker, shadows stretching long and deep as the memory shifts again. You brace yourself, but nothing could prepare you for what the road dredges up next.

The scene crystallises around you: a small, dimly lit room with a single cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The air feels stifling, heavy with pain and desperation. It’s familiar—achingly so. This is where you went the night after Agatha left.

Agatha stands frozen beside you, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of you from centuries ago. Your younger self sits hunched on the floor, trembling, clutching a flickering ball of magic in your hands. The light glows faintly pink, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but it’s unstable, wavering with every shaky breath you take.

“No,” Agatha whispers, stepping toward the memory as if she can change it. “No, no, no—what are you doing?”

But the memory unfolds without mercy.

Your younger self mutters under her breath, an incantation so jagged and broken it sounds like a dirge. The magic in your hands sparks violently, surging outward before collapsing back in on itself.

“Take it away,” your memory-self says, her voice cracking. “Take it all away. I don’t want it anymore.”

You remember the feeling all too well—the suffocating pain, the emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole. The bond you’d started to forge with Agatha had been severed, but not cleanly. It had left jagged edges, a wound that pulsed with every beat of your heart. You’d thought if you could rid yourself of your magic, you’d be free of her��free of the ache she left behind.

“Stop,” Agatha says aloud, her voice trembling. She reaches for the image of you, but her hand passes through it like smoke. She turns to you, her eyes wide and desperate. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you—”

“Because you weren’t there,”, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You left, Agatha. I was alone.”

The younger you falters, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this,” she sobs, gripping the magic tighter. “I can’t feel her anymore. I can’t—”

The incantation grows louder, your magic swirling around you like a storm. It’s unstable, laced with anger and grief, threatening to implode. And for a moment, it feels like it will work—like you’ll succeed in ripping away the part of you that still clings to her.

But the spell breaks, shattering like glass, and the magic snaps back into you with a force that knocks your younger self to the ground. You cry out, curling into yourself as the bond—though faint and fractured—reasserts itself. It’s agony, the connection too stubborn to let go completely, no matter how much you tried to destroy it.

The memory fades, leaving the clearing eerily silent. Agatha stands rooted in place, her face pale and stricken. You can feel the weight of her guilt through the bond, heavier than ever, pressing into you like a physical thing.

“You tried to... take your magic away?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” you say, your tone flat. “And I failed. Just like I failed to let you go.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, the full scope of what she did to you finally crashing down on her. “I didn’t know,” she says weakly. “I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cut her off. “You ran, Agatha. You made your choice, and you didn’t look back.”

Her shoulders slump, her walls crumbling entirely. “I thought I was protecting you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought... if I stayed, I’d only hurt you more.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say bitterly. “You hurt me anyway.”

The bond flares between you, sharp and raw with the weight of her regret and your lingering anger. Agatha flinches, her hand rising to her chest as if she can feel the ache directly.

“I was a coward,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I was so afraid of what the bond meant—what it would do to me. To us. I thought if I left, it would be easier for both of us.” She meets your eyes, and for once, there’s no deflection, no sarcasm. Just honesty. “I didn’t know it would be worse.”

You take a shaky breath, the pain of the memory still fresh. “I didn’t want it to hurt anymore,” you say quietly. “But it never stopped. Not for centuries.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand hovering near yours. “I don’t know how to make it right,” she says, her voice soft and unsteady. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll try. I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying.”

You study her face, the vulnerability in her expression. The bond hums between you, not as sharp as before, but still raw and unsteady. You don’t trust her—not completely. But for the first time in centuries, you feel something else beneath the anger: the faintest flicker of hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say, your voice softer than before.

Agatha’s lips quirk into a faint, rueful smile. “I won’t,” she says. “Not this time.”

You take a deep breath, and you nod as you both start to walk, looking away from her, your eyes taking in the trees around you both, the silence that is only broken by crickets and your feet on fallen leaves every now and again.

The mist clings to you both like a second skin as the silence stretches, weighted and tense. The bond hums faintly between you, but there’s a strange hollowness to it, a missing note that makes your chest ache. It takes you a while to place it, but the realisation creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow in the corner of your mind.

You glance at Agatha. She’s walking beside you, her shoulders squared in that way that screams she’s unbreakable a lie she’s always told herself. But there’s something missing. Something that isn’t just her sharp-edged confidence.

You stop walking. “Agatha,” you say, your voice cautious but firm. “Your magic.”

She freezes, her back going rigid. Slowly, she turns to face you, her expression carefully neutral, but the bond betrays her. You feel her shame and frustration ripple through it, sharp and unsteady.

“What about it?” she asks, her voice brittle.

“It’s not there,” you say, your tone softer now. “Not the way it used to be. What happened to it?”

She looks away, her jaw clenching. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” you counter, stepping closer. “You’ve been hiding this from me, Agatha. Why? What happened?”

Her silence stretches too long, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then, finally, she exhales sharply, her eyes dark with something raw and vulnerable.

“Wanda happened,” she says bitterly. “Westview, she stripped me of everything. My magic, my power—she left me with nothing but a body and a few clever words.”

Your heart stutters. “She took everything?”

“Yes,” Agatha snaps, her voice laced with frustration. “I can’t even light a damn candle without the bond. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be this?” She gestures at herself angrily. “This hollow shell of what I used to be?”

Her words hang between you, her anger bleeding into the bond. But underneath it, you feel the deeper truth: the helplessness, the fear, the grief of losing something so integral to who she is.

“Agatha,” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice sharp and bitter.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t give me some speech about how I’m more than my magic or how I’ll be fine. You don’t understand what it’s like—how empty it feels.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of her pain pressing against you through the bond. And suddenly, you do understand. The absence of her magic isn’t just a loss of power—it’s a loss of self, a wound that’s been festering since Westview.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you say quietly. “But you’re right. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose magic. I don’t understand how it feels for you. But I can feel it, Agatha. Through the bond. And it hurts.”

Her eyes snap to yours, her expression faltering.

“I feel the emptiness, the hollowness,” you continue. “And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I don’t want you to feel it anymore.”

Her laugh is short and bitter. “Well, unless you’re planning on storming Westview I don’t see what you can do about it.”

You hesitate, the reckless idea forming in your mind. The bond between you hums faintly, and you realise there might be a way to fix this—or at least try.

“I can’t get Wanda to undo it,” you say slowly. “But I can give you something else. My magic.”

Agatha freezes, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say. “I can share my magic with you. Just enough to—”

“No,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “Absolutely not. That’s reckless and stupid, even for you.”

“You need magic to be whole again, Agatha,” you argue. “And we have the bond. It’s not just a connection—it’s a tether. If anyone can do this, it’s us.”

“You don’t know that,” she snaps, her voice trembling. “You could hurt yourself. Or me. Or worse, you could sever the bond completely. Have you thought about that?”

“I have,” you say, your voice steady. “And after realising what you’re feeling through our bond I’m willing to take that risk.”

Her anger falters, replaced by something softer—something closer to fear. “Why?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “Why would you do that for me?”

You step closer, your gaze locking with hers. “Because I feel you, Agatha. I’ve felt you for centuries, even when I didn’t want to. And I can’t stand feeling you like this anymore. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue again. But then she nods, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Fine,” she whispers. “But if this goes wrong we’re both dead…”

“It won’t,” you say firmly. “Trust me.”

You reach for her hand, your fingers brushing hers lightly. The bond flares at the contact, and Agatha inhales sharply, her magic—or what’s left of it—stirring faintly in response.

You close your eyes, focusing on the bond and the magic coursing through you. You channel it carefully, letting it flow toward her like a steady stream. It’s not painless—the act feels like giving away pieces of yourself, leaving raw edges behind. But through the bond, you feel her presence grow stronger, her magic flickering to life like an ember reignited.

Agatha gasps softly, her grip on your hand tightening as the magic flows between you. When you finally stop, your knees feel weak, and the bond hums with a new warmth—a sense of balance that wasn’t there before.

You open your eyes to find her staring at you, her expression unreadable.

“How do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, then says, “Stronger.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and before you can react, she steps closer, her cheek brushing against yours. The touch is soft, fleeting, but it sends a warmth through the bond that makes your breath catch. Her hand cups the back of your head and her other hand holds your lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

You wrap your arms around her, exhaustion tugging at you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze steady. “I won’t.”

[onegayastronaut]

Home for the Holidays

Words: 2402

The mornings in Westview had a comforting rhythm, especially during the holiday season. The sun spilled golden light over the neatly trimmed hedges dusted with snow and pastel-colored houses adorned with twinkling lights, waking the quiet streets with a gentle glow. In your little cul-de-sac, life moved at its own serene pace, a stark contrast to the chaos that often lay just outside its borders. Here, the days began with the warm scent of coffee, the rustle of newspapers, and the soft hum of companionship.

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, a steaming mug in hand, as Agatha bustled around the room. She wore her usual cozy cardigan, now complemented by a festive scarf, her dark curls slightly disheveled, and her expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Wanda, still wrapped in her scarlet robe, stood nearby, her hands deftly moving as she flicked through a recipe book. Every so often, she would glance up at you with a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re going to burn the gingerbread again, Agatha,” Wanda teased, her Sokovian accent soft in the morning air.

“I am not going to burn it,” Agatha shot back, wagging a butter knife in her hand. “And even if I did, you’d just magic it back to perfection, wouldn’t you, darling?”

You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee. The gentle banter between them was as much a part of your mornings as the sunrise. It was a rhythm you had grown to adore since the three of you decided to settle here together, away from the complications of your past lives. This little suburban bubble was your haven.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Wanda said, turning her gaze to you. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, setting your mug down and hopping off the counter. “Just enjoying the view,” you replied, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into your embrace, her body warm and familiar against yours.

Agatha cleared her throat dramatically, drawing both your attention. “If you two could pause your sappy moment for a second, I’d appreciate some help hanging these stockings.”

“Oh, she’s jealous,” Wanda said with a smirk, her green eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Jealous?” Agatha snorted, though the corner of her lips twitched upwards. “Sweetheart, I don’t get jealous. I’m far too mature for that.”

“Mhm, sure,” you teased, releasing Wanda to grab the stockings from the nearby box. “Where would you like these, oh wise and mature one?”

Agatha swatted lightly at your arm with a dish towel, a grin breaking through her mock-annoyance. Moments like this felt like the glue holding your unconventional little family together. You weren’t just partners; you were a team, a well-practiced trio learning to navigate life’s small joys and challenges together.

After breakfast, you all fell into the easy flow of your holiday routine. Agatha tended to the garden, humming under her breath as she hung string lights along the hedges with an almost magical touch. Wanda worked on a cross-stitch pattern by the bay window, occasionally pausing to sip her tea and admire Agatha through the glass. You found yourself on the porch swing, a book in your lap, basking in the quiet contentment of the moment.

When the door creaked open and Wanda stepped outside, you scooted over to make room. She sank down beside you, her hand immediately finding yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin, “it’s days like these that remind me why we chose this place.”

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” you replied, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“It is,” she agreed, then added with a playful glint in her eyes, “Though I think Agatha secretly misses the chaos sometimes. She’d never admit it.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Agatha called from the garden, waving a strand of lights in mock indignation. “And I don’t miss it. I just have… a healthy appreciation for the dramatic, that’s all.”

Both you and Wanda burst out laughing, your voices mingling in the crisp winter air. Agatha’s theatrical flair was just another thing you adored about her.

The afternoon was spent in the kitchen, where Wanda and Agatha engaged in an impromptu gingerbread house competition. Flour and icing dusted every surface, including your nose, as you acted as the impartial judge. Wanda’s house was perfectly constructed and decorated with precision, while Agatha’s had a rustic charm that matched her personality.

“So, who’s the winner?” Wanda asked, leaning against the counter with a confident smirk.

“Obviously me,” Agatha declared, before you could even open your mouth. “Look at this masterpiece!” She gestured to her slightly crooked but undeniably creative structure.

You pretended to deliberate, taking another bite of a gingerbread cookie. “Hmm, I think the real winner here is me,” you said, grinning. “I get to eat all of this.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was impossible to miss. Agatha crossed her arms, her expression mock-serious. “Fine, we’ll call it a tie. But only because I’m feeling generous.”

As the day faded into evening, the three of you found yourselves on the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket. Wanda rested her head on your shoulder, her fingers intertwined with yours, while Agatha leaned against the armrest, her feet propped up in your lap. The warm glow of the Christmas tree lights bathed the room in a soft ambiance. A holiday movie played on the television, though none of you were paying much attention. It was enough just to be there together, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

“I don’t say it often,” Agatha began, her voice softer than usual, “but I’m glad we found this. Found each other.”

Wanda lifted her head, her eyes meeting Agatha’s across the dimly lit room. “Me too,” she said, her voice filled with quiet sincerity.

You squeezed Wanda’s hand, your heart full. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

Agatha’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Well, lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

The following morning brought the first real snowstorm of the season. Heavy flakes drifted down in a soft, steady rhythm, blanketing the town in a pristine layer of white. You stood by the window, sipping your coffee and marveling at the peaceful scene outside.

“It’s perfect,” Wanda said, joining you with her own mug. She leaned her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck.

“Perfect for staying inside,” you said, glancing over at Agatha, who was layering up in an impressive number of scarves. “Where are you off to?”

“I promised Mrs. Abernathy I’d help her fix her lights,” Agatha replied, rolling her eyes as if to downplay the act of kindness. “The poor woman’s been wrestling with that inflatable Santa for days.”

Wanda grinned. “You’re such a softie, Agatha.”

“Oh, hush,” Agatha said, though the faint blush on her cheeks was unmistakable. She grabbed her coat and a tin of cookies you’d baked together the day before. “Don’t wait up for me.”

As the door shut behind her, Wanda pulled you toward the couch. “Looks like it’s just us. What should we do?”

You smirked, setting your mug down. “I have a few ideas.”

By the time Agatha returned, the house was filled with the warm aroma of mulled wine and the sound of soft holiday music. She stomped the snow off her boots in the entryway, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

“Smells good in here,” she said, shrugging off her coat. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Wanda replied, handing her a glass of wine. “Just a very competitive game of Scrabble.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And who won?”

You and Wanda exchanged a look. “It’s… still up for debate,” you said, earning a laugh from Agatha.

The rest of the evening was spent decorating the tree. Ornaments from past years were unpacked, each one sparking a story or memory that filled the room with laughter. Wanda carefully placed a delicate glass star at the top, her powers steadying it in place. Agatha stood back, her arms crossed, surveying the final result.

“Not bad,” she said, feigning indifference. “Could use more glitter, though.”

“You and glitter,” Wanda teased, nudging her playfully.

“It’s an art form,” Agatha shot back, winking at you.

As the night wore on, the three of you curled up on the couch once more, watching the snow fall outside. Agatha’s hand rested lightly on your knee, Wanda’s fingers intertwined with yours. It was moments like this that made everything else fade away. The world outside could wait. For now, this was all that mattered.

The next morning brought with it a plan for a holiday craft day, an idea Agatha had proposed with surprising enthusiasm. The dining table was soon covered in ribbons, glue sticks, construction paper, and an assortment of tiny baubles. Wanda’s precision was unmatched as she folded intricate origami stars, while Agatha opted for a more “free-spirited” approach, resulting in a papier-mâché snowman that leaned heavily to one side.

“It’s avant-garde,” Agatha declared when you raised an eyebrow at her creation. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” you teased, gluing sequins onto a homemade card. “I understand you’ve created a snowman who looks like he’s had a little too much eggnog.”

Wanda giggled, her eyes sparkling as she added finishing touches to her own wreath. “It’s charming, Agatha. Very you.”

The day passed in a blur of glitter and laughter, the three of you fully embracing the silliness of it all. By the time evening rolled around, the house was a sparkling testament to your combined efforts, with handmade decorations adorning every available surface.

On Christmas Eve, you decided to exchange small, heartfelt gifts. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of spiced cider filled the room. Wanda handed you a neatly wrapped package first, her eyes filled with quiet anticipation. Inside was a hand-knitted scarf in deep, warm tones that matched your favorite coat perfectly.

“I’ve been working on it for weeks,” she admitted, her cheeks faintly pink. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely, pulling her into a hug. “It’s perfect.”

Agatha’s gift to you was less traditional but no less thoughtful: an enchanted charm that glowed faintly when you held it. “For protection,” she said casually, though her expression was unusually tender. “Not that you need it with us around, but it never hurts.”

“Thank you, Agatha,” you said, your voice soft as you met her gaze. “I’ll treasure it.”

The gifts you had for them were simple but heartfelt—a custom-made journal for Wanda to sketch her designs and record her thoughts, and a vintage cookbook for Agatha, complete with handwritten notes from you on which recipes to try first.

That night, as you all sat by the tree, the room glowing with warmth and love, Agatha pulled out an old record player and placed a vinyl on the turntable. The soft strains of a classic holiday tune filled the air, and she extended a hand to Wanda.

“Dance with me,” she said with a small smile, her tone teasing yet sincere.

Wanda hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand. They swayed together in the dim light, their movements easy and natural. After a while, Wanda reached out to you, pulling you into their circle. The three of you moved together, a quiet rhythm of love and connection weaving between you. It was in that moment, with the snow falling softly outside and the world reduced to the warmth of your shared embrace, that you felt truly, completely home.

Christmas morning arrived with a sense of magic in the air. The three of you woke to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the snow outside glistening like diamonds. Agatha was the first to get out of bed, claiming she had to "check on something," leaving you and Wanda to savor the cozy warmth of the blankets for a little longer.

When you finally made your way downstairs, you found Agatha in the kitchen, humming softly as she flipped pancakes shaped like stars and snowflakes. The dining table was already set, adorned with holly and candles, making the morning feel even more special.

“Pancakes for Christmas?” you asked, grinning as you leaned against the doorway.

“Pancakes and mimosas,” Agatha corrected, motioning to a tray of glasses filled with sparkling orange juice. “I figured we’d start the day right.”

Wanda appeared a moment later, her face lighting up at the sight of the spread. “It looks beautiful, Agatha.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Agatha quipped, though the pride in her eyes was clear. “This is a once-a-year kind of effort.”

The three of you settled at the table, sharing stories and laughter over breakfast. Agatha’s pancakes were surprisingly good, though she claimed it was her “innate culinary genius” rather than the cookbook you’d given her the night before.

After breakfast, it was time for the annual snowball fight—a tradition that had started your first winter in Westview. Bundled up in coats and scarves, you headed to the backyard, where the pristine snow was perfect for forming snowballs. Agatha, ever the strategist, immediately began building a snow fort, while Wanda used her powers to craft perfectly round snowballs with uncanny precision.

“You’re cheating!” Agatha called, dodging one of Wanda’s throws.

“It’s called being efficient,” Wanda replied, her laughter ringing out as she launched another snowball.

You joined in the fray, your sides aching from laughing as Agatha’s fort crumbled under the onslaught of Wanda’s precision and your sneak attacks. By the end of it, all three of you were breathless and covered in snow, collapsing onto the ground in a heap of giggles.

As the sun began to set, you returned inside to warm up by the fire. Hot cocoa was passed around, topped with marshmallows and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Agatha leaned back against the couch, her eyes half-closed as she sipped her drink.

“This,” she said softly, “is what it’s all about. Days like this.”

Wanda nodded, her hand finding yours. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the life you’d built together. The holidays weren’t about grand gestures or elaborate celebrations—they were about moments like these, filled with love, laughter, and the warmth of family.

[detritusanddross]

The reframing of this moment post finale has still got me in a chokehold.

When we first saw Rio’s reaction in this scene, the resulting meta was glorious and on point; here is a woman who intimately knows the harm done to her former partner by her mother’s cruelty, who can see the instant destabilising effect of Evanora’s words on Agatha and knows it will take a lot of work to undo this most recent emotional harm.

All of this is still true.

But knowing now that Rio was also Nicky’s mother? And that she herself had stood at a crossroads to decide whether or not he would die the moment he left Agatha’s body?

The depth of it all kills me.

Taking the dead from this plane is not just Rio’s job, but the very reason for her existence. When Agatha was in labour, Rio knew Nicky’s time was up and that she had no choice but to do the job she was made for. She appeared before Agatha at the last possible moment, reluctance written in every line of her face and body. Despite not wanting to hurt Agatha—or to take the son they made together away before he could take his first breath—in all her eons I don’t think she had ever once considered the possibility of not doing her job. After all, the river flows in a single direction.

But it is Agatha’s nature to fight inevitability; to bargain and to beg. And Agatha, despite or because of her upbringing amongst such hatred, well, Agatha loves.

And Rio learned to love her back as she has no other being in the history of time. Rio bends the rules to her will like Agatha taught her. All rivers have eddies and she weaves a safe space out of her own love to give their son time.

Agatha is the first person Rio has ever loved and Nicky was quite possibly the first person she ever fought for. And in this scene, Evanora’s ghost is saying she should have destroyed both of them before Rio had a chance to know either? Had Evanora murdered Agatha when she was a baby, Rio would have unknowingly been forced to carry her only chance at happiness into the realms of the dead.

“I ought to have killed you the moment you left my body.” Death would spit at her feet but that would make her think she has power here.

One day that ghost will die and I smile at the thought of what Rio is going to do to her.

In that last gif: Rio’s averted gaze full of so much hurt and that little head shake—the way it looks as if she’s breathing down against the rising bile of what-ifs and maybes—yeah, this right here is what great stories are made of. Layers upon layers of history between characters that we are lucky enough to have a chance to expericence.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank @ngatwa and all the other gifmakers who allow us to continue exploring scenes like this after a show is over. Fandom owes gifmakers everything.

Mom? Why do you hate me still?

[5-puthyyy]

The Apprentice (Agatha x Rio x Reader) - Chapter 7

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary:

Life has been about survival for you ever since your coven banished you for the simplest thing: desire. Since then, you've travelled from Inn to Inn, making ends meet, until you sense a powerful Magick presence coming from two mysterious women. They take you in as their apprentice and you end up learning far more than what you came for...

CHAPTER WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT + STRAPON + CHOKING + SQUIRTING? + MAMA KINK

A/N -- this chapter is 7778 words of pure smut and filth, and this entire series is my ted talk on why p/w/plot is better xoxo

Ch.1 ~ Ch.2 ~ Ch.3 ~ Ch.4 ~ Ch.5 ~ Ch.6 ~ Ch.7

Before your lips even touch, Agatha’s throat lets the softest of sighs escape and you absolutely melt at the sound; melt into her lips, her body, her arms. The moment it happens, you realise how royally screwed you are because kissing Agatha is addictive. It’s narcotic, ridiculously hot, and invading in a way that makes you want to surrender every atom of yourself to her. So you do.

It’s soft at first, Agatha letting you take, test the waters, experiment however you’d like. You kiss her gently, brushing your lips against hers as you switch between her lower and upper lips trying to get a taste of everything you can. Her lip moves with yours, sucking every second or so to pull you in. It’s sensual the way you dance with each other, Agatha letting you in the instant your tongue experimentally swipes over her bottom lip.

You lost track of time getting lost in her this way, mouths in a slow dance, sucking on her tongue a few times after memorising the whiney moan it elicits from her throat. When you finally pull back with hooded eyes darkened with desire, you see it reflected in Agatha’s eyes too. It’s wet when you pull apart, a string connecting your lips together still. The thrill shining in Agatha’s eyes shines in yours when you realise how much this affected her too.

A throat clears to your side and your head snaps to the sound. “Excuse me?” Rio scoffs, feigning her anger. A ball forms in your throat as dread sinks down to your stomach. You forgot to ask. You didn’t ask at all, asking would have been ridiculous in your head. Who asks if they could kindly kiss a person’s partner?

“I–I’m so sorry, Gosh, I don’t–”

Rio interrupts your rambling with a chuckle, her gaze darkening from anger to…to lust. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t you know it’s rude not to share?” Rio teases with an easy smirk, poofing that fear in your stomach away. Agatha feels the relief in your body as she reaches a hand around your waist, her face slithering between your neck. But she doesn’t get a chance to kiss it yet because Rio’s snapping her fingers and you’re suddenly wrapped in a green rope and dragged off the chair.

“Oh, jealousy is not a good look on you, my love,” Agatha says through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated at you being taken from her. But you’re suddenly too occupied being in Rio’s space. You stumble to stability with a gasp, standing right in front of her with your knees pressed to hers.

Rio smirks up at you, her brown eyes filled with mischief. “Well?” she lifts a brow expectantly, glancing down to her lap. She’s sat on a smaller chair and there’s clearly no room for you to sit other than directly on her. 

But this time, you turn back to look at Agatha, just to make sure this is okay. Before she can nod her head, a rough hand grips your jaw and forces your face back harshly.

You gasp and Rio grins wickedly, all teeth. “Eyes on me.”

While Agatha is all soft and sensual, Rio is pure chaos, pulling you onto her lap with urgency not caring if you stumble a little. Your hands fall to her shoulders, gripping tightly for stability and Rio, the maniac, moans at your rough touch. She closes the gap, attacking your lips with her own. You gasp and she takes that opportunity to slip her tongue in, not asking for dominance but simply taking. 

She kisses you as if she owns you, doing what she wants to do with no questions asked, and she knows you like it. You’re sure Agatha knows you like it too by the needy whimpers you can’t help but let out. Rio’s hand roams and grips around your waist while the other leaves your jaw just to hold the back of your neck. It keeps you close to her, wrapped up in her, wanting to smell, taste, feel nothing but her. And Agatha.

At the realisation, you pull back quickly. “Wait, stop,” you call out, stumbling as you slip off her lap. They both watch you for a moment, observing as you open your mouth and close it, unsure of what you even want to say. What are we doing? What does this mean? Is this not wrong? “I’m confused,” is what you end up settling on.

Agatha sighs as she stands up. She gently guides you to take her place and you sit back, tense and anxious and filled with so much desire you can’t help but feel wrong when that’s what you’ve been told your entire life. Rio comes up behind you, her fingertips glazing over your shoulders before digging in gently. You moan instantly at the relief and she takes that as a sign to continue, using her fingers in ways you’ve never felt before to ease the tension out of your body.

“What are you confused about?” Agatha asks, settling in front of you. You try to move your legs up and press your knees to your chest just to give her space, but she holds onto your ankles. She places your legs over her lap, her fingers now doing the same as Rio but to the muscles in your calves.

“God,” you groan out at the feeling of both their hands on you. Rio lets you close your eyes a moment to relish it, but within seconds she snaps her fingers, forcing them back open. 

Rio’s finger traces your jawline for a moment before gripping, forcing your head down to meet Agatha’s intense gaze. “Agatha asked you a question, sweetheart.”

A stutter slips out of your lips for a moment before you collect yourself. But your collected words end up being rambles anyway. “I don’t understand what is happening. Do you not think I’m ruining your relationship? Why do you want me? Is this not…wrong?” you ask, your mind going back to the argument and Agatha yelling at you for not being able to control your desire. 

Agatha’s expression scrunches into something between frustration and sympathy, her hands stilling for a moment against your skin. She seems torn, unsure of what to say, or how to answer your questions. She hadn’t expected it, rather thought you’d give in the moment your lips touched. She nods her head towards Rio who begins massaging your shoulders again to ease your nerves.

“We were not upset with you because of your desires,” Agatha begins, carefully choosing her words, “We were…frustrated because you seemed to want her, more than you wanted us.”

Your brows pinch together in realisation. They were jealous. They’ve wanted you all this time and you were just too blind and insecure to see it. But instead of telling you in the moment, they decided to build your confidence up and make you see it for yourself, make you want it enough to push your insecurities away. A soft, grateful look passes in your eyes as Agatha looks at you with tenderness and hope in hers. Leaning down to tug at her hand, you give your permission for her to climb on top of you, her arms falling over your shoulders. Her gaze is hot, soft, filled with want, and a mischief similar to Rio’s. She leans down for a moment, her breath hot against your lips, but instead of kissing you she pulls back, leans up and meets Rio’s lips in a hot, rough, and messy kiss. 

You can only manage to watch them for a moment before your hips start grinding up seeking friction. A desperate whine escapes your lips, wanting the attention, wanting their lips on you, anywhere, everywhere.

Blue eyes come back into your vision once they break apart, and Agatha comes down to give you a wet kiss and you moan into her mouth as you taste Rio on her lips. It’s almost too much, you think, to have Agatha kissing you with passion and fire, while Rio’s lips have found their way to the side of your neck. But you realise it’s not too much, it’s simply your excitement. In fact, it’s not enough; you need more.

“More,” you pant as you pull back, your teeth biting Agatha’s bottom lip in a demanding manner, “Need more, please,” you moan, desire clouding your mind as Agatha’s roaming hands tugging on your night clothes drives you crazy.

Rio chuckles into your ear, her hand slithering to lightly press against your neck. You gasp into her touch, arching, nails digging into Agatha’s back as she kisses across your collarbone. They’ve both mastered that balance between tender and rough, keeping you on the edge waiting for you to beg for it. And you’re more than willing to do so.

“Please,” you breathe out.

Agatha groans in response, forcefully moving Rio’s hand from your throat just so she can roughly bite, suck, lick at your neck, successfully staking her claim. Rio smirks at Agatha’s possessiveness, deciding to retaliate by fisting your hair and tugging your head back; she leans down and kisses you aggressively, tongue forcing its way past your lips and claiming every inch of your mouth. It’s rough, messy, dirty, a clash of teeth, tongue, lips; you can’t control the moans leaving your throat and Rio happily swallows them down.

When Agatha decides to give your neck some mercy, she smirks down at her work. Your neck is painted in all shades of red, purple, blue; she trails her fingertips along the patterns, slithering her hand down until she reaches low on your stomach. You gasp into Rio’s kiss, your hand gripping Agatha’s waist, silently begging for her to touch you there, to cross over that line, to let you give in to your pleasures. But her hand stays right there, slipping under your shirt to lightly circle your skin.

A groan slips out your lips as you pull back from Rio for a moment. “Agatha,” you complain, as she slides her hand further up instead of down to where you need it most. Her wicked eyes tease as they look up at you but you look down with a pout, brows furrowed and eyes almost tear-filled. The desire is too much, overwhelming you with a need that can only be filled by them. It’s all too soft, too slow; you need more.

Agatha sees the primal hunger in your eyes, and paired with that pout she could never resist, Agatha gives in. “Bedroom.”

It’s a single command, not for you but for Rio who nods and lets go of your hair. She slides by the side of the chair as Agatha slips off of you, and Rio pulls you into her arms. You yelp at the quick movement, gripping onto her bicep as she lifts you with ease, manhandling you until your legs are wrapped around her waist, arms around her neck.

“Hold tight,” she teases, pecking your lips before you all disappear in a green smoke. Your hands stay gripping the back of her neck as you all reappear in their bedroom. 

“We could have walked,” you roll your eyes jokingly. Rio lifts a brow at the brattiness in your tone, clenching her jaw before slamming her lips to yours. Her teeth bite at your bottom lip hard enough for you to whimper and dig your nails into her neck. Unsurprisingly, she groans at the pain mixed with pleasure, gently laying you on the bed without breaking the kiss.

Grinding up against her like this feels heavenly, your thighs keeping her in place as hers rests between your legs. The pressure is perfect, hard and solid against your core letting you seek that friction. Rio pulls back from the kiss just to rip your thin nightshirt off. You gasp at the strength, instinctively wanting to cover your naked chest but Rio’s hands grip your wrists, pinning them to the side. She looks down at you with wide, hungry eyes, her gaze dark and possessive as she gives in to temptation by diving down and sucking a peaked nipple into her mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Rio, yes,” you hiss, moan, whimper at her relentless roughness, arching your chest into her mouth. Suddenly there’s a hot tongue against your other nipple that has you gasping, whining, and finally snapping your eyes open to look down. Agatha has taken your other breast, both of them now looking up at you with devastatingly beautiful eyes darkened by desire. The sight paired with the pressure between your legs is almost too much already.

The contrast of their touches – Rio rough and Agatha tender – has your mind spinning, hands coming down to press against both their heads. You’re unsure what you want more, which touch drives you crazier, but eventually you realise you don’t care at all; you just want them, in whatever form they’ll let you have them. Agatha kisses up your body to your lips, smiling against them as you moan immediately at the first touch of her mouth against yours.

“Eager?” she whispers as she pulls back, then in, and back, her soft, wet kisses driving you to insanity. You nod like a lust-driven maniac, slamming your lips to hers, falling into her as Rio replaces Agatha’s mouth with a hand to your other breast. Her tongue stays at your nipple, circling, flicking, pressing hard against it until you’re arching and writhing against her touch.

“Ugh, God, I need…” you stop yourself, suddenly shy, averting your gaze from Agatha’s knowing one. 

The blue-eyed witch tilts your head back to her with her finger. “What do you need from us, little dove?” she whispers, demanding your honesty. Not just with them, but with yourself. 

You gather up that last bit of courage. “I need you to touch me.”

Agatha chuckles, low and dark, her tongue swiping your bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth to coax another moan out of you. “We are touching you.”

Rio moans in agreement from her position, elaborating with a rough squeeze of your chest. But it’s not enough. The heat and fire between your legs need to be put out. They try to search for that friction from Rio’s thigh but it’s not enough, not now that you’ve tasted them, now that you’ve felt the pleasure you can get from their mouths, their hands, from those intense gazes. A flash of Rio’s head between your thighs takes over your mind for a moment, Agatha’s hips grinding against your stomach before climbing up to your face. The image has you squirming, writhing, the wetness now uncomfortable. 

“Please, I need you to take me,” you finally whine out and see the immediate effect on the women on top of you. Agatha’s breath hitches as Rio’s rough ministrations freeze for a split second. You take that as a sign and spill the rest out with ease, “Claim me, use me, fuck me.”

The tension in the room reaches its peak, silence following your desperately honest words. The pants Agatha’s letting out near your ear are warm, doing nothing to calm the heat between your squirming legs. There’s barely any movement at your chest, Rio’s mouth long gone as she looks up at you with a clenched jaw, clearly trying to control herself. But she can’t. 

A sound akin to an animal growling escapes Rio’s throat, croaky and dark, and she rests a hand by your hip to push herself up. Agatha doesn’t want to get in the way of a predator, so she slides off and instead settles behind you, watching over with a smirk as you gulp, wide-eyed and terrifyingly wanting more. Agatha’s hands hold yours back, keeping you locked in your place for Rio to do as she pleases.

“Is this what you wanted?” Rio’s tone is dripping with control, power, and hunger. Her eyes darker, the warm brown a deeper shade mixed with black, but still wide and as honest as ever. Something you’ve learnt about Rio is she never lies, never hides; it’s almost as if she doesn’t have the ability to do so because her eyes are so expressive. And right now, they’re screaming for you.

“Yes, please,” you whimper as she growls again, this time pairing it with eager hands tugging at your pants until nothing is left but your naked skin. It’s vulnerable, raw and you, and, again, part of you wishes to hide it all away but the way Rio’s eyes widen slightly, tongue peaking out to lick at her lower lip in hunger has your thighs opening up wider for her. It’s almost subconscious how your body reacts to her.

Agatha hums a soft, “Good girl,” behind you, nipping at your ear as she says so. Her hand creeps around to your chest, fingers pressing gently, experimentally, seeing what you like best.

A firm but warm touch on your inner thighs draws your attention back to Rio whose fingers are trailing higher and higher. You’re breathing faster by the second, practically a panting, waiting mess by the time Rio’s fingers finally slide through your folds. It’s a touch, a brush, really, but it still has you moaning, throwing your head back to rest against Agatha’s shoulder. The witch takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, happily marking whatever clear skin you have left.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Rio mutters almost mockingly, pouting up at you, “Have we been neglecting you that long?” she teases, “You’re soaked, baby,” she observes in awe before sliding through your slit again, gathering your wetness on her fingers. But before she gets a taste, she reaches up. Your mouth opens up instinctively and Rio grins wickedly at your obedience, but she passes by you and instead offers her glistening fingertips to Agatha.

The blue-eyed witch hums in appreciation, flicking her tongue out for a taste. The moan she lets out permanently imprints itself into your head; you’re seemingly addictive enough for her to wrap her lips around Rio’s fingers, eagerly sucking and licking every drop she can. The act itself is enough to have you whimpering and grinding your hips upwards, trying to bring Rio’s attention back to your aching, swollen cunt. That’s all it took, which doesn’t surprise you given the way she’s been looking at you.

“Fuck,” you groan, drawn out and guttural as Rio’s tongue suddenly invades your warm, swiping up your slit to your clit, circling it teasingly, “Please,” you easily beg, trying to pull your hands down to tug at her hair but Agatha’s hands come back to hold your wrists in place.

You can feel the smirk on Rio’s lips against your lower ones, but she doesn’t seem in a teasing mood after getting a taste. No, she looks like she’ll do anything to absolutely devour you and nothing will stand in her way. She circles around your clit once, twice, and then finally presses her tongue flat against it, giving you the perfect surface to roll your hips against.

The pleasure takes over and you grind your hips without a hint of shame, chasing your high. Her tongue is firm and warm against you; Agatha’s fingers suddenly flicking at your nipples only adds to your pleasure. They’re eerily silent as you use Rio’s tongue, wanting to memorise every sound that comes out of your mouth; a high-pitched moan as Agatha pinches your nipples curiously, a whimper as you grind fast enough for the tip of Rio’s tongue to probe at your entrance, a groan as Rio’s hands find their way to your ass to dig her fingers into.

Agatha’s shaky breath behind you makes you wonder if this is also too much for them, if they’re just as affected by you in all of this, if they’re struggling to come to terms with the fact that they can finally have you like this. Just as Rio’s tongue takes back control and slides right past your leaking walls, Agatha attaches her lips back to yours, eagerly swallowing your surprised moan, which only grows louder when you realise you can taste yourself on Agatha’s tongue.

“Look at you, my little dove,” Agatha whispers against your lips, her eyes lidded and voice so incredibly raspy it sends shivers down your arched spine, “Look at you,” she says again, this time breaking your gaze with a hand at your neck, forcing your face down to Rio’s eyes.

Your breath hitches at the intensity in them, the hunger and possessiveness as she looks up at you. When your eyes meet, she growls into your cunt, holding your legs further apart so she can dive her tongue in even deeper. It expertly slithers, twists and turns and curls with precision, as if Rio knows exactly how to drive you to insanity.

It won’t take much longer, you know it, they know it. But it definitely doesn’t matter because they will be nowhere near done with you after you reach your first climax. Rio’s tongue continues thrusting in and out, your wetness clearly coating her nose, her chin, your own thighs. This is what Agatha meant. Look at your mess. It’s beautiful.

You sigh deeply, body relaxing into Agatha’s as you throw your head back again, seeking her lips. She gives them to you with a soft, tender smile, letting you kiss her gently. It’s all surprisingly soft and intimate, the way you exchange quick pecks, your tongues coming out to shyly meet. The way Agatha’s hand strays, coming up to rest tenderly against your cheek. Before you know it, her other hand sneaks down your body and suddenly presses against your throbbing clit. You gasp into her, arching your back as you run up that cliff faster and faster. 

The tension in you coils, your hands finally coming down to grip Rio’s wild locks. Her eyes encourage it, flashing with approval and you tug and tug until she’s moaning between your throbbing walls, the vibrations sending a shiver through you. It doesn’t take a moment longer as Agatha’s fingers rub firmly, her teeth biting down hard into your neck with a growl, a silent statement screaming mine echoing in your head. With a final arch, you freeze, tense and overcome with pleasure. It rushes through you, Rio’s tongue and Agatha’s fingertips not stopping for a single moment to allow you to breathe. A strangled cry escapes as you finally fall off that cliff and all you hear is white noise, all you see is darkness as your eyes shut tight, and all you can feel is them. All over you, all inside you, taking over who you are until they are all you know.

When Rio’s tongue finally slides out, you sigh a strange sound of both happiness and disappointment. You wish for her to stay but you’re also so content with them this way, still in disbelief of what just happened. You wish for it to never end, you think, smiling softly as you lazily blink up at the ceiling.

Agatha hums behind you, laying a soft kiss just below your ear. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” she husks, genuinely checking in, but there’s a hint of impatience beneath the surface as if she’s struggling to wait her turn.

“Amazing,” you sigh, twisting your head around to feel Agatha’s addictive lips against yours again. 

Getting lost in the kiss, you twist around until you’re lying on top of her, deepening the kiss with a passion that wraps around your insides. Agatha kisses you like it’s all she’s ever wanted, but with such tender restraint too. Gentle fingertips trace your jaw, tuck your loose hair behind your ears, and wrap around the back of your neck to keep you close and secure. 

Feeling braver and braver by the second, you risk a wandering hand down the beautiful curve of Agatha’s hip, wrapping around to pull her closer to you. Adjusting yourself, you press a thigh between her legs and she instantly breaks away to gasp; a similar sound escapes your own throat at the heat and wetness you can feel against your skin, even through her nightdress.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper against her lips, unable to resist the urge to kiss them again, and again, until Agatha whines into your mouth, tongue swirling against yours in a beautifully tender dance.

A chuckle from behind interrupts your kiss. “Oh, did you think I was done with you?” Rio rasps, asserting her dominance with a slap to your behind, soothing the wound with a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, God,” you moan at the pain, rolling your hips down against Agatha’s. You can feel Rio’s intense gaze as she watches for a moment, indulging the two of you as you seek pleasure with your grinding hips but find that it’s not enough. Before you can turn over to glimpse the brown-eyed witch, she’s settling in behind you, forcing you back down with a hand to your back. Your breasts press up against Agatha’s through her nightdress, the thin material doing nothing to hide how hard her nipples are.

Rio growls behind you and flicks her fingers, green tendrils coming out to magically remove Agatha’s clothing. A croaky groan echoes in the space as your naked body is finally flush with Agatha’s warmth, the wetness between her legs unmissable now. Rio’s strong hands move you and Agatha as they please, positioning the two of you until you’re straddling her waist.

A strangled, desperate moan suddenly comes from Agatha’s lips, her neck strained as she throws her head back. You frown, wanting to turn back and see what Rio’s doing but her hand remains strong against your back. Whining in frustration, you grind down, whimpering as your clit brushes against Agatha’s wet core. You’re sure you’ve absolutely soaked her trimmed curls by now but she pays no mind to you, completely wrapped up in the pleasure Rio is giving her. 

Then you hear it. A squelching sound as something thrusts in and out of Agatha’s tight heat. It’s as if Rio senses the moment you realise, chuckling low and dark, leaning down to leave teeth marks at the junction of your shoulder.

“She usually likes it when it hurts,” Rio murmurs into your ear, “Hence my wooden creation you saw that night,” she reveals, surprising you, but she continues before you can react, “But this one is leather…Agatha’s just getting it nice and wet for you.”

Agatha groans aloud at the words, her nails finding their way to your back as if you’re Rio atop of her, fucking a leather cock into her. Those nails dig into your shoulders painfully, causing you to hiss, but it quickly mixes with pleasure as Rio’s fingers slide into your slick entrance with unsurprising ease. 

Both you and Agatha moan filthily in unison, Rio groaning at the power she holds as she pistons her hips and fingers into the two of you with precision. There’s barely a moment to breathe, the overstimulation getting to you already. Agatha’s hard nipples brushing against yours, her intoxicating moans and hot breath directly in your ear, Rio’s fingers curling to perfectly brush against the spot inside your walls to drive you to insanity, the way every thrust has your clit rubbing against Agatha’s.

You’re just a few thrusts away from reaching another climax but before you can, Rio’s fingers suddenly disappear. Whining at the loss and pushing your hips back does nothing to temp Rio; she remains firm as she tuts at you, swiping her wet fingers along your skin.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles again, “So greedy,” she punctuates with a bite to your shoulder again, her eyes gleaming as they meet Agatha’s over your shoulder, “You don’t get to come again, not until Mama does.”

Primal desire takes over you at the phrase, your eyes wide and wanting as they meet Agatha’s as hers flutter open. It’s soft and tender, but also dominant and powerful, especially as her hand creeps up behind your back to pull you down into a rough kiss. All you want to do is make her feel good, you realise, rolling your hips now not to seek your pleasure but to push Agatha over the edge.

“Oh, just like that, little dove,” Agatha whimpers into your lips, sighing deep and low, pressing her forehead to yours, “You’re doing so good,” her nose brushes against yours as you lean down to kiss her quickly. Just a peck, you tell yourself but groan as you push into her again, sliding your tongue across her bottom lip until she lets you in. She hums, playing with your hair, tugging and twisting, gasping and moaning as Rio thrusts harder, faster, angling her hips to push deeper.

“She’s close,” Rio says. You can practically hear the smirk on her lips as she casually swipes her thumb through your slit just to see you jump in pleasure, “Careful, don’t come before Mama,” Rio warns again, this time pushing her thumb in, pressing inside as if she knows exactly what buttons to push. Agatha’s mouth drowns your moans, her tongue curling inside your mouth to taste all of you. Rio doesn’t stop her thrusting, replacing her thumb with two fingers and a third within a minute, filling you until you’re gasping and writhing on top of Agatha.

But you remember Rio’s words, and see how close Agatha is. Her kisses are sloppier, messy and wet, her moans now high-pitched as they escape from those bruised, pouty lips. She sounds just like she did that night, you realise, and the reality of the situation sinks in, sending a thrill through you. Determined to get her to make those sounds and reach her climax, you sit up slightly, the angle putting more pressure against her clit. She groans, her hands sliding to tightly grip your waist.

You moan seductively on top of her, grinding your hips bouncing against her clit and on Rio’s fingers as your own hands wander, tracing meaningless patterns across her stomach. It’s your next action of curiously flicking and pinching her sensitive nipples, paired with your words that send her brutally over the edge. “Wanna make you feel good, Mama,” you whine, throwing your head back as you seek your own pleasure. The grind feels too good. With your slick mixed with Agatha’s, there’s barely any friction but she looks so good, sounds so unbelievably filthy; you could have come just by looking at her unravelling as she does now.

Her body arches beautifully, and you swear if she were a sculpture frozen in time you would believe in no other religion but her. The veins across her neck and on the side of her temple throb as she tenses. You can hear the wet sounds of Rio’s hips refusing to stop her fast pace, thrusting into Agatha’s throbbing hole. The squelching is louder, as if Agatha’s tightening as she comes, and you can’t help but wish it were around your fingers. You wish to feel her, taste her, know it were you that pushed her over the edge. But she finally flutters her eyes back open and they let you know that it was you.

That’s enough for you to shudder, bouncing up and down as you arch your back. Rio’s fingers remain trapped between you and Agatha’s bodies as you use her hand to reach your own climax. It only takes another few seconds before you’re panting and moaning obscenely, grinding against Agatha’s clit to prolong her pleasure. Rio eventually forces your hips to slow, giving you a reassuring kiss on your back as she gently guides you off to lay on the bed by Agatha’s side.

You lay on your stomach, sighing deeply, smiling contentedly as Agatha softly brushes your hair out of your eyes. She grins at you, leaning over to leave a lingering kiss across your temple.

They let you rest for a moment, your eyes fluttering shut in peace, but then you hear a ragged breath followed by a wet sound and have to open your eyes in curiosity. Agatha’s now sat up, back resting against the headboard with Rio on her lap. She’s still wearing the leather cock which you finally get a glimpse of; it’s black, glistening in the candlelight and still somehow dripping with Agatha’s slick. 

The movement beneath it catches your attention and you inhale sharply when you realise Agatha’s hand has slipped beneath the straps holding it in place. She’s rubbing at Rio expertly, her years of experience mapping out Rio’s body making it easy for her to know exactly what the brown-eyed witch needs. Their eyes are locked together in a deep, intense intimacy that has you breathing heavily, a simple observer to the love they hold for each other.

But then you remember what they said that night you saw them in their bedroom. How badly they wanted you, and it seems as if now you’re looking in at a private moment between them, a silent conversation of ‘Finally. Doesn’t it feel amazing? To finally have her?’ It takes less than a minute for Rio’s panting to turn into grunts and guttural moans, her limbs freezing as Agatha’s arm moves faster, the pads of her fingers rubbing circles to push Rio over the edge.

By the time her eyes flutter back open, a soothing satisfaction in them, your legs are pressed against each other in desperate want. You hadn’t realised you’ve been practically humping the bed until their heads turn to you with matching smirks.

“Turn over,” Rio commands and you follow with quick ease, your eyes drawn back down to the intimidating leather piece hanging between her legs. It’s thick, long enough to reach deeper than anyone, any woman’s fingers from your past.

Once you’re on your back, Rio steps off the bed and stands at the foot of it. She grips your ankles and pulls you towards her with ease, smirking in amusement as you squeal and giggle. 

“Oh, this is funny, huh?” she says playfully, spanking the inside of your thigh to earn another squeal, “Are you going to behave for me?” the glare on her face has a layer of intimacy and adoration beneath it, and you cannot miss it, not with her expressive eyes shining brightly at you.

A wide grin spreads across your lips and you bite your lower lip seductively, urging her in. Your legs spread for her, the wetness and slick coating your thighs all over. Rio can barely control herself, clenching her jaw as her hands ball into fists. She wants to tease you, to draw this out, but you’re so inviting, so wet for her, and you’re here, wanting this, and she can finally have you after waiting so long.

“I can’t–I, uh,” Rio stutters for a moment, gulping as her eyes flicker from the mess between your legs to your marked chest and neck, and then your eyes, wild and wide and so free compared to how they were when she first saw you. She did this; they did this. A sense of pride swells in her chest.

You’re shocked seeing her so uncomposed for the first time, so much so that you close your legs and sit up slowly, urging her to come towards you. She does after hesitating for a moment, and she’s suddenly descending to her knees to meet your eyes. Your hand slides up her neck, thumb circling over her jaw as your eyes flicker with affection. Pulling her in, she sighs immediately into the kiss, letting you show her that you want her. It’s soft until it deepens, Rio growling with newfound hunger to devour.

She stands and shoves you back on the bed, tugging your legs again until the leather cock presses against your wet slit. A strangled cry croaks out of you at the simple touch, a warning of what is to come. It’s far more intimidating when you feel it, the head probing at your entrance as it soaks itself in your glistening heat.

“Wait, wait,” you begin to panic, pushing against her chest lightly, “You’re big, I–I don’t know–”

Rio shuts you down with a laugh, leaning down to kiss you reassuringly. “You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can,” she says simply, pressing the head against your entrance again. You moan as you leak around it, “And Mama’s right here to distract you from the pain.”

Your head snaps to the side, remembering Agatha who’s now crawling over to you after catching her breath. Agatha was content watching the two of you, but Rio involving her certainly is a plus for her. She lays by your side, playing with your hair with a reassuring look in her eyes.

“You can take her, little dove,” she whispers, kissing down your jaw to your neck.

Rio uses the opportunity to push the head past your entrance. You immediately hiss at the stretch, arching your back at the invasion but Agatha’s there to soothe the pain with a gentle kiss to your lips, swallowing your sounds. Her hand comes up to grip your chest, squeezing to give you a mix of pleasure, while Rio’s fingertips rub tight circles over your clit.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, please,” you cry out, not sure if you’re begging for her to have mercy on you or push in deeper. But the mix of pleasure quickly takes over, leaving you panting, the stretch now maddening.

Rio pushes in deeper as your eyes lock, a darker look in yours now as the pleasure takes over. “Agatha,” Rio calls out, her lips parted as she stares at you. The blue-eyed witch turns her gaze back to you, her breath hitching at the change in your expression.

“More,” you pant out, demanding it, needing it, craving it. Rio slowly pushes in deeper, panting with you as if she can feel how tight you are against her. You groan deeply at the invasion, at how full you feel and then the realisation that she’s nowhere near done, “God, I need more.”

“I’ll give you everything,” Rio promises, whining as she thrusts deeper, her eyes locked to yours in a hypnotic gaze.

Agatha’s kisses trail down from your neck to your chest, her tongue pressing firmly against your peaked bud; you arch into her mouth with a gasp, your hand coming up to press against her head as your fingers tighten in her wild curls. Agatha’s hand slithers down and slaps Rio’s away, replacing Rio’s fingers with her own. Tight circles around your clit to tease you until you’re writhing, only giving in when you let out that obscene whine that is beginning to become her favourite sound.

Agatha gathers some of your wetness before bringing her fingers back up, brushing them against your lower lips. You open up obediently, breaking your gaze with Rio to look into those darkened blues as you suck Agatha’s fingers into your mouth. You twirl your tongue expertly around them, licking every inch of your slick off of them. Agatha pants at the feeling, suddenly pushing her two fingers deeper until you unexpectedly gag. She smirks at the sound, pulling out to slide them back down for another round but you hold her wrist in place.

“No,” you protest, shaking your head, gasping as Rio thrusts deeper, a reminder of the pleasure waiting for you.

Agatha tilts her head at the slight sign of disobedience. “No?”

“N–” you groan at another push of Rio’s hips, deeper, stretching you more than you’ve ever been stretched before, “No, please, I–I want to taste you.”

Rio pants softly as a silence falls between you and Agatha, the latter’s eyes switching to something territorial, primal, and wicked. Agatha leans forward and you ready yourself for a kiss, but instead her hand rests against the sides of your neck and squeezes until you’re gasping, and she sucks those sounds in as if taking your power. Within seconds, Agatha climbed on top of you, now grinding high up your stomach. She’s leaving her slick behind on your skin, groaning at the pressure against her clit.

“My love,” Rio calls out between her groans, Agatha looking over her shoulder sensually to meet her partner’s eyes, “Face me,” Rio commands, sending a shiver down Agatha’s spine. The blue-eyed beauty gracefully turns over, sliding up slowly until her dripping lips are just over your face. The heady scent immediately makes your head spin with pure hunger, tongue already coming up to try to catch a taste but Agatha pulls up teasingly. Her eyes are locked to Rio’s as she does so, and the brown-eyed witch is fuelled by the action, thrusting her hips forward fast until she’s completely buried deep inside you.

“Fuck, Rio,” you moan her name out, the sound immodest at best. Agatha shuts your moans out quickly by dropping down, finally giving you what you want. The vibrations of your pleasure go straight to her clit and she reaches down to stabilise herself with strong hands to your chest.

“Y/N, darling, yes,” Agatha moans deliciously, rolling her hips against your firm, eager tongue. 

Rio groans at the sight, pulling back just to slam back in, suddenly starting up a rhythm. Your moans get louder by the second, thighs already shaking from the stretch and brutal pace as your walls cling to her cock. She keeps you in place with a strong hold on your hips, pressing down which somehow makes it feel as if she’s thrusting even deeper inside you.

“Let her use you,” Rio pants, and through your narcotic haze of everything Agatha, you realise she’s talking to you, “Until she gets close, and then take control again. She likes to be teased,” Rio guides you through it and you think this is probably the best lesson you’ve ever had with them.

You do as told, keeping your tongue firm for her to grind against, the mix of sweet, salty, and something distinctly Agatha coating your tongue. You swallow eagerly, refusing to let a drop of her sweet nectar go to waste.

“Good, so good, little dove, my good girl,” Agatha pants above you, already losing control as she squeezes your chest in her hands, only adding to your pleasure. Rio pulls your thighs apart, pushing them back as she puts a knee on the bed. You immediately whine at the change of angle, your mind too foggy to think any coherent thought but Agatha and Rio, but you feel it in your stomach, poking, prodding, finding that spot that will push you over the edge over and over again.

Agatha’s thighs tighten around your head and you immediately slide your tongue into her hole for the first time, pleased with the reaction of a drawn-out gasp that catches in her throat. Rio lets out a gasp of her own as she thrusts down into you harder, deep inside to start grinding her hips seeking that pressure of the toy against her clit. Agatha bounces on your tongue, her claws coming out to play as she leaves red streaks on your stomach. You’re not sure where you haven’t been marked yet; if you didn’t think they were possessive after their reaction to the Innkeeper’s daughter, you definitely know it to be a fact now.

“You’re still so tight, baby,” Rio groans, eyes locked to your cunt, “Taking me so well, so pretty, so wet, fuck, tell me it’s for me.”

The sound is muffled by Agatha’s cunt covering your mouth, so she answers for you, gasping as you curl your tongue inside her. “It’s for you,” Agatha pants, Rio’s eyes snapping up to meet hers, “For us,” she says again, desperately clawing her hands forward until they pull at Rio’s hair, tugging so hard the brown-eyed witch moans lewdly at the show of power.

“For you,” Rio pants back, “Us,” she moans, brushing her nose against Agatha’s as she thrusts harder and harder, deeper and deeper until she hits that spongy spot inside you that has you seeing stars, and she stays there as you scream into Agatha’s wet lips, tongue pulling just for her to grind her clit against again, “She’s ours.”

It all snapped for you at the same moment. Rio’s words and her thrusting up against that spot inside you sends sparks through you, her thumb coming down to rub quick circles over your clit despite the fact that she’s grinding her own hips down to chase her own high. Agatha and Rio are locked in a kiss as they come with you, Agatha’s movements slippery and manic, desperate and raw. Your entire face must be covered in her slick by now. You’re writhing under them both, clawing at whatever your hands find, hips twisting as the pleasure becomes too much, but Rio doesn’t stop. Her thrusts only curl deeper, her thumb circles faster until you’re falling again, this time able to breathe in a gasp as Agatha sits up.

“That’s it, that’s our good girl,” Agatha pants out, still catching her breath after coming down from her climax. Her hand creeps around your neck, pulling your head up so you can see the maddening look in Rio’s eyes, “Look at what you do to her,” she whispers to you as you both watch Rio’s wide, almost black eyes fixated on your red, swollen cunt. The vulgar sounds of your hips meeting, of your cunt meeting her cock has you whimpering, and it seems your sounds of pleasure fuels her even more. She thrusts harder and faster, fingers bruising your hips, and the pressure builds impossibly fast, “Let go, little dove, you can fly now,” Agatha whispers again, holding onto you tight as you fall.

Your thighs immediately start shaking as the dam breaks. An orange glow emits from you, your Magick coming out uncontrollably. It heightens everything, all your pleasures, Agatha and Rio’s eyes turning orange too, influenced by your power. They gasp as Magick connects all of you together, as if they can feel it as you build and build, finally gushing out against Rio’s cock. The pressure is too much for her to keep thrusting. She has to pull out, her gaze burned into your skin as she looks down, mesmerised at the wetness flowing out of you. She pulls back in again, and out, in, and out, watching in awe until you collapse with a raw moan coming from the deepest depths of your soul.

Your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion, and the last thing you feel is Agatha and Rio all around you, pulling you into a deep embrace.

masterlist + guidelines

VOTE RN IS P*RN W/ PLOT BETTER YES OR NO

[saphiccarma]

- Sweet Thing Pt.2

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - For the first time in months, Agatha and Rio take you off the ship and into the human world. Of course, you had to go and ruin it once you were given a chance.

Warnings: Overall a little bit of dark themes, but its not obvious.

A/N: Y'all could prob guess this already, but this story is going to be kinda dark. Stuff like stockholm syndrome. Just letting y'all know. Reblogs and comments make me happy :>

Weeks had gone by, maybe even months. You weren't sure how long they held you there. The pain was never any less, you still longed to be home and with your family again. To feel the cool flush of sea water against your skin. Not once had they even let you get close to the water, no matter how much you begged and pleaded. It made your heart ache and tears swell in your eyes whenever they brought you out onto the deck.

It felt like they were taunting you. The wind would blast in your face and for once, you would get a taste of what it would be like to be free. If you were close enough to land then you would be able to see the birds as they dived for fish. Whales would surface every now and then and you wondered if they were the ones you knew.

Little by little, you began to understand the ship more. The people on it. They were a bundle of dangerous and sweet, all mixed together and thrown onto the boat. You weren't sure how you felt about being around them. It's not like you had a choice.

Alice was one of your favorites. Her brown eyes were dark, a deep color that resembled the chocolate she gave you once. Most times she kept her hair pure black with red stripes at the front, pinned halfway up, letting some dangle around her neck. The few times you saw it down completely, showed you how wavy it could be, flowing like the waves in the ocean. Alice usually stood in the back of the group, silent and watching, but she made sure to smile in your direction or give you a simple nod.

Lillia was probably the oldest on the ship - skin wrinkled and slightly tanned from being out in the sun so much. She took care of most of the cooking, skilled hands making some delicious, yet odd, food. Her hair was an interesting mix of white and various shades of gray, with hazel eyes that were always so comforting. Her voice soothed you when you panicked once, neither Agatha nor Rio around, and your breathing uncontrollable. Like the whale songs that you heard under the sea, Lillia had a way of calming you down.

Your relationship with Jen was odd. She was gorgeous, skin smooth as a turtle's shell and beauty similar to the corals that blossomed near your home. You hated how much she scrutinized you, eyes scanning you up and down with a weird sort of disgust. Despite that, there were times where she felt familiar. She would dab at your face with a wet cloth, cleaning off the blood from where Agatha punched you. In the end, you decided that you liked her enough.

Billy was your favorite. He lets you braid his fluffy black hair into tiny little braids that stuck out, reminding you of your sisters. One of your favorite things was that he brought you entertainment whenever you spent time locked in your room after 'bad behavior'. (That mostly included being snarky or trying to jump off). Once, he brought cards, little pieces of paper cut down into squares with shapes and symbols colored red and black, and he showed you how to play games with them. Billy was there for you, bringing a source of comfort when you missed the one you truly wanted.

Then there was Agatha and Rio-

Rio whose’ s nails dug into your cheek. Rio who twisted it and squeezed until your mouth was opened. Rio whose eyes were dark brown, calculating and observing every movement you made,

"Are you paying attention?" A red flush crept onto your cheeks as you glared at her, shifting on your knees. You had been sitting on the floor for forever, the wood digging into your skin every time you shifted the slightest, but Rio never let you up.

Her boot was wedged between your legs, keeping them spread apart as she examined you. Lately, Rio had taken a particular interest in studying your anatomy - which you learned was quite different from human anatomy. Her fingers pressed down on your tongue until spit pooled on her fingers, coating them in the wet liquid. Even as you flinched back from when she pressed down hard, Rio didn't let up until there was a pool of saliva. Shivering once she finally withdrew, still holding your mouth open with her other hand, Rio snagged a bottle from the desk next to her. She placed it under your chin then tilted your head down until your spit was dribbling into the cup.

Rio shifted her boot up, the hard tip pressing tight against the sensitive spot between your thighs. A small huff of air escaped your nose as you glared at her. All you got in response to your sound of annoyance was a teasing smirk and a raised eyebrow.

As of late, Rio had been taking you to her 'study area' as she called it. It was a room near the back of the ship, secluded from everyone else and all other places. The only thing audible from there was the soft sound of the ocean moving and rocking the ship. The constant movement of back and forth was one of the few things you liked, the movement lulling you to sleep when it evaded you during many nights. Stacks of books inside the shelves lined the walls, a few odd trinkets shoved between them. A desk was pressed in between two of the shelves, a chair sitting behind it. Otherwise, the room was empty.

You hated being back here, alone with Rio, where there was no one who knew what was going on. The thought sent shivers down your spine and made you twist uncomfortably when you were ack here with her. Sometimes Agatha would join the two of you. That did nothing to make you feel better.

On queue, the door was opened, a bit louder than Agatha would have. And based on Rio's glare, it wasn't the blue-eyed woman. Rio sighed, annoyed, and removed the bottle and her hand from your skin. She set the bottle, filled with your saliva, onto the desk behind her.

"Billy," her words were cool, her boot slowly dragged out, but not before shoving it up one last time, "What do you want?" You were forced to suppress a whimper at her harsh movement, biting down on your lip and giving her wide eyes.  

There was a little spluttering from behind you, "I-uhm- Agatha sent me to grab you. We're docking soon."

That made you perk up, your pointy ears alert for whatever Rio had to say next. She waved her hand at Billy dismissively and there was only a second before the door fell shut again. Rio grinned, the sight almost feral, but you knew it was normal, and she bent down so that she was eye-level with you. There was a glint in her eyes you didn’t like.

"It's time to go on land, pet."

^__________^

Humans bustled about you, and it wasn't so different from the undersea markets that sold oysters and clams, pearls and coral necklaces. Your mother loved to take you there for your birthday, buy you anything you wanted. There were various wooden shops set up, people shouting into the street and waving their products around with excitement. Billy had given you a quick debrief on what the human markets were like so you wouldn't be completely surprised, but it didn't help with the shock that rolled through you.

Your fingers twitched nervously when someone knocked into your shoulder, not bothering to look back and say something. Agatha's grip on your arm made everything worse, her fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise later on. She never once let up, even when you tried to pull away because it was too much. It was all so loud compared to what you were used to. The ship was quiet, Jen and Agatha arguing being the loudest sounds there. In the sea, it wasn't exactly either loud or quiet, but you were used to that type of noise. The whales were singing and dolphins talking while fish swam around.

But this was different.

People yelled at one another, carrying large baskets around where they carried their goods - too focused on themselves. You stumbled over your own two feet more than once every time Agatha tugged harshly on your forearm. She had dressed you up in a pair of pants, loose ones that swished and made dirt fly with every step you took. A loose blouse was thrown over your head, the edges nearly dangling over your shoulders and you constantly had to push it back up. Rio threw a pair of sandals at you just before you left the boat.

Being near the port was the most comforting part of this experience. It smelled of fresh fish and the salt of the ocean was more prominent. For a moment, you were able to pretend you were back in the water. That bubble burst when Agatha told a hold of your arm and dragged you into the crowded streets.

Tall buildings, taller than the ones you had merely observed when you were still home, boxed you in from all sides. People stood atop those buildings, watering their plants or chatting with one another. Everything here was constantly moving. Not in the way the sea did though, the sea flowed with a practiced and familiar flow. People were odd.

Agatha stopped at a stall, and for the briefest of moments, her hand let go of you. Without thinking much, you took off, feet kicking up dirt with every frantic step. Running was still new to you, but with the hope of freedom you got the hang of it. You shoved through people. They gave you shouts of protest. Rio and Agatha were hot on your heels, you could tell. Once, one of their fingers ghosted along your blouse, tugging. Desperation helped you rip free. The near chance with capture again spurred you on more, picking up speed.

Taking a sudden right, you skidded and almost lost your balance. Agatha shouted behind you, her words a sharp warning. You knew you should listen, it would be smart, but home could be so, so close. You followed the sound of crashing waves and seagulls cawing. Wind whipped in your face, similar to the way currents would rush past you in the water. Oh, you could be there so soon. Your hair got into your eyes, and you brushed it away frantically, you had to be able to see right now.

The smell of salt became stronger the farther you ran. You were almost there. Birds crowed above you, almost cheering you on. The finish line was right there. You could see the ocean now, the crashing waves and the wet sand. Slapping against your skin, the sandals felt restricting but you had no time to take them off. You burst from the confines of the buildings that had walled you. Arms pumping and pushing yourself to run fast, you were almost there.

The ocean was right there. You could be home. Mother and Father would be waiting with your siblings, eager to welcome you back. Tears of joy pooled in your eyes at the thought. All you had to do was get deep enough to transform and then you were free.

A sudden weight on your back stopped you. You fell face first into the wet sand, the water lapping at your face - you were so close. A body was on top of yours, holding you down. A scream, one of pure desperation and frustration left your mouth as you thrashed.

"Calm down," Agatha's voice was the coldest you had ever heard her as she pushed your face into the sand. You twisted around, somehow managing to get on your back, and spat sand from your face. Your hands clawed at Agatha's shoulders, trying to shove her back, but she merely held firm. Agatha waited it out while you struggled and screamed, not caring for the eyes that began to stare. Tears streamed down your face, wet and mingling with the sand that clung to your skin. "Calm down." She repeated it, firmer this time.

Your breath was coming in ragged breaths as the fight left you. A broken sob came from your lips as your head fell back, eyes falling shut. The waves licked at your hair, the water a small comfort in this moment. It was cold. If you were just a little further in then you would be able to hear some of the sea creatures. Maybe the fish would circle your body, welcoming you home. But that wasn't happening. Instead, Agatha was hauling you up, her grip somehow even tighter than before. You cried in pain at how harshly she yanked you up. Agatha scoffed and rolled her eyes, but she did not apologize.  

"Never," Her face was right up against yours as she said the word, breath hot and eyes narrowed, "Do that again. Rio take her back to the ship." Agatha threw you at Rio, the other woman catching you with a small smirk. Her hands landed on your hips, smiling down at you as if you weren't crying.

"Aww don't cry," Rio's thumb wiped away your tears, and that was all you got before she was dragging you away. The fight returned to you for a moment, and you struggled, but Rio merely swept your feet out from under you and threw you over her shoulder. You gave a surprised yelp, her shoulder bones digging into you as she walked back towards the ship. Your fists pounded on her back, legs kicking as you tried to break free. Freedom was so close. It was so close.

Marching up the deck of the ship, Rio nodded to people passing. You felt like a child on her shoulders. Maybe they saw you as one. Rio kicked the door to below deck open, ducking so as to not hit her head on the frame and you had to pause in your struggle to do the same. She carried you down the hallway before reaching your room. Once again kicking the door in, she finally set you down. There was hardly a moment for you to recover from the harsh landing, being thrown onto the bed, before the door was being slammed shut.

You heard the telltale sound of the key locking it.

Scrambling up from the bed you pounded your fists on the door, "Rio please!" Your voice was strained due to the tears that ran down your face, "Let me out!" And you begged. And begged. And begged. Even after you knew she was long gone, you sunk down in front of the door. Your hands trembled and your breathing was shaky as you gasped, trying to get more air in. You screamed until your voice was raw and cracking with every word.

You were so close to home and now it was just gone.

Taglist: @vigilante24ish

[aboutcustardcreams]

So it's true, a Door appears

Hiii, I’m back from the dead! As I mentioned before, life’s gotten much busier than it used to be, and I’m truly sorry it’s taken me so long to wrap up this chapter. But I haven’t forgotten about this story, so no worries—there’s still more to come! Let me know which trails you’d like to explore from here. As I’ve said, I’ll be stepping away from the series’ main trajectory, so if you have any preferences: Agatha’s trial, reader’s journey, or anything else, you name it, and I’ll be here to shape it <3

Summary: The path through the Witches' Road begins, defying all odds.

previous chapter

“Uhm a little more to the left, no, no right–”  you instructed, your head tilting as you followed the festoon Teen was trying to hang above the chimney in your lounge room.

“Does it look centered?” He asked, glancing back at you.

You studied it for a moment, then nodded, “I s’pose.” as if drawn by instinct, your gaze shifted to Agatha, standing quietly behind you. Perhaps too quietly. “What do you say?” 

The witch did her best to stifle an eye roll at your question. Why you were indulging the kid was beyond her, in all honesty. You even set out a few snacks on the table, as if this was supposed to be some kind of party. She sighed, her tongue peeking out as she walked up to the festoon. “Let me see…” Agatha’s nerves weren’t about snacks or decorations, though. Time was running out. In a few hours, the sun would set, meaning that if Rio was right, the Salem Seven would pay her a visit. And not a courtesy one. 

Before either you or the boy could stop her, she made a swift, deliberate movement, tearing the paper off the wall with precision. “There. Much better,” she grinned, stepping back satisfied.  

The boy snorted, opening his mouth as if to protest, but quickly thought better of it. Arguing with someone like Agatha was a losing battle. You dropped your hands, with a weary sigh, offering the boy a sympathetic glance.  

Turning back to Agatha, you gave her a playful but exasperated look. “Did it bother you so much you couldn’t hold yourself?” 

She nodded, “it was giving me hives.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“You should’ve left it up.” You three turned at once and found Jennifer Kale roaming in the lounge room. “It made the environment look less… gloomy.” 

“Jennifer! You made it–” Teen’s face lit up. “Please, take a seat.” 

“He acts like he owns the house,” Agatha drew closer to you, her sweeping coat touching your legs as she did. 

You leaned into her, an amused twinkle flashed in your eyes. “Only a couple of hours ago, you were ready to give it away, so.” 

“Please–” She scoffed and pulled you closer by wrapping an arm around your middle. “You know, I didn’t mean it.” 

“Did you?” You asked sarcastically, fingers moving softly, tracing delicate, flowing patterns across her arm. 

She huffed, as she buried you deeper against her chest, “don’t push it, my love.”

“You’re bound, aren’t you?” It was Lilia to speak. 

Both you and Agatha looked between Jen and Lilia. 

It was clearly an awkward question to ask, and not much appreciated by the potion witch, who gave her a fake smile in return. “Woah, aren’t you clear-sighted?”

The older one nodded proudly, missing the sourness in Jen’s tone. “Lilia Calderu. Divination. Nice to meet you,” she bowed her head in a form of courtesy that wasn’t exactly reciprocated. 

“Jennifer Kale. Potions,” she began. The corners of her lips turned up, when she added, “by the way, you need a chemical peel.”

Agatha whistled, clearly enjoying it, “witches being witches, huh?” she mused, as fingers rubbing at your hips, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help the grin crossing your lips. “Well, at least one is easy to rile up,” you tumbled, referring to Jen. 

Agatha’s eyes drifted off to the open window to her left. The sun was setting. “It’s almost time…”

“Yeah,” you swallowed and tried to hide the slight worry manifesting in your eyes. 

“This is never going to work…” Alice commented, as she stepped in the living room at a careful pace, as if she was walking on eggshells. Or.. on a battlefield. 

You were surprised, and so was Agatha. Three witches joined the meeting! It was going better than you expected in all honesty. 

“Alice! You made it!” Teen exclaimed, his excitement pulling him forward. The younger witch tensed up when he opened his arms to hug her. It was brief and awkward. “Sorry, I-I got carried away. I’m just glad you all showed up.”

She stepped back, with a tight smile. “No worries,” she waved him off, then turned, looking at you and the others. “Hi everyone–”

You gave her a nod of your head and so did Agatha. Jen and Lilia introduced themselves, second. 

“How did you find the house?” Teen asked. “I didn’t give you any address.”

Alice shrugged with her hands tucked in the back pockets of her black jeans. “I’m an ex-cop, kid. I’ve got some experience up my sleeve.” 

It made sense, so he nodded. “Right. Cool.” 

You witches exchanged a glance, then. It struck you that, against all the odds, a Coven had been formed. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to entertain the fantasy that those witches could really become yours and Agatha’s sisters. A family, perhaps? No hate, no deception, no manipulation. Just pure, unbroken sisterhood. But the reality of the situation soon hit you, because you and Agatha gathered them with a purpose, to suck away part of their magic and allow Agatha to get back on top. It was very unlikely that they would have stuck around after figuring out the truth. 

“Well, the gang's here,” Agatha announced in thrill anticipation. “Let’s hit the Road, shall we?” 

“Wait, wait,” Jen interjected, with a frown. If an eyeroll could make a sound, Agatha’s would scream. “Where’s our Green Witch?” She inquired. 

You winced. Of course, that know-it-all witch would notice. 

Agatha scoffed, playing naive. “Oh, do we really need one of those?” 

“Of course we do,” Lilia pointed out, supporting Jen on this. 

How nice, they were already picking sides, you thought.

Alice remained silent, likely deep in thought. She was the skeptical one, though her reasons were different from Lilia’s and Jen’s. Part of her doubted the Witches’ Road even existed, dismissing it as nothing more than a myth—a clever con. By extension, she saw you and Agatha as little more than liars. And yet, curiosity had won out in the end. That’s why she was here. She had nothing to lose, only something to gain. 

“I assure you, we don’t, Lilia,” you moved from Agatha’s grip, much to her displeasure, and walked up to the other witches. “We can manage just fine.”

“The Ballad clearly says wake thy power, earthly and divine,” Agatha’s eyes clenched for a moment at Jen’s lofty tone. 

If you were to make a ranking, you’d put Jennifer on top, as the most irritating of the three. Alice was your favorite for now. 

“I’m willing to take over,” you said confidently. 

Lilia, Jennifer and even Alice faced you with their eyes squinted. Teen was the only one showing a bit of trust, apart from Agatha obviously. 

You sighed. “You’ll agree with me when I say that I am a kind of Green Witch, after all.” 

Jen licked the inside of her cheek. You could sense her question before she had time to spill it out. “From which perspective are you saying that, exactly?” 

Yes, she was definitely the most annoying of the three. 

 You stepped closer, trying to keep your frustration at bay. “Are you for real? I can create life.”

“You can reverse death, yes,” Jen corrected you. “There’s a difference.” 

You rolled your eyes, an amused scoff slipped from your lips. “No, there isn’t. And, with all due respect, what would you know about my skill?”  

“Everyone knows what a necromancer witch can and cannot do,” she argued stubbornly. 

“Ugh!” You groaned. The nerve. “Well, everyone’s knowledge is a bit sketchy, I dare to say. Nobody knows what I’m capable of better than myself.”

Jen puffed her cheek skeptically. “You can’t make anything from scratch, can you?” 

Your nostrils flared, then. What did she know about you? About the life you had painstakingly pieced together from nothing? The life that truly mattered—now gone. Agatha, Rio, and you had created something beautiful together: your son. But they couldn’t see that. They were blind, clueless in their ignorance.

Agatha’s sharp eyes caught the tension in your jaw. She walked up to you and touched your shoulder, in a both comforting and firm way. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, you dolt. Because she can. She did that once–” she began, her voice trembling a bit. Your brows furrowed as you faced her, eyes dimming in concern at the memories she was conjuring up. Those being the same as yours. 

The potion witch sighed. “I’m just saying that Earth magic is the most important skill set for an attempt at the Road, that’s all.”

“And I’m telling you I possess that,” you insisted. 

Agatha ignored Jen’s mumbling after that. “If you’re sure.” 

You nodded, searching for her eyes, “I am. You can trust me,” your voice came out gentler. 

It wasn’t hard to understand their skepticism toward you. Agatha wasn’t the only one carrying the weight of a reputation. Yours was there too, etched into you, much harder to explain. You had been marked by the deities of vengeance, after all. But the truth as to why that happened was known only by Agatha and Rio. 

“Her power is unlike any other. It doesn’t fit neatly into your categories of ‘earthly’ or ‘divine.’ It transcends both. So please—” Agatha intruded, “unless you truly understand what you're talking about, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself.”

No one dared to argue after that. 

You ran your tongue over your lips, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The surge of emotion rising within you was impossible to ignore—a potent mix of gratitude and something deeper, something more primal. Desire, perhaps. There was no denying it: Agatha was undeniably sexy when she acted all protective towards you. 

“Thanks, Aggies,” you whispered. 

Her eyes softened as she took in your features. 

“But, wait-” Teen tumbled out, brows furrowed, “I’m not saying she can’t take over but there was one more name on the list, wasn’t it?” 

You didn’t say whereas Agatha preceded you with a lie. “There really wasn’t.”

He didn’t buy it. His eyes darted from her to you, his expression begging for a more honest answer, but you kept quiet, unable to say that name. 

He glanced at Lilia, then. “What was the last name?” 

She pursed her lips, in thought. “Uhm.. I think it was Spanish or maybe Catalan, I’m not sure–” she began, as she gathered her thoughts. It was really on the tip of her tongue. “Rio, perhaps?”

You clenched your eyes, letting out a deep sigh through your nose. Teen’s smirk grew as recognition flashed across his face. The name said it all. He remembered it. Remembered her. No wonder you and Agatha had been so reluctant to include her in the trip. She wasn’t just anyone—she was the ex. And not just any ex, but the kind who, on top of everything else, wished you dead. Who in their right mind would willingly sign up for a journey with someone like that? 

“Ah– Rio, yes. She’s out of town,” Agatha hurried to say. 

Liar, Teen thought, but he kept it to himself. 

“She’d be more trouble than anything, honestly,” you explained, looking at each of them alternately. 

“She is telling the truth,” Teen replied. 

“Okay so everything is settled,” Agatha rubbed her hands, and swept her tongue over her lips. She was dying to feel her power flowing back in her body. “Teen, be a dear and be sure Señor Scratchy has enough lettuce. Sammy tends to eat it all.” 

You scoffed at that. “Again with this story? Stop assuming my turtle is a thief, Agatha.” 

“I’m not assuming,” she quipped. “I’m certain of it.” 

Teen gave you and Agatha an uncertain smile. “With all due respect, I don’t think it’s relevant that I do that. Shouldn't we get going?” 

“Teen, the Road is conjured,” you explained calmly, placing a hand over his shoulder. How cute and naive could he be? “We don’t physically go there by car, broom or something.”

“Oh,” he nodded, a tad flustered to have assumed it the wrong way. “Haven't thought of that.” 

Agatha’s head lolled to the side, her bottom lip popped out kinda mockingly. “Isn’t he the cutest pet we have ever had, love?”

You giggled. “Agatha, he isn’t our pet. Quit calling him that.” 

“Such a spoilsport you are,” she fake pouted, flapping at your arm playfully. Her eyes darted to the boy after. “Let us just do our thing, okay? We will call you once we’re done.” 

“Fine,” he muttered with a nod, before walking up the stairs. 

“So, just to be clear,” Alice interjected. “We can still walk the Witches’ Road without a Green Witch.”

You nodded, “correct.”

“We will summon one on the Road, if it’s really really necessary,” Agatha added, eager to get started. 

“‘kay, but you never said–”, Alice began. “What’s the rush?” 

You kinda preferred her when she was quiet and indifferent. 

Agatha was doing her best to maintain her composure. There wasn’t much else she could do, so for now, feigning cordiality was her only option. “Uhm.. well, you see-” Her voice was laced with that falsely sweet tone that made it hard for you to keep from laughing. She gestured toward you, and when her palm met the small of your back, you glanced at her with suspicion. What was she cooking up now? “Her parents are visiting and I really can’t be bothered with that, if you catch my drift.” 

What a low blow. Undoubtedly a good excuse, but still. 

“Fair enough,” Lilia commented. The others seemed convinced, too. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” you pointed out.  

She leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “You know, in extremis…”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and before you could say another word, you felt her lips—plump and soft—press gently against your cheek. The warmth of the touch silenced any objections that lingered on the tip of your tongue. Oh, she knew she had you wrapped around her little finger. 

“Come on now, let’s hit the Road!”  

*

“It cannot be–” you stuttered, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes were locked on the carved outline of a door embedded in the basement floor. It hadn’t been there before. You were certain of it, absolutely certain. So… how?

The others didn’t notice, too caught up in their heated argument to see what had just appeared. But it couldn’t be, could it? The Road wasn’t real. The Ballad was just a song, you, Agatha and your son made up once upon a time. So what was that? 

Agatha let out an exasperated growl. “I really don’t have time for this–” 

She didn’t even glance in your direction, oblivious to your fingertips brushing over the strange, impossible surface of the door. 

“Just blast me, you bitches!”

“Enough!” You snapped, finally catching everyone’s attention. Your magic vibrated like a sudden summer breeze, it swayed your hair and turned your eyes silver for a moment. Choked gasps slipped from the others, their gazes dropped over the floor, where now there was a door. The same door you’d thought couldn’t exist, let alone be summoned. 

Agatha was speechless, as she drew in a breath with wide eyes. 

“Are you seeing this too?” If this was another cruel trick played by the Furies, you weren’t sure your mind could withstand the torment again. “Tell me you are,” your voice came out almost as a plea. 

“Yes–” Alice breathed out. “We did it.”

“So it would seem,” Lilia chuckled nervously. 

Jen’s brow furrowed, eyes drifting to Agatha’s. “Why does she look so shocked?” 

When Agatha didn’t respond, you did, “It’s been a while, can you really blame her?” 

When she lowered herself beside you, her lips pressed into a tight line, a clear sign of her inner turmoil. Knowing her, she was probably spiraling into a quiet panic. Without hesitation, you reached out, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Hey,” you murmured softly, your voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Agatha gave you a faint nod of her head. “I’ll admit,” she began, her gaze drifting off to Jen. “I’m surprised you’re not the hopeless bunch of rejects I thought you were.”

“You’re the worst,” Jen groaned, in an accusatory tone. 

You sighed. “Will you cut it out? Help me–” You gritted your teeth as you gripped and tugged at the door’s handles, straining against its resistance. Jen shot Agatha one last glare, which Agatha met with a smirk, before they both finally stepped forward. Along with Lilia and Alice. 

With a sharp, resonating creak, the door burst open. Your eyes fixed on a flight of stairs leading further down the floor. Where precisely you didn’t know. A greenish blow came from it, illuminating the path to the… Witches’ Road. 

“Agatha!” Teen’s voice came in a panicked squeal, as he rushed down the basement exactly where you were standing, “is that it? Cause we should really get going. Like right now!” 

You heard an explosion, coming from upstairs and sensed magic. It was ancient, angry and just for a change, very powerful. 

“The Salem Seven…” you whispered, eyes widening a bit. 

The other witches didn’t need to be told twice and hurriedly took to the stairs, leaving you and Agatha behind. You stalled, before half yelling, “What the heck is this?” 

Agatha waved her hands and stuttered out. “It looks like a door to me.” 

You scoffed incredulously, “well, obviously it’s a door. But I meant–”

Before you could say another word, one of the Salem Seven began crawling down the stairs toward you and Agatha. Each movement sent an unsettling chorus of pops and creaks through her bones, as though her very body was possessed by a demoniac force. 

You used your magic to shove the woman away. The witch let out an ear-piercing shriek, her lips curling to reveal jagged teeth. Your stomach twisted as you stumbled back, unsure if you were facing a witch or some feral, inhuman creature.

 “Go, go, go, go!” Your eyes widened as you prompted Agatha to take the stairs. 

Agatha grasped your hand, pulling you with her, “you don’t have to tell me twice, my love.”

[masorciereviolette]

An Unexpected Bonding Ch. 1

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Warnings: none yet

Word count: 1,124

A/N: Here’s the first chapter, I think for now I’m just gonna post the intro and the first few and see how well it does but as of rn I have 6 written / perfecting, currently completing the 7th. I hope you all like it and please lmk if anyone is interested in more!!

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Her steel gaze locked onto yours, unblinking, searching.

“You… helped me?” she rasped, taking a tentative step toward you.

The shadows around you peeled back, revealing a soft cloaked human outline

“I couldn’t very well let them harm you….or attempt that is-” you replied softly, your voice like a melody carried on the wind as you approached her

Agatha staggered down off the pyre, her knees buckling slightly, but she didn’t fall. You caught her hand gripping her arm softly, your hold steadying her.

“Why? Why would you do this?” she asked, her tone a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” you answered. “I’ve seen your pain, your struggle. You deserve better than what they tried to give you.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, and for the first time in years—she felt something other than fear or anger. It was warmth, faint but growing, seeping into the cold recesses of her soul.

But as quickly as it came, her walls slammed back up. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her shoulders straightened, she pulls her arm from your grasp stepping away. “You’re bound to me now,” she said sharply, her words tinged with a mix of acceptance and resignation. “Whether either of us likes it or not.”

You tilted your head, studying her. “And do you? Like it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust things I don’t understand.”

“Then let’s understand it together,” you said gently, stepping closer.

For a moment, Agatha said nothing. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, emotions too complex to name. Finally, she nodded, a reluctant yet undeniable acknowledgment of the truth neither of you could deny.

“Fine,” she said, her voice steadier now. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting my guard down.”

You smiled, a soft, knowing expression. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As the night deepened, Agatha turned away from the scene of devastation, her steps heavy but deliberate. You followed silently, your presence a constant, comforting shadow. The pull between you both grew stronger with each passing moment, an invisible thread that neither of you could sever.

And deep down, Agatha knew—despite her stubbornness, her mistrust, and her fear—that she didn’t want to.

The nights following the pyre were marked not just by silence, but by an undercurrent of dread that Agatha could never quite shake. Even as the crackling firelight cast a warm glow, shadows danced in her mind—memories of her mother’s cold eyes, the betrayal of her sisters, and the terrifying truth she couldn’t escape.

Her power wasn’t like theirs. It never had been.

You had seen it firsthand. When the witches had turned their magic against her, trying to destroy her, it was Agatha who had destroyed them. She hadn’t wanted to, but the magic had acted on instinct, surging out of her like a beast unchained. It had swallowed their power whole, draining them dry until nothing but lifeless shells remained.

She hadn’t meant to kill them. She hadn’t even known she could.

Now, as she sat by the fire with you, the guilt weighed on her like lead. Her hands rested in her lap, trembling slightly, and though you didn’t say anything, you could feel the turmoil through the bond—the fear, the shame, the self-loathing.

“Why are you still here?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

You glanced at her, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You saw what I did,” she said, her tone sharp but brittle. “You know what I am. What I can do. So why haven’t you run?”

You tilted your head, studying her. “Because I know that’s not who you are, I can’t explain but it’s a feeling I suppose.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her hands clenching into fists. “You don’t understand,” she muttered. “It’s not something I can control. Every time someone uses magic against me, I… I take it. All of it. And it doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left.”

Her voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath. “Do you know what it feels like? To be afraid of your own power? To know that the people you love, the people you trust, see you as a monster?”

“I don’t see you as a monster,” you said softly.

She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. “That’s because you don’t know me. Not really.”

“I know enough,” you replied, your voice steady. “I know you didn’t ask for this. I know you’ve been hurt by people who should have protected & guided you. And I know that no matter how much you try to push me away, you don’t want to be alone.”

Her eyes snapped to yours, a mixture of anger and vulnerability flashing in their depths. “You think this bond makes you special? That it gives you the right to lecture me?”

“No,” you said calmly. “But it does mean I’m not going anywhere. Whether you like it or not,now we’re in this together.”

Agatha stared at you, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. For a moment, she looked like she might argue, but then something in her seemed to break.

“You should be afraid of me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You should hate me.”

“But I don’t,” you said simply shrugging.

Her gaze softened, and for the first time, her walls cracked just enough for you to see the raw, aching heart beneath.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I’ve tried everything—spells, rituals, even… dark magic. That’s why they turned on me. They thought I was evil. Maybe they were right.”

“They weren’t,” you said firmly. “You’re not evil, Agatha. You’re just… lost. And it’s okay to need help finding your way.”

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours, and for a moment, she seemed to consider the possibility that you might be right.

“This bond,” she said softly, “it’s different. I don’t know why, but… when I’m near you, the magic doesn’t feel so… out of control.”

You reached out tentatively, your hand brushing against hers. “Maybe that’s because we’re meant to help each other. Maybe we’re stronger together.”

Her fingers curled around yours, hesitant but steady, and the warmth of her touch sent a spark through the bond.

“Stronger together,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

And in that moment, something shifted. The walls she had built so carefully began to crumble, piece by piece, and for the first time in a long time, Agatha allowed herself to believe in the possibility of hope.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Agatha and Rio read thirst tweets

Finale to this and this

“Hiiii, Agatha.”

“Ugh. Remind me why I agreed to this.”

“I don’t know. Why did you?”

”They offered me a lot of money. I might also have been drunk. Hard to say, really.”

“Mm. It’s still nice to see you.”

“…Can we move these chairs farther apart? No? Too bad, that wasn’t a real question. Now can I get an advil and a bottle of water and we can get this over with?”

“…What? You want me to read this—she’s right there, though. It’s distracting. …Okay, okay, let’s see. I want Rio to pound me until archeologists can’t identify my skeleton. …Are you sure this is about sex at all?”

“Surely you know what hyperbole is, you used to date me.”

“It just seems like a lot. Fine, sure, I can obliterate your skeleton. We’re still not having sex, though.”

“Aw, saving yourself for me? That’s disgusting. My turn, then. I would let Agatha—Rio, stop growling. And put the knife away.”

“Ags, I want you to kill them.”

“Yeah, not doing that, that’s something I only do for people I like. I might be really mean to them, though.”

“…How mean?”

“Let me finish reading first. I would let Agatha Harkness spit in my open mouth. …Gross. Next.”

“Not mean enough.”

“Trust me, someone like that, being mean is only going to make them hornier.”

“…Hmm. I bet stabbing wouldn’t. What’s this one—I just want to watch Rio put Agatha over her knee and—“

“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that.”

“Shy, beloved? I remember you used like that sort of thi—“

“Moving on. Uh—I want to take Agatha out to a beautiful candlelit dinner and stare chastely at her from across the table. Finally, a legitimate freak! That’s incredibly messed up and I hope you find the help you need.”

“…You’re funny.”

“You know it.”

“And gorgeous and intelligent and frustrating and—“

“Hey, Rio, focus. …And stop getting closer.”

“I am very, very focused on what I want.”

“…You know what? I can’t do this. Not with her. Keep the money, I’m out.”

“Agatha, wai—ah, a spell. That was clever. …It was still nice to see her. I can’t believe you got her to agree to this in the first pla—wait, what??? What did you say? Say it again. …What do you mean, it was her idea??”

masterpost or click this link to go to a random post on this blog, which will probably be a fic of some kind

[firecrackerroot]

My hand slipped, a little bit. In fairness, Agatha had bought that specific gift more so for her own enjoyment than the comfort of her child. Would she ever admit such a thing aloud? Probably not. However, as soon as Rio destroyed the wrapping paper and stared at the box, she knew exactly what had gone through Agatha’s mind. Biting her lower lip, Agatha shrugged any remaining guilt away and Rio chuckled.

“Is this how you want to see me?” Rio asked and Agatha’s smile only widened, kissing the top of young Nicholas' head while holding their son tighter. “I think it’s kind of cool, actually.”

“Put it on, then.” The tone of Agatha’s voice probably shouldn’t have been as coarse but then again, it was just them in the room. Everyone else had already left to let the baby rest after a very festive first Christmas.

“It says in the box he’s too young for this kind of fun, Agatha.”

“Okay, so? He’ll grow into it by next summer.” With a wave, Agatha pushed a little more. “Now put it on, let me see it in you.”

“Fine, fine.” Shaking her head in disbelief, Rio took off her jacket and opened the box. After adjusting the straps in what seemed to be the right measure for her figure, she gave Agatha one more look. “Anything for you, mama.”

“Oh.” Agatha pursed her lips, emotions were still running all over the place and that simple word always got her feeling a certain way. “Just do it.”

Leaving her wife and son in the living room, Rio found the nearest mirror in the house and put the baby carrier on. Taking a moment to inspect herself on each side, ensuring everything was in place, she returned to their family space and picked up the first pillow from the couch, shoving it inside.

“Would you look at that?” Chuckling, Agatha held her hand out for Rio to assist her in getting up from the couch and, carefully as to not startle baby Nicholas awake, she gave the stand-in pillow a squeeze. “He should fit here just fine.”

“And do I look fine?” Rio’s question got Agatha’s smile to turn into a smirk, rivaling the one from Cheshire’s Cat. “Because that’s why you got this, isn’t it?”

“You look like a dream come true, my love.”

Between kisses, months passed by and Nicholas, as predicted, grew into the carrier by the summer. At first Rio would barely move at all, afraid she’d disturb him, but over time she learnt that he enjoyed sharing activities with her. Months turned into a year, and then two, which was the age limit for that specific carrier if it wasn’t for the fact that they had used it so often Agatha decided to gift Rio with a new one. By that point in time, Nicky had already said his first words, one of them being “kango” or “rooroo”, which they soon learnt was short for kangaroo, the name of his carrier.

One day, after a long and nearly infernal day at work, Agatha returned home to find exactly what she’d always dreamt of seeing. In the kitchen, preparing dinner for the family, stood Rio, with her back turned to the door. She was humming a song, as per usual, and swaying in the way that meant she wasn’t alone. There was someone in the pouch, dancing and cooking with her. After doing a half twirl, to reach the kitchen island and pick up the tray for the pancakes, Agatha saw Rio in her full splendor: lazy shorts and tshirt, kangaroo carrier and Nicky, holding a spatula for his mommy to use.

“Surprise!” Agatha said, making herself noticeable despite having already been caught staring by the door. “My lady.” She added, blowing a kiss to Rio before looking down at their smiling son. “My prince.”

“Mama!” Nicky giggled, waving the spatula up and down while kicking his little feet in excitement.

“Yes, buddy!” Picking up the spatula from his hand before it got sent flying across the room, Rio turned back to the stove. “We have to finish dinner first, remember?”

“Panpan!”

“Exactly.” Flipping the pancakes from the pan to the tray, Rio moved as quickly as possible. “Pancakes for three.” She continued, stacking them up.

“Breakfast for dinner, uh?” Agatha asked, placing a hand on Rio’s shoulder and a kiss on top of Nicky’s head.

“You said you had a bad day,” Turning around just enough to face Agatha, the two shared a quick kiss. “Figured this would lift your spirits.”

“Everything about this,” Agatha gestured with both hands, over the pancakes and her wife carrying their son in her kangaroo. “Is enough to make anything bad go away. Works like a charm.”

“Just like magic.”

“Just like magic.” Smiling from ear to ear, Agatha placed a tender kiss on Rio’s cheek. “I love you.” She whispered.

“Love you more.”

read THIS immediately for agathario tooth rotting fluff

[tvseries-writings]

Hiiii I loved all of your wandanat fics and was wondering if you could possibly do a agathario where the reader has a panic attack please!?

The Road is cursed

Agathario x reader

TW: past suicidal attempt, Death, panic attack, nightmares.

You knew the Witches Road would be hard, you knew it since your wife, whom you had not seen since the death of your child, had come knocking on your door with a strange teenager and three other witches you did not know.

You knew, of course you knew, the road had always been known as a suicide for all witches but you accepted anyway; maybe because of those violet and gray eyes you love so much despite everything, despite the death of Nicky, of your Nicky

"Y/n...y/n, wake up!"

You jerk awake, sweat running down your back causing the blouse you are wearing to stick to you. The cold face of Nicky, your baby, has been haunting you for two centuries, and you know you are not the only one to have nightmares about it.

Agatha's hands run down your back, over your face, through your hair...Her lips move but you cannot actively focus on what she is saying. Rio is just behind her; she has always been good at hiding her feelings but you can still see the concern in the deep lakes of her eyes.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare...just a nightmare"

You pull away from her touch and their worried glances. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, your hands are shaking, and your breathing is only quickening.

"You should breathe" Rio says, moving away from the tree he was leaning against and stopping twirling the knife blade against his own index finger.

"You're not helping, Rio"

Agatha whispers angrily as she leans toward you, trying to get closer but pulling away as soon as she tries.

"Y/n, honey, you need to breathe okay?" "That's what I just said"

Rio says, her smirk faltering though as she sees that her strange humor is not making you laugh, not this time.

The purple witch approaches, her cold fingers encircling your wrist. Despite her touch, you cannot shake the image of your lifeless child and her cold, motionless body in your arms. You pull away from her touch and give them your back, their gazes burning into your back as you look up at the haunted sky above your heads.

"Y/n, honey, what did you dream?"

"You know what I dreamed, Aggie"

You whisper, your voice cracking and your chest becoming heavy again.

"I visit him...often. He always asks me about his moms, his other two moms...I miss him every single moment and there is not a day when I don't hate myself for destroying our family."

Rio whispers, you can hear her voice tremble as she says it. You know how much it cost her to take your son's soul, you remember the suppressed tears and the cries Agatha and Rio hurled at each other

that night.

"It's been 100 years and I still miss him like air, I-"

Your breath becomes a gasp as your lungs don't seem to want to cooperate.

"Is he okay? He-"

Agatha stops midway, watching you carefully and chasing back the worry about your son for a few moments.

The purple witch approaches once more, rests two fingers under your minus and lifts it up, forcing you to look her in the eye.

"Y/n, hey...you need to breathe"

"Y/n I can't Aggie, y/n I can't...why can't I see him? I-"

Your chest rises and falls quickly; your heart beats fiercely as a

familiar ache, characteristic of the last decades of your existence, begins to radiate down your chest.

"Mi amor, you can see ghosts, and Nicky is not a ghost; he has moved on. I made sure he did

" "I miss him so much, mi vida. Please take me to him, please!"

You sob, the dream has shaken you deeply, and your child's face is burned into your mind.

The Witches Road is playing with you and is winning.

Agatha remains silent, watching the interaction between you and his ex-wife from afar, looking at the loves of her life and feeling inside that they are hiding something from her...that you are hiding something from her.

"Y-you shouldn't have saved me that night. You shouldn't have!"

Your sobs become desperate, your cries tearing through the silence of the night as the air makes its way, with difficulty, inside your lungs.

"I had to mi amor, I couldn't lose you too"

The Green Witch kisses your forehead, letting her arms wrap tightly around you.

Ironic to see Death in love with two mortals, one a necromancer to boot.

That was exactly how you had met Rio, through your powers. You were trying to resurrect a cat when a sensuous woman had knocked on your door with a Dagger in her hand and a sadistic smile that you had immediately fallen in love with. At the time you could hardly have imagined that Death would show up at your little cabin in the woods for a little resurrection ritual. And then...well, then you had met Agatha.

"What the hell is she talking about, y/n?"

Agatha seeks your gaze but you ignore her, watching the mushy ground beneath your feet.

Confusion and fear invade your aura as you watch your ex-wife anxiously.

Death takes a deep breath, places the blade back in its sheath and approaches the witch.

"Ten years after Nicky's death, she...tried to trade her life for her own but I

stopped her."

You close your eyes, the weight and despair of that night burning in your mind like a

newly lit fire. You remember the spell, the burning in your chest and the candles, in a circle, around you.

A life for a life, it was simple basic necromancy...but magic is never simple.

It had to be the soul of someone who loved Nicky only as a mother would and who

would spend eternity burning in the flames of hell to bring him back to life. You had accepted that fate but Rio had intervened just in time, breaking the spell and

controlling you like a hawk for the next thirty-five years only to disappear again.

"Why the hell you didn't tell me? HOW COULD YOU HAVE KEPT IT FROM ME, RIO!!! I could have stayed by her side, I could have-"

"I tried to tell you but every time you chased me away! You were too angry with me, Agatha!"

The two women in your life keep yelling at each other as if you were not there, accusing each other again and again, just like the night Nicky died.

"STOP!"

You shout so loudly that your voice affievolves soon after and an unpleasant tingling radiates along your vocal cords.

"Stop fighting, stop...stop."

"Why didn't you come to me? I could have given my soul in exchange for Nicky's, you don't deserve to burn in hell, I-"

"I couldn't lose you too, Agatha. Neither Rio nor I could. I just wanted to bring our baby home-"

"Not at the cost of your life, you idiot!"

Agatha growls, frustrated at the idea that you can't conceive that even the thought of losing you would kill them for good.

"Yes it would, damn it! I should have saved him, I would have-"

A sob shakes your chest as your legs give out and you fall to the damp ground. Rio supports you and holds you close, whispering phrases in Spanish as the purple witch soon follows suit. Unconsciously, you begin to scratch your wrists, your scars reddening before the two

witches can stop you, and only then does the purple witch notice the scars that centuries before were not present on your otherwise perfect skin.

"Oh doll..."

Agatha whispers, her hands overlapping yours, her fingertips caressing your

scars as silent tears slide down her cheeks. Rio leaves a kiss in her hair before kneeling in front of you and locking your wrists together, preventing you from hurting yourself by scratching.

Sobs violently shake your body, so violently that Rio is forced to hold you tightly in her arms to keep you from hurting. Soon, your breathing becomes so fast, so rapid and warbling that oxygen no longer reaches your

brain quickly and your body collapses in their arms.

"Y/N!"

Agatha screams, shaking you by the shoulders as Rio gently lays you down on the ground.

"Rio don't take her away from me, please, please don't take mi vida away from me. Por favor, por favor mi amor, por favor."

"Shh, shhh, it's okay. I won't take her away from you Aggie, it's not her time yet, she's fine, she's fine mi amor."

Death cradles her wife in his arms while cradling your head in her cold lap until, after interminable minutes, you seem to regain consciousness.

"Welcome back mi vida,"

Rio whispers, leaving a kiss on your forehead before letting the purple witch do the same.

"The road is taking its toll on us, doll"

Agatha presses her forehead against yours, her hands running over your face, caressing your neck and pausing over your heart, listening intently for your chest to rise and fall rhythmically.

"Damn it, you're going to make me lose my immortality if you keep scaring me like this," she whispers, her worried gaze ill-concealed by the defensive attitude that is characteristic of her person.

You sigh, detach yourself a few inches from them, and place your hands on the wet, muddy ground beneath you to sit up.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't ready for the Road but I wanted to come anyway ... when you knocked on my door, I ... I don't know, I went back to when we were in the cabin, in our bed, and Nicky was snuggling between the three of us all night."

"I miss him like air, since I had to take him away...I can't help thinking about him. But I cannot die, though I have tried"

A sad laugh leaves Death's lips and both you and Agatha hold your beloved in your arms. You say nothing to her; it would be hypocritical of you to do so.

You tried countless times to take your own life and Agatha, well, she had thought about it more than once.

"I forgive you Rio, I forgive you my love."

The purple witch kisses Death's lips, their tongues entwining as the passion of centuries spills over in a single, single instant of time. They pull apart only for lack of breath.

"I've missed you so much...Goddess, I've missed you so much I-"

Your voice freezes, you cannot put into words how much their distance has cost you and you are certain that they have felt what you have felt.

A second later, your hands are sliding down the purple witch's back, your two fingers unclasping her bra as her neck is assaulted by your passionate bites and loving kisses. Agatha moans, her fingers clawing at your hair as your lips collide and tongues dance for dominance; her other hand tightens, however, around Rio's right breast as the latter slips a hand between your legs, causing you to moan.

A minute later, you are lying, naked, on the mud of the Witches Road and making love as you haven't in ages.

Needless to say, when Billy sees you, he screams and covers his eyes, running away as eagerly as a 12-year-old.

Thanks for reading! It’s been a while, uh? Merry Christmas people! (And Have a great day!)

Support me on ko-fi

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[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 3)

A new murder with a different M.O. has you feeling confused

Word count: 4100

Warnings: fingering, murder

It takes you all of five minutes to leave the motel room after you dig more clothes out of your suitcase. 

You looked everywhere for the clothes you were wearing before your nap, but they’re nowhere to be found. 

It would be incredibly bad if you had stripped down and then left the room to put them somewhere else. 

But you don’t have time to dwell on that right now. 

You go fifteen over the speed limit to get to the location Agatha had texted over after she hung up the phone. 

To the location of another murder. 

You had foolishly hoped that maybe The Witch and Lady Death would slow down once you had gotten to town, maybe out of fear of being caught. 

Clearly you had done little to deter them. 

It’s only ten minutes away from your motel, near a creek on the edge of town. 

Police cars are already parked there, yellow caution tape closing off the perimeter. You slam the door shut to your sedan and hurry over to Agatha. It’s late in the afternoon, but the sun is already setting, making the colors of everything look muted. 

“Was it them?” You ask, a little breathless. Agatha glances up and down and looks like she wants to comment on your outfit change, but doesn’t. 

“Come see and tell us what you think,” she says ominously and you follow her into the trees. “Good doctor’s appointment?” 

You stop walking, forcing her to pause too. “You’re married to Dr. Vidal?” 

She chuckles. “She told you that, didn’t she?”

“Did you know that’s who I was going to see earlier?” You ask, not sure why it matters. 

“I had my suspicions,” is all Agatha chooses to say. She’s taking you further into the woods along the side of the creek and it’s getting colder, but the air starts to feel…alive, almost. 

Like it’s crackling with something. You somehow know you’re getting closer to the body.

Are you imagining it, or can Agatha feel it, too? 

And then she stops so quickly you almost bump into her and she points up ahead. 

In the middle of thin, small trees is a big willow tree. It’s a beautiful sight, if you’re being honest. 

You’re transfixed by the icicles gleaming from the barren branches and it takes you a bit to notice the pool of red snow by the roots. 

You stumble forward to get a better look in the last rays of daylight, eyes traveling up the tree trunk and you gasp. 

A man is tied to it, his pants cut open halfway down his thigh and there's a deep gash through both of his femoral arteries. Most likely the cause of death. The only reason you know what color his pants were supposed to be is because the part near his hips is unstained. 

But that’s not all. 

His flannel shirt has been ripped as well, revealing his bare chest, where a heart has been drawn with a knife. It’s a shallow cut, not too much blood, but it’s clear this was meant to be a message, rather than fatal. His eyes are gray and lifeless.

“I don’t understand, this isn’t their M.O. at all,” you say, the snow behind you crunching as Agatha walks to stand next to you. 

You can feel her eyes on you, regarding you carefully. “So what do you think?” 

You think that you’ve never felt this way before. Something is happening to your body, a heat is spreading through it, and it’s like there’s electricity under your skin. Your scar tingles, but doesn’t hurt. 

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you say in frustration. “Maybe they’re switching it up, it’s like they’re taunting me! It doesn’t make any sense to change tactics now, though. All the other bodies were found in homes and now this one is tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere? Doesn’t seem to be poisoned and they didn’t carve out his heart. I don’t – I don’t know.” 

You’re so suddenly aware of the hot blood pumping through your veins and you want something. You can’t put a name to it yet, though. 

“Do you think it could have been someone else?” She asks and you shake your head immediately. 

“No, this was them. I know it, I can feel it.” There’s a thrumming in your head now, behind your eyes and you just want to get rid of it. 

Agatha’s lips stretch into a slow smile and you can see the darkness in her eyes. “What else do you feel?” 

The question makes you freeze. Maybe you’re not going crazy. “Can you feel it, too?” You whisper; you’re afraid to say it too loudly, like it’ll break the spell. 

She slowly walks around and advances on you and you walk backwards until you hit a tree. Your heart races and you can feel it everywhere, like your entire body is beating in time with it.

“You feel the adrenaline, don’t you? Being this close to death, yet you feel more alive than ever?” She asks, and you choke out an affirmation. “It’s addicting, isn’t it? Tell me how it makes you feel.” 

Agatha leans down again, just how she did in the evidence locker, but this time, she drags her teeth up your neck and nips. The pounding in your head gets worse. “It feels…powerful,” you admit, both to her and yourself, maybe for the first time. 

“There’s an ache inside you, right?” She asks, now sucking bites into your neck and your stance widens just the slightest. 

Hearing her put a name to it makes it ever so clear to you now. “Yes,” you gasp, molten heat growing between your legs. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for, but Agatha does. 

Lips still on your skin, her hands fumble with the waistband of your new pants, trying to unbutton and unzip. She’s finally able to slip her fingers in and when she moves your underwear to the side and cups your pussy, you hiss at the coldness. 

“Fuck,” you swear as she starts to swipe at your clit. You’re so sensitive already, and if you weren’t so needy, you’d take a good, long look at yourself to figure out why you’re so turned on right now. 

“Why don’t you think it was them?” She asks, pushing a finger inside you and your head falls back against the tree. She doesn’t move it, waiting for an answer first. 

The ringing in your head comes back with a vengeance. “They’re messing with me,” you stutter. “They want me to be thrown off their game.” She starts moving, slowly thrusting and curling, and you gasp. The mix of pleasure and pain is a combination you never thought would be a good one. 

“You think they’re doing this just for you?” She muses, shoving another finger inside you and twisting lazily and it pulls a groan out of you. 

“The murders were all the same until I showed up,” you whimper. It feels like your body is about to burst. “Agatha.” 

Her thumb finds your clit again and rubs it. “Shh,” she soothes. “I know, superstar. I’ll give you what you need.” She mouths at your neck, lips traveling upward until she reaches your chin, and then her face pulls away from yours. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

“What if it wasn’t them?” She asks in a low voice, fingers stilling in you. You whine and frantically buck your hips to get some stimulation. You just need more. 

You can’t even think straight. “It had to be them. Who else could it have been?” 

There’s just enough sunlight to see the wicked smirk on her face. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

And then her lips are on yours and she’s ferociously kissing you like she’s trying to devour you, and the pain in your head completely stops. 

She sets a bruising pace inside you and you’re panting into her open mouth while her tongue thrashes against yours. Your teeth clash and it’s messy and hot and everything that you need, and her fingers are hitting exactly where you need. Your hands are rough as they scramble for purchase around her shoulders, desperate to keep her exactly where she is. You dig your nails into her and she moans against you, and you’re so close. 

Your orgasm is building, only this time, it’s heightened and feels way more intense than any you’ve ever had before. You’re throbbing around Agatha’s fingers, clenching and trying to draw her in even more, and she fits a third one into you. It makes you keen and you babble nonsensically about how you’re going to cum.  

“Cum for me, pet,” she orders and you sink your teeth hard into her lower lip as you do. It’s like a dam breaks all over your body, tension and pleasure exploding through every crack and crevice and it’s easily the best orgasm you’ve ever had. 

It takes a minute for you to recover and when you’re able to think clearly again after Agatha takes her fingers out of you, you notice that her lip is bleeding. 

“Fuck, did I do that?” You ask and she chuckles, tongue darting out to lick it up. You follow the movements and feel the heat inside you coming back. 

She holds the fingers that were inside of you up to your mouth and you suck on them without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Not the first time it’s happened,” she teases with a wink and your stomach sinks. Your head moves back so her fingers slip out of you.

“Oh my god, you’re married,” you say and Agatha raises an eyebrow as if to say obviously. “And we’re at a crime scene, what did we just do? There’s a dead body right over there.”

Agatha raises up her hands to disarm the situation. “Hey, don’t think too hard about it. You have a very stressful job, sometimes you just need to blow off some steam.” 

“How are you so calm? You just cheated on your wife!” You snap, quickly zipping and buttoning your pants. The electricity in the air is now gone, completely replaced by cold and fear. You have to get out of here. The Witch and Lady Death are two steps ahead of you and you need to stop them. This was them, and you know it.

You don’t even wait for Agatha to respond, you pick a direction and start walking. She calls your name a few times before you whirl around, tears in your eyes. “Rio and I…have an arrangement of sorts. Trust me, she is completely okay with this.” 

Her words do little to calm you down, but you’re getting closer to the detectives and officers and the coroner’s car has pulled up. “It doesn’t matter. This can’t happen again,” you say sternly. 

“Whatever you want, superstar,” she says and it almost makes you furious. It feels like she’s teasing you, for being with the FBI. Almost as bad as the guys around the station calling you Miami. 

But you don’t argue, you don’t speak at all, you just stand there, a bone-chilling emptiness inside you as you watch the body get wheeled out from the woods after about twenty minutes. Detectives keep searching the surrounding area for any clues, but they find nothing. 

Which doesn’t surprise you at all. Lady Death and The Witch are clever. It just means you have to work harder to catch them. 

“Alright, we got everything here. Forensics is going to do some tests on the blood, see if maybe we can get a DNA match for the killer. Photos of the scene will be printed and ready for us tomorrow,” Agatha says gruffly, walking over to you, the picture of professionalism after being three fingers deep in you not forty-five minutes ago. “You should get home, get some rest.” 

You shake your head and clutch your jacket tighter around you. “I’ve been sleeping for the past few hours. I’m not tired. I can head into the station, if you want. Get a head start on work for tomorrow.” 

Something flickers in Agatha’s eyes, something you don’t quite recognize. “No, that’s okay. Go back to your motel. Even if you don’t sleep, you should still try and relax. Take a warm bath or something. That always helps me clear my head.” 

You frown, but before you can ask what she thinks you need to clear your head from, she pats you on the shoulder and walks to her car. The scene quickly clears out, but there’s something still nagging at you in the back of your mind. 

You can’t leave just yet. 

Grabbing a flashlight from your bag in your car, you wander back through the woods, desperate to find something the officers missed. 

The night passes while you tear up every single rock and leaf and clump of snow on the ground near where the man was murdered. And then you expand the search, walking along the creek edge, flashlight sweeping right and left. Your hands are bright red from the stinging frost, having taken off your gloves ages ago to better dig around, and you’ve lost feeling in your face. Tears are permanently frozen in your eyes it seems, and as the sun starts to break through the darkness, you defeatedly drop to the ground on the bed of the creek. 

You don’t know what you were expecting to find, it was a stupid idea. You’re just about to call it a day and trek back to your car to go into the station, when you see a log just a few yards away. 

Brows crinkling, you wince when you stand up, your joints aching from the cold, and stumble over to it. You shine your flashlight into the opening of the hole and you gasp. 

The light reflects off something shiny. 

This time, you’re smart about it. You put your gloves back on, flashing between your teeth, and you carefully reach inside and brush away the moss to grab onto it and pull it out. 

It’s a knife. 

The discovery makes your heart leap. You found something! This could be your first real break in the case, one step closer to bringing the pair of serial killers down. 

You turn the blade over in your hands to inspect every part of it. Strange, you think. It seems almost like a kitchen knife. The serrated edge isn’t as sharp as it should be if it were meant to be a murder weapon. But when you hold it closer to your face, you can make out specks of blood on it. 

And then there’s something else, an emblem of sorts on the bottom of the blue handle. It says WM with a circle around the letters. 

The first thing you think of is Wanda Maximoff and terror spikes through you. Has she gotten out of jail and come to find you? 

But you are absolutely certain that Tony would’ve called you immediately, so that helps calm you down. Still, you suddenly don’t feel safe in the woods, almost like you’re being watched, so you pocket the knife before sprinting back to your car. 

You slam and lock the doors immediately and you turn the heat all the way up to coax life back into your frozen body. It’s still early, barely even six-thirty am, so you decide to go back to your motel room and shower before you head into the station. 

Your stomach rumbles and you can’t remember the last time you ate. You just pulled an all-nighter (although, you could argue that because you took a nap for about five hours yesterday, that counts as sleep) and you haven’t showered since you’ve been here. 

Tony would kill you. 

Once you get back to your room, you turn on the bath, still feeling the chill deep in your bones. You carefully take the knife out of your coat pocket with a paper towel and lay it on the counter so you can remember to bring it in so Forensics can test it. 

You strip off your sopping wet clothes and get into the bath, moaning out loud at how good the warm water on your tired and shaking body feels. 

Sinking into the tub so every part of you except for your face is submerged, you lean down to turn off the faucet and settle back down. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know, you jolt awake and splash about a gallon of water over the edge. 

“Fuck,” you cough, trying to get out of the tub, but your entire body is sore and your head feels awful. 

Apparently there’s consequences for spending over eight hours out in the snow with no gloves and then falling asleep in a bath with water that’s now lukewarm. 

You manage to maneuver yourself out and you quickly grab the robe that was hanging on the bathroom door to wrap around your shivering body. Your phone is on the sink counter and it starts buzzing. It’s Agatha. 

A hand grips the vanity to stable yourself before picking it up. “Hello?” You rasp, grimacing at the effort it takes to speak. 

“Yikes, you sound awful,” she says, teasing tone in her voice. “You okay, superstar? Get a little too much rest last night?”

“I think I’m a little sick,” you admit. You’re usually able to tough it out, but you feel like you died and barely came back to life. “Is it okay if I–” 

“Yes, stay there,” she orders and you almost collapse with relief. 

But then you remember the knife. If you don’t go in, that means it’s another day that The Witch and Lady Death remain free. “I found something last night, in the woods,” you say. “I really need to bring it in.” 

“Whatever it is, it can wait. You just need to take some medicine and get some rest. Do you have anything you can take?” 

You search through the items in your toiletry bag. “I have some Advil.” You pop two in your mouth and swallow it with water from the sink. 

“I’ll text Rio and ask if she can bring over some medicine and maybe some food, too. Go to sleep. I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” she says, and before you can insist that Rio does not come here, she hangs up. 

Groaning, you find that you don’t have it in you to be petulant, so you make your way into bed and you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow. 

Snow. 

It’s just started falling, there’s barely an inch on the ground. 

The branches reach for you as you walk through them, trying to grab on and not let you go. The thicket is getting denser and darker, but there’s something calling out to you, so you keep walking. 

There’s a melodic hum, and it lulls you into feeling safe. Is it real? Is it in your head? 

Is there a difference? 

You can barely see three inches in front of you and everything is going black and you can feel wounds being torn into your face and you should really turn back now –

– you break into a clearing. 

Only this time, there’s a willow tree in the middle. You can hear something, it sounds like two women laughing. 

Are they laughing at you? 

It must be the killers, they must be taunting you, rubbing it in how you can’t catch them. 

More people are going to die, and their blood is on your hands. 

The cackling gets louder and louder and then it’s all you can hear and you clamp your hands over your ears begging for it to stop, please, god, let it stop –

– there’s a hand on your shoulder and everything is silent. 

You turn around slowly. Is it them? 

Instead, it’s a man with his eyes closed. He looks vaguely familiar, where have you seen him? 

He opens his eyes and they’re gray and it hits you. 

It’s the dead man. 

He grabs you by the shoulders and his jaw drops to scream, but no sound comes out. And then his hands grab your throat and he starts to squeeze. 

The knocking on the door to your room wakes you up and you fly out of bed, gasping for breath, still feeling the pressure around your throat. It takes a moment to collect your bearings before you realize that you’re safe and the man is dead. 

Still a little shaky, you walk to the door and unlatch it to find Dr. Vidal standing there. 

“Oh, hi,” you greet, stepping to the side so she can come in. It’s hard to meet her eyes after being fucked by her wife the day before. She holds up a container of chicken noodle soup in one hand and a box of cold medicine and a plastic grocery bag in the other. 

“Agatha said you were feeling a little under the weather,” she says, plopping the stuff down on the counter and thankfully avoiding the mounds of photos and case evidence you have right next to it. Including the knife from the woods. “Did I wake you up?” 

You rub your face and feel the pillow indentions in your cheek. “Um, yeah, I was having a bad dream though, so I don’t mind,” you joke and motion for her to take a seat. 

“I would heat up the soup first before eating,” she suggests and you pour it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. “Bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?

“Would it count as a session?”

Dr. Vidal waves her hand. “Not at all. Consider it free advice. So, what happened?” 

The microwave beeps and you open it, the soup steaming. You set it down to cool off a little. “It kind of lines up with those images I had with you and another dream I had yesterday, I think. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I think they’re memories of something? I just don’t remember it. But then there’s some things that change, like today, there was this new dead man. That was recent, so maybe they’re not memories? Maybe I’m just losing my mind.” 

“You’re not losing your mind,” she chuckles. “Dreams and memories, the real and not real, it’s easy to blur the lines. Maybe your unconscious is trying to tell you something, maybe trying to remind you of something that happened to you.” 

That makes you think for a moment. You can see the woods, the snow, whatever you keep seeing, but it’s more of just flashes in time, rather than the whole thing. You can’t see what happens before, or after. “I guess I’ll just have to see if more pieces start coming together,” you say. 

She sighs. “I know it can be confusing and probably really frustrating, but I’ll help you get to the bottom of this. I have some techniques we can try during your session in a few days. I’ll help you claw your way out of whatever this is.” 

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. “What’s in the bag?” You point to the grocery bag and she nods to give you permission. You open it and with a gasp, you find your clothes from yesterday in it, all neatly folded. “How…what…you…” There’s no words. 

“Don’t worry, it’s our little secret,” she says with a wink. 

You have to grab onto the edge of the counter so you don’t pass out. “Wait, did we…” 

“Have sex?” She asks bluntly and you’re too afraid to move. “No, we didn’t. If we did, you would remember it.” 

The thrumming starts to come back behind your eyes, despite the blush at her flirtatious words. “So, how do you have my clothes?” 

“You better eat your soup before it gets cold,” Dr. Vidal sidesteps the question and it’s clear that you’re not getting an answer. 

You slide open the drawer next to the fridge and pull out a spoon from the silverware caddy. A sharp pain sears through your head and your heart starts to race. 

The spoon has the same blue handle and emblem as the knife does. WM. Westview Motel. The spoon clatters to the ground and you begin furiously counting. Six forks. Six spoons. 

Five knives. 

When they were in your room your first night in Westview, they must’ve taken it from here. 

They’re trying to frame you. 

[isagrimorie]

I’ve been watching video reviews praising Agatha All Along, and while I more or less agree with their points, one thing that bothers me is the claim that Agatha remained 100% evil, and she didn't change, and that doesn’t sit right with me.

Agatha didn’t have a redemption arc (or as Schaeffer put it, “This lady did not arc out.”), and I understand why. In fact, I love that about her character. The show doesn’t try to sand down Agatha’s sharp edges. I love that Agatha can feel so deeply while still being unapologetically a dick.

But the reason it bothers me when people claim that Agatha didn’t change is because she did.

To put it into context, for a character who hasn’t changed and remains firmly on a villainous path, the reviewers should look at another comic book show that aired at the same time: The Penguin. While it’s not an exact comparison, there are notable similarities: both main characters love purple (sorry, Oz, I mean plum), have a fascinating, wide-eyed, unhinged brunette antagonist, a teen sidekick, and a ruthless quest for power. But there are key differences between Agatha Harkness and Oswald Cobblepot.

The Penguin is the story of Oswald’s rise to power as Gotham’s crime boss. Agatha, on the other hand, was already at the height of her power and villainy. Over 300 years, she killed fellow witches, schemed, and connived. This all came to an abrupt halt when Wanda trapped her in a hex. With the help of Rio and Billy, Agatha eventually clawed her way free from Wanda’s distorted spell.

Initially, it seemed like nothing had changed for Agatha.

But Agatha did change. The Agatha Harkness of three years ago—the witch killer—wouldn’t have sat around a campfire trading stories and feeling emotional about it. She wouldn’t have felt any remorse for accidentally killing Alice.

(It’s funny how, between Rio and Agatha, Agatha reminded me more of Dream than Rio. Both are capricious and prone to holding grudges. Both were held captive by mystical forces and when freed, they denied they had changed—even though their captivity altered them in both small and profound ways. In the end, both characters die because of their capacity to change and are reborn, metaphorically or literally, wearing white.)

I appreciated that the show didn’t dull Agatha’s sharp edges. She was, and remains, a killer. Even when we get glimpses of Agatha’s tragic backstory with Nicky, the show doesn’t excuse her actions. She was a killer before Nicky, during her time with Nicky, and after Nicky. In fact, she became an even more prolific serial killer after Nicky. Her contempt for fellow witches deepened every time they fell for her road scam.

So, it’s tiring hearing that “Agatha didn’t change.” The ending of Agatha All Along made it clear that while she didn’t change—because such a drastic shift can’t happen in just nine episodes for someone with a 300-year history—there was, as Jac Schaeffer put it, progress.

Agatha never considered the consequences of her actions. For example, when she tried to avoid harming Jennifer Kale back when she was a rootworker and midwife, she inadvertently hurt Jennifer for a century.

Agatha spent her life trying to fill the gnawing black hole inside her, running from pain and avoiding anything resembling personal growth. She finds the Darkhold, and she becomes invisible to Rio, her remaining connection to her life with Nicky.

And, even when the world around her burned, nothing truly touched Agatha Harkness—until she found herself in the Hex, facing off against the Scarlet Witch.

Agatha was overconfident. Armed with her vast knowledge and the Darkhold, she thought she was invincible. But she miscalculated, becoming powerless and losing three years trapped in Agnes the Nosy Neighbor's life.

This disruption in Agatha's pattern is enough that when Agatha was about to restart her Killing Game, it gave Agatha pause. When Alice shows up at her house hoping to visit the Road, only to end up dead in Agatha’s basement.

There was even a moment when Agatha went to recruit Sharon Davis as a replacement backup Green Witch, she had to take a moment to confirm to herself that she could live with killing Mrs. Hart.

Agatha’s story (for this season, at least-- because there will be another season or sequel, dammit) wasn’t a redemption—nine episodes isn’t enough to atone for 300 years of killing. It's a story of moving Agatha into a position to transform. Or, as Jac Schaeffer called it, progress. Redemption may come later, but progress isn’t linear. For someone who is an unrepentant killer and con artist, even the smallest shift is big.

Agatha All Along doesn’t try to make Agatha into a hero, nor does it attempt to soften her sharp edges. Instead, the show offers a nuanced portrait—a reminder that even an unrepentant bad guy can evolve, even if they don’t fully understand or accept it themselves.

Agatha Harkness might not be “redeemed” but she isn’t the same either.

[batcavescolony]

I see a lot of people upset about William Kaplan being dead and no one mourning him cus Billy stole his body and I just don't see it that way. The kid in Wanda Vision is Billy Maximoff, The teenager at the Bar Mitzvah is William Kaplan, the Teen that got taken to the hospital after the wreck is neither and both Billy Maximoff and William Kaplan. That Teen went home with the abilities of Billy Maximoff, to the home of William Kaplan, with memories of neither and lived there for three years. He cares about Rebecca and Jeff, he lied to the to protect them from pain, they are his parents. He wants to find Tommy, he has magical powers, he wants to know who he is. All of these things are true. I wouldn't say William Kaplan is dead he just doesn't remember, like Agatha wasn't dead when he was Agnes, she just didn't remember.

[thymejot]

Do you ever thing about the comparing of scars scene in Agatha All Along?

How, in all Agathas 300+ years of existing, it is probably the first time she has just chilled out with her peers?

All other times, except maybe with her first coven, when engaging with witches, it's with the sole purpose of manipulating them into stealing their power.

Yet here this sad sack of a witch is, snort laughing with her ex as she shows how she got stabbed with a knitting needle.

It's such a tiny moment, yet it is also probably the first time she has felt any kind of kinship with someone outside of Rio or Nicky.

Do you think about her uncertainty as the other witches laugh at her story? How she is waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Did she have this bond with some of the Witches in her first coven before her mother would come in and stomp all over it?

An instinctual moment where she waits for Evanora to come in and punish her for being so frivolous, being so damned.

This was probably the first time she experienced community without punishment.

There was probably the tiniest spark of hope that maybe she could finally belong.

Then hours later, in swoops her mother and takes it all away from her again.

Because I do. I think about it a lot, and it breaks my heart.