#lilia calderu fanfiction

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: In Omnibus Aequitas

Summary: Agatha isn't the only witch with a force of nature trailing after her.

AO3

A/N: oh my god i can't explain how excited i am to post this! so much thought and careful crafting went into this!! actually begging someone to ask for the TED talk on my planning process for this because hooooo boy

this is my first time writing Lilia, so apologies if the characterization is shaky at all!

also to give credit where credit is due, the idea for this Reader was prompted by a post from the brilliant trickofthelights, whom i admire greatly. i'll attach the post here

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

Shadows often linger in the periphery of Lilia’s vision; this she has grown to accept, on the basis that they are gone when she turns to face them. And she is glad of it each time. The twisted shapes and figures of the primordial horrors that linger are not made to be witnessed, even by her eyes.

So when a figure lingers, she turns with the expectation of seeing the silhouette vanish, but she’s not the only one who turns.

It strikes her as odd that Rio should see whatever she does. This thought occurs to her mid-ballad, fire licking at the back of her neck. When she looks, though, the figure does not vanish, but neither is it a horror to behold.

You are as beautiful as she remembers. The memory, coupled with your eyes on her, nearly trips her up. But Lilia holds strong through the rest of Lorna’s ballad—even as the burns on her shoulders ache, even as your eyes dart away and meet the curious gaze belonging to Rio, even, even as you watch her with that unerring devotion she had once craved.

When Alice tilts her head back, singing with the full force of her soul, Lilia’s eyes leave you. She watches the curse burn to ash above Alice.

You’re gone when Lilia glances back.

---

Sharon, human she may have been, was right about one thing—no witch can be expected to traverse the road without rest. So, the coven opts to take turns keeping watch around the little fire they’ve built.

Lilia volunteers for the first watch, restless, feeling the weight of eyes on her still. She should’ve known you wouldn’t stay away long.

Your entrance comes when the rest of the coven has fallen asleep; Jen and Alice on one side of the fire, propped up against the rock they sat upon, Agatha furthest from the fire, back to it, while Rio—if that is her true name—sleeps near enough to lay a hand on her waist. Teen, she assumes, remains in the makeshift bed they made for him.

She sees your shadow at the edge of the clearing, hesitant. Looking over her coven one last time, she stands, and walks to where you wait outside the light.

“What do you want?”

You reach out, a hand on either side of Lilia’s face. She doesn’t shake you off. Yet.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I left.” You murmur.

Lilia’s lip curls, “Are your brutal truths meant to be endearing?”

“No. They’re meant to be nothing more than what they are.”

Against all odds, Lilia has yet to throw off your hold. You run your thumb gently over the curve of her jaw. Everything in you wants to kiss her—has dreamt of it for over a century—but you know it won’t be welcome.

Her curls are frayed and wild around her face in an endearing picture. Mess suits her just as well as refinement; though that could be your bias talking.

“Why are you here?” Lilia asks.

“Because you’re here.” And because your job brought you here, but that’s less romantic.

She seems to sense the omission. Any warmth drains from her expression, her hands removing yours from her person. You miss the closeness immediately.

“A truth and a lie. Which will come next?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I could’ve been anywhere.”

“Then go there. But leave the coven out of this.”

“I have no choice, Lilia.”

Lilia scoffs, “You had a choice when you vanished for a century!”

You close your eyes against the reminder. Hurt flares through you. The ache from years of longing, feeling that veil between you exist so thin, yet being unable to reach through. You hadn’t even been allowed a glimpse.

It was torment. A century should have been easy, but a life without Lilia felt like clawing your way through. If you tell her, will she believe you?

“Please.” You whisper. You’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Goodnight.”

You hear her walk away, can’t stop yourself from blurting, despite the consequences, “Please, don’t put yourself in harm's way.”

Her jaw is tight, eyes wary. She looks you over as if something about you will give away what you know.

She crosses her arms over her chest. You recognize it as both a way to keep you out and support herself. You ache to be let back in.

“This whole Road is a death wish.”

“Don’t put yourself in more danger than normal.” You say, then, smaller, “I can’t protect you.”

“Are you asking for my sake or your own?”

“Whichever you’ll listen to.”

“Why ask at all?”

You step forward, hands outstretched to take hers, but you stop short, “Because I love you, Lilia.”

The admission makes her flinch. Her eyes water and she swallows hard. For a fleeting moment you see the startling vulnerability behind her eyes—the loneliness you should have quelled—before she locks it away.

“You can’t love.” Lilia sneers, “It would tip the scales too much.”

“That’s not true.” You defend.

“Oh? Then who, in this wretched universe, have you decided to hate?”

You bite your tongue. Lilia takes your silence for its own—incorrect—answer. Bitterness creeps into her smile.

“Goodnight.”

---

“Here to watch the big show?” Rio asks, lagging behind while the others move forward.

“Just doing my job.”

“Really? I’d say things were pretty square when you showed up.”

You eye her, despising her knowing smile, “Why are you here?”

“My job.”

“Hm. And how many bodies have you collected, again?”

Her smile is wide, but her eyes are cold. She’s always despised that the two of you are equals; that she can’t add you to her menagerie of bodies. Just the same, you’ve despised that you can’t write her name down.

Agatha looks back and tilts her head. You know she can’t see you. Like nothing has happened, Rio turns that grin on Agatha, skipping back to her side.

You catch Lilia’s eyes on you and ignore the question in them.

---

Lilia watches. She follows you in her periphery, makes note of where you are at all times. Her eyes always dart to your hands. Every time she finds them empty, she relaxes.

She’s taken watch, again. You read the weariness in her posture.

Against your better judgment, you lay your hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off.

“You need rest as much as they do, beloved.” You murmur.

She stiffens at the old endearment, “We’re splitting the time. I’ll manage.”

You run a hand through her hair. The curls are still loose, wild. You untangle a few of them. Squeezing her shoulder, you place a kiss to the top of her head, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, your hand quivers. You still it. Your punishment was endured with grace, you must endure the distance with the same.

“Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Lilia scoffs, “Right.”

The weight of her mistrust is like a knife in your chest. You do not endure the pain with grace; you flinch, tears springing unbidden to your eyes. Lilia’s eyes close in regret.

You wonder if your presence is more of a burden than blessing. Had you mistaken her intent all those years ago? Love is not an emotion that’d come to you naturally. Perhaps, in your learning, you misunderstood, and Lilia’s kind heart wouldn’t allow her to break your illusion.

She had loved you once, hadn’t she? You could swear she had.

“You have to know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Unless the greater universe calls for it.”

Her tone is honest, but sadness lingers within it. All you want is to see her face.

“If I thought it would do you any favors, I’d throw it all away.” You admit in a whisper.

Lilia turns, then. Her brows are furrowed as her eyes search your own, frantic, swimming with fear. In another time and place, you’d follow the statement with a smirk; but you cannot bring yourself to summon the facade now, not with her.

It isn’t a lie—your admission. If not for the overturning of the world without you, you’d forsake the job on your shoulders. You’d unmake yourself in a moment for her. For the younger witch who sang freely and lamented her gifts. For the wizened witch who eyes you with trepidation, mind rife with your betrayals and shortcomings.

“Where are your lies?” She asks.

“I tell them to myself, so you can have all my truths.”

Lilia smiles then, but it’s bittersweet. A warm hand settles on your cheek. You can’t help it—grace be damned—when you press yourself into the contact. They’re still there—the callouses you remember, rough against your flesh. She still smells of smoke.

There’s a rustling of fabric across the space. Alice shifts, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Lilia’s touch is gone from you. You settle next to her as she rests, not brave enough to lay another hand upon her.

---

You watch the knife fall as if time has slowed; absently, you think it might be, Time always did love her cruel jokes. It falls with Teen in the direct path. You feel the pen heavy in your hand, the paper near-weightless and yet the heaviest thing you’ve come to bear.

But then Lilia moves. The one moment you need time to slow for you, it’s returned to normal. Lilia shoves Teen out of the way and takes his place in the dagger’s path.

You fall to your knees, “No!”

Throwing your arms out, you aim a burst of magic for the dagger. Consequences be damned. Alice is faster, though, and moves Lilia from the dagger’s path before your magic can make contact.

Rio’s eyes are heavy on you. She can’t do anything—you didn’t technically break any rules, but the intent is damning enough.

“Now this is going to be fun.” Rio purrs.

You stare at the pen and blank paper you dropped in your haste to save Lilia. Your purpose. How close you’d come to unmaking yourself and yet… yet, a part of you is ambivalent to this. The larger part is freaking out, though.

Everyone’s eyes are on you. You flinch. They shouldn’t be able to see you.

Checking your mental list of active charms, you realize you’ve made an error; in your grief-induced act of heroism, you dropped every single charm on your person and directed the energy toward Lilia. The cat’s out of the bag, it would seem.

Lilia is the first to recover, moving out of Alice’s protective hold, “Do you ever think?”

You bristle, yet to stand from your kneeling position. It gives her an advantage over you this once.

“Well and often.” You defend.

“Well?” She questions, beautiful in her terror and rage, “You call that thinking well? You could’ve been killed!”

“You were in danger, Lilia.”

“And you’re not allowed to interfere.”

Ignoring all the eyes on the two of you, Lilia turns and storms through the exit that opened. You watch the road-conjured costume melt back into her normal visage as she gets further away.

It’s then that you recognize the silence.

All of them are staring at you save for Agatha, who eyes Rio with a mixture of trepidation and understanding. You stand as gracefully as you can manage. Smoothing down your clothes, you try to smile, but the action feels slippery on your features. How long has it been?

“What is it with you witches and beautiful mysteries?” Jen asks, “And where can I get one?”

You flush and fidget. The weight of their attention is so much less pleasant than your beloved’s.

Alice tilts her head, “Who are you?”

Holding out your hand, you speak your name. Rio laughs. You blush, remembering that mortal creatures don’t comprehend the original language, not like the two of you. Lilia once said it sounded like botched latin. The coven exchanges various looks of confusion.

“Lilia just calls me—”

“A pain.” Lilia’s voice cuts in, “A very severe, persistent pain. Are you all coming?”

You’re the first to follow, which prompts no shortage of grumbling. You find yourself grinning.

---

“Well, at least we have extra help on The Road.” Jen shrugs, later.

“She can’t help.” Lilia and Rio say in unison.

The two share a look. You can read the distaste in Lilia’s eyes. She doesn’t seem to think much of Rio, not that you do either—and you actually know her.

“Seemed pretty eager to help you, Lilia.”

“A foolish, misguided mistake on her part.”

You flinch at the statement, staring down at your hands. With the charms gone, you witness their true appearance; one completely dark, as if left to char in ember, the other so pale-white it is near translucent.

The beauty of a mortal body with a mortal heart is a range of emotion you’d have never felt before. Though lately, the gift feels more like a burden. Pain is your ever-present companion these days. Even when you look at your beloved, the love that overtakes you is laced with poison; with the reminder of what you had to do.

You can’t bring yourself to wish away the heart in your chest. But you do wish Lilia would be a bit more gentle with it. You’re hardly in the position to make requests, though.

“I can assist in small ways. Taking a watch at night, tending the fire.”

“No.” Lilia shuts you down. You freeze, “You are to do nothing but observe. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, beloved.”

You ignore the look between Alice and Jen.

---

The end of The Road is so near you can practically taste it. It tastes of rot and chaos, but you put that down as a symptom of your disposition. You watch Lilia and the rest of the coven relax, inhaling deeply.

A smile teases at Lilia’s lips.

“What do you smell?” You whisper.

The smile doesn’t vanish as you expect. Rather, it extends to her eyes as she regards you.

“Your perfume.”

You melt. Knees like jelly, you take her hand in your own, and press a kiss to the back of it, ignoring the eyes on the two of you. The Witches Road will give you what you most desire at the end. And before the last trial, it gives the traveler a taste of what their prize is. She can’t reach the end without knowing the truth.

“This body wasn’t mine, did you know that?” You ask. Her expression shifts as she grows a bit more tense in your hold. You hold tighter, “The witch before me had a little over a century left in her when I came. As payment, I had to serve out the rest of her years without the one thing that made it feel like living.”

The words are tumbling from you faster than you can comprehend them. You watch her face, hoping that what you’re stringing together makes enough sense for her to see. Even if it takes some other force whispering the facts into her ear for her to understand, you’ll just be happy that she knows.

Lilia’s the brightest witch you’ve ever known. She’ll figure out what you’re saying, but you just can’t stop; you need to say the words you’ve been dying to say for all these years.

“I never wanted to leave you, beloved.”

There’s no privacy on this cursed road, but you don’t care. If she asked it of you, you’d tell every soul you met how you love her. Lilia Calderu owns your heart, but even more than that, she owns your soul, and you have no desire to take it from her hands—even if she decides to rip it to pieces as repayment.

Let the coven know how you lived a century-long prison sentence to be with her. Let Rio and the greater powers know. You have no shame.

Lilia sneers, “You foolish woman.”

Her hands fist in the front of your shirt and pull your lips to hers. It’s messy; a clash of teeth and lips and noses, a poor imitation of the world-tipping kisses the two of you have found in one another. You’re both horribly out of practice. Never let it be said, however, that passion does not make up for tact. The near-quivering of Lilia’s grip and the force of intent behind her kiss makes up for any clumsiness.

The time on The Road has left her lips chapped, bitter with the remnants of lipstick, and never before have you known something so utterly perfect. You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close enough that not a breath can exist between you. She sighs against your lips.

A curse of a mortal body is the functions that a higher being like yourself wouldn’t deem necessary; in this case, the need your lungs have for oxygen. Your heart is beating out of your chest and not from desire.

You pull back, panting, forehead resting against Lilia’s.

Breath successfully acquired, you tilt your head and press your lips to Lilia’s cheek, her temple, her forehead—anywhere you can reach, murmuring, reverent, “Lilia. My Lilia.”

“Darling.” She whispers with every kiss, voice hushed with devotion.

A lifetime apart seen to its end. Your fingers still itch with the pent up desire to hold her despite doing so. You were shameless before, but now… Gods help her.

Rio watches the entire display with shameless interest. Her eyebrows are high, a small, curious smile on her lips. Teen had been the first to turn away and busy himself with watching The Road. Somewhere mid-kiss, the remaining three found something more pressing to devote their attention to.

The lack of seeing, however, does not stop Jen from sighing, “When will it be my turn?”

Alice laughs at her side.

---

“Did you know all along?”

Lilia looks up at Agatha’s hushed question. She takes in the messy, haggard, but satisfied look of her fellow witch. She also catches the look Agatha throws your way. You sit across the clearing, Teen at your side, listening with rapt attention as you explain something about the moon.

“I had a suspicion when you mentioned my fortune.” Lilia admits.

A suspicion. A burgeoning hope she hadn’t let herself acknowledge.

“Oh?”

“What is fortune if not a lack of balance?” She shrugs, unable to look away from you, “To change it meant the end of my pain.”

“Enter, your solution.”

“Solution and problem.”

The two share a wry laugh. Lilia’s careful not to ask any pointed questions about Rio, though curiosity does eat away at her. Is anyone better suited to appreciate her experience?

Rio, while polarizing, is beautiful—and seems to have attached herself to Agatha in a way best suited to the witch. There is a beauty in it. Though she admits she’ll always prefer your well-meaning brutality over that which Agatha receives. To each their own.

“The Road seems to play favorites, giving you your prize early.” Agatha muses.

“Having her isn’t the prize,” Lilia corrects, “keeping her is.”

Agatha hums, eyes contemplative.

You’re aware of the eyes on you from across the clearing, but pay it little attention, instead devoting yourself fully to the question Teen has asked you. Gesturing with your hands, you weave similarities between the First Coven and their own. He watches you with a starstruck expression.

Something in your conversation prompts him to tilt his head. He fiddles with the little spellbook attached to his hip. Your musings come to a natural close and he speaks up.

“Can I ask—why Lilia? I mean, she’s great, but I guess I don’t understand.” Teen changes the subject.

You smile.

“Do you know the average person’s response to upsetting the state of the world?” You ask. Teen thinks, then shakes his head, “There isn’t one. It doesn’t matter what they’ve undone in the grand scheme, they’re painfully ignorant of what they’ve done. And what’s worse, most don’t care.”

It’s an old grievance you have with the greater universe. You recognize the necessity of it, but will never deny how it grates on you.

“Lilia… Lilia spent a large part of her life as a harbinger of tragedy. She’d travel through villages and upturn their worlds with a prediction.” You sigh, chest aching with the pain you know she suffered, “But when she did, she always sought to fix it. There were times she leveled the scales so completely that I didn’t have to do a thing. Few had ever considered me in such a way before.”

You look up from your fidgeting hands to Lilia. Her eyes are already on you. The warm, steady weight of her gaze makes you melt.

“And the others, well, none of them were her.”

Teen nods, “That’s sweet. I think.”

You chuckle. In a moment of fondness, you ruffle the curls on his head. He rolls his eyes but allows the contact; how do you tell a force of nature no?

---

You stare back down The Road with the coven. Though the return journey will be without any of the usual hassles, you curse the greater powers for not just providing an exit door. Your feet are killing you.

Lilia looks weary despite having rested. You rub a hand over her back, working out the knots you find with a skilled hand. She sighs.

“Where do we go from here?” She asks.

You raise a brow, “Back to the start of The Road.”

Lilia glares, though it lacks significant heat, “Us, darling.”

Ah.

“Wherever you lead, beloved.”

“That’s a lot of control.”

“Give me a century or so and I’ll start making decisions again.”

Her fingers lace through your own. Lilia stares down the length of The Road she has traversed and conquered, yet the greatest battle lies beyond. The world will never again be the same for her.

You raise her hand to your lips. You press gentle kisses to the knuckles.

“To the return of your glory.” You murmur.

Lilia looks at you for a long moment. Using your hold, she pulls you down, into a short but mind-numbing kiss. You hold tight and sigh, content.

She corrects, “To the return of balance.”

[rippersz]

𝕷𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖆 𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖚 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Four of Wands

Traces

The Rose

[thegoddamnfeels]

Yes, please!

Who wants to be tagged in a Lilia x fem!reader piece inspired by this :

[buttercandy16]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Extra

PAIRING(s): SugarMommy!Agatha, Rio, Lilia, Jennifer, and Alice x SugarBaby!Reader

SUMMARY: Str*pper Reader meets 5 interesting older women who wants to own her.

WARNING(s): I'm not sure, lol.

A/N: I saw some beautiful soul who requested for someone to write this fic idea. I thought to give it a try even though I suck at writing, lol.

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress 💜

You adjust the strap of your heels, the mirror reflecting the dim glow of neon lights in the dressing room. Another night at The Velvet Petal, another round of dollar bills and fleeting gazes. Stripping isn’t glamorous, but it pays the bills and keeps you in school. Plus, your roommate Wanda, the epitome of balance and chaos, has your back when things get rough.

The music thunders outside as your turn approaches. You don your stage persona: confidence wrapped in sequins and heels. But tonight feels different, charged. As you step out onto the stage, the crowd cheers, but it’s not the usual drunken revelry that catches your eye.

It’s them.

Five women, all seated in the corner booth like a scene out of a magazine spread, radiating power and wealth. Agatha, with her streak of silver hair and piercing eyes, exudes control, her tailored suit sharp enough to cut. Rio, effortlessly chic in a leather jacket, lounges like the queen of the world. Alice, the soft-spoken tech mogul, hides behind her glasses, but her smirk says she’s just as confident as the others. Jennifer, a successful actress, looks stunning and polished, her laughter like music itself. And then there’s Lilia, elegant and warm, her gaze lingering on you with unspoken approval.

As you move through your routine, their eyes never leave you. It’s unnerving at first, but then... intoxicating. They’re not here for the cheap thrills—they’re here for you.

After your set, you retreat backstage, heart pounding. Moments later, one of the staff calls you over. “The ladies in the corner booth asked to see you.”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and soon you’re standing in front of them, feeling like a deer in headlights.

“Sit,” Agatha says smoothly, gesturing to the empty seat in their midst. Her voice is commanding, yet inviting, like she’s used to getting exactly what she wants.

You sit, your hands clasped in your lap as their gazes sweep over you. It’s not uncomfortable—not entirely. There’s something magnetic about them, the way they move and speak as though they already own the room.

“You’re quite the performer,” Jennifer says, her red lips curling into a smile. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, giving them your stage name. They exchange amused glances, clearly unconvinced.

“Your real name,” Rio insists, leaning closer.

You tell them, your voice barely above a whisper, and Lilia beams. “Beautiful. Just like you.”

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Alice asks, her tone gentle but probing.

“Paying for school,” you admit. “It’s... complicated.”

Agatha smirks. “Not for us. What if we made it simple?”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“We mean,” Rio says, sliding a black card across the table, “that we want to take care of you.”

Jennifer’s hand brushes yours as she speaks. “No strings, unless you want them.” Her words carry a playful edge.

“You’ll have everything you need,” Lilia adds, her tone warm. “Money, support, and... companionship.”

Alice adjusts her glasses, her voice soft but confident. “We’re already close. This would just make you... part of the family.”

You blink, trying to process their words. They’re not joking—this is real. Five successful, gorgeous women offering to be your sugar mommas? It’s too good to be true.

“Why me?” you ask, voice trembling.

“Because you’re special,” Agatha says firmly. “And we know how to recognize something—or someone—worth investing in.”

You feel your face heat as they all watch you, their expressions a mix of affection, desire, and genuine interest. For the first time, you’re not sure if you’re the one holding the power—or if they’ve already stolen it from you.

“Think about it,” Rio says, her hand brushing your thigh as she leans back with a smirk.

“Oh, and here,” Lilia adds, slipping a velvet pouch into your hand. “A little something to help you decide.”

When you open it later, back at home, you find a diamond necklace and a check with a number that makes your head spin.

Wanda raises an eyebrow when you tell her. “Five sugar mommas? Girl, you’re either the luckiest person alive or the plot of a Lifetime movie waiting to happen.”

You laugh, but your mind is already racing. What would it mean to let them in? To be theirs?

The thought thrills you—and terrifies you in equal measure.

You barely sleep that night, the velvet pouch and its contents sitting on your bedside table, shimmering under the faint glow of your desk lamp. Wanda’s light snoring from the other side of the apartment is a strange comfort as your mind swirls with questions.

The next evening, as you walk into The Velvet Petal, you’re surprised to find the same booth occupied. The five women are waiting for you, their presence commanding the room just as much as the night before. Agatha’s sharp gaze meets yours immediately, and a subtle smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

You’re halfway through your set when you notice it—their eyes are on you, but tonight there’s something heavier in their stares. Possessive. Hungry. The way Agatha’s fingers drum on the table, the way Jennifer bites her lower lip as you lean into your routine, sends shivers down your spine.

You finish your set, and as you step offstage, you know you can’t avoid them. A staff member hands you a note:

VIP Room 3. Don’t keep us waiting.

Your breath hitches, but curiosity wins out over caution. You make your way to the back, heart pounding with each step.

When you enter the room, they’re already seated, their positions casual but exuding authority. The space feels smaller with them in it, the air thick with their energy.

“You came,” Rio says, lounging against the sofa like she owns it. “Good girl.”

The words ignite something in you, a mix of defiance and intrigue. “What do you want from me?” you ask, keeping your voice steady, though your pulse betrays you.

Agatha leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “We already told you. We want you.”

“And we don’t like waiting,” Jennifer adds, her tone playful yet edged with warning.

Lilia pats the seat next to her. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.”

You hesitate, but her warm smile and soft-spoken nature make it harder to resist. You take the seat, the proximity making you hyperaware of her perfume—floral, expensive, intoxicating.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” Alice says, her voice calm and steady. “You’ve worked hard enough. Let us take care of the rest.”

“We’re not asking you to give up your independence,” Rio says, though her eyes glint with something darker. “But you’ll find life’s a lot easier when you have five women devoted to your happiness.”

Jennifer leans in, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “And we are devoted, sweetheart.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t even know you.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “You’ll get to know us. Intimately.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck as Lilia’s hand gently rests on your knee. Her touch is light, almost comforting, but it sends a spark through you.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Lilia murmurs, her thumb brushing slow circles against your leg. “But we want you to feel... wanted.”

Rio smirks, her gaze dropping to your lips. “And we’re very good at making people feel wanted.”

Before you can respond, Jennifer stands, stepping behind you. Her hands rest lightly on your shoulders, her fingers tracing slow patterns against your skin. The intimacy of the gesture makes your breath hitch.

“You’re tense,” she whispers, her lips close to your ear. “You work so hard, don’t you? Let us take some of that weight off.”

Agatha’s eyes darken as she watches the scene unfold, a predator assessing its prey. “You deserve to be treated like the treasure you are.”

Lilia’s hand slides a little higher on your thigh, her movements gentle but deliberate. “Let us take care of you, darling.”

Your heart races as you look around the room, their eyes on you, their intentions crystal clear. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and more than a little dangerous.

“I... I need time to think,” you manage, your voice shaky but firm.

Agatha stands, her imposing presence filling the room as she moves closer. She reaches down, tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. “Of course, take your time,” she says, her voice low and commanding. “But don’t take too long. We’re not the patient type.”

With that, she steps back, and the five of them exchange knowing looks, as if they’ve already decided you’re theirs.

As you leave the room, your legs feel unsteady, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You can still feel the ghost of their touches, the weight of their gazes.

Back in the dressing room, you glance at your reflection, your flushed cheeks and wide eyes betraying the storm inside you. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into—but part of you doesn’t want to escape.

Back in your apartment, Wanda is sprawled on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She barely glances up as you close the door, your heels clicking against the floor.

“Rough night?” she asks, her voice casual, though she finally looks at you, frowning slightly. “You look... flustered.”

You don’t answer right away, instead shrugging off your coat and tossing your bag onto the counter. Flustered doesn’t even begin to cover it. Your mind replays the evening on an endless loop: Agatha’s commanding tone, Lilia’s warm touch, Jennifer’s whispered promises, the way they all seemed to orbit you like you were the center of their universe.

“Not rough,” you say finally, though your voice betrays you. “Just... weird.”

Wanda narrows her eyes. “Weird how? Did someone cross a line? Do I need to come down there and handle something?”

You shake your head, though the thought of her trying to “handle” Agatha makes you snort despite yourself. “No, nothing like that. It’s just... this group of women. They were... different.”

“Different how?” Wanda asks, now sitting up, her curiosity piqued.

You hesitate, unsure how to explain. “They’re... rich. Like, stupid rich. And they... I don’t know. They want to... help me?”

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up. “Help you how? Like charity? Or...” Her expression shifts to one of amusement. “...like sugar momma help?”

You stay silent, and that’s all the confirmation she needs. Wanda bursts out laughing, clutching a pillow as she leans back.

“Oh my God,” she says between giggles. “You’ve got five sugar mommas fighting over you? That’s the plot of a rom-com, babe. Or, like, a very specific fanfiction.”

“It’s not funny,” you mumble, though your cheeks burn. “They’re serious, Wanda. They said they want to take care of me.”

Wanda calms down, though her grin remains. “And what did you say?”

“I said I needed time to think.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “And what do you want?”

You sigh, collapsing onto the chair. “I don’t know. It’s... overwhelming. They’re all so... intense.”

“Intense hot?” Wanda asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it. They are hot, each in their own way. Agatha’s commanding presence, Rio’s rebellious charm, Alice’s quiet intellect, Jennifer’s movie-star allure, and Lilia’s nurturing warmth—they’re all dangerously appealing.

“They’re hot, okay? But that’s not the point,” you admit, rubbing your temples.

“The point,” Wanda says, leaning forward, “is that they’re rich, gorgeous, and want to spoil you. What’s the downside here?”

You don’t answer, because you’re not sure there is one—at least, not yet. But something about the way they looked at you tonight, like they were already claiming you as their own, makes your stomach twist in a mix of anticipation and unease.

The next morning, you find a package waiting outside your door. It’s wrapped in elegant black paper, tied with a silk ribbon. Wanda, curious as ever, peeks over your shoulder as you open it.

Inside, you find a designer handbag that probably costs more than your rent, a card tucked neatly inside. The handwriting is elegant and precise.

“You deserve the best. Let us show you. - A, R, Al, J, L”

Wanda whistles low. “Girl, they’re not playing.”

You run your fingers over the smooth leather, your heart pounding. The gift is beautiful, thoughtful even—but it’s also a reminder of the power they hold. They could change your life, make everything easier. But at what cost?

That evening, you find yourself back at The Velvet Petal, though you’re distracted the entire night. When your shift ends, one of the staff hands you a note.

“Meet us upstairs. Same room. We won’t ask again.”

You hesitate, the weight of their words heavy in your hands. You don’t know why you go, why you climb the stairs and open the door to find them all waiting, just as they were before.

This time, they don’t give you a chance to second-guess.

“We’re done waiting,” Agatha says, standing as you enter. Her presence fills the room, her sharp suit impeccable as ever.

“We know you’re hesitant,” Lilia adds gently, rising to meet you. She takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. “But we also know what you need, even if you don’t yet.”

Jennifer steps behind you, her hands settling on your shoulders again. “You’re too special to let go, sweetheart.”

Rio smirks, lounging on the sofa. “And let’s be honest—you want this as much as we do.”

Alice steps forward, her eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. “Say yes, and we’ll give you the world.”

The air is thick, their words wrapping around you like a velvet cage. Your heart races as their gazes lock onto yours, each one waiting for your answer.

You take a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “What happens if I say yes?”

Agatha’s smile is slow, deliberate. “Then you’re ours.”

Agatha’s words linger in the air, heavy and inescapable. The way she looks at you feels like she’s already decided your answer. The others exchange glances, their expressions a mix of hunger and satisfaction, as though your hesitation has only added fuel to their fire.

“I...” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

Jennifer’s hands slide down your arms, her touch gentle but firm. “Shh, don’t overthink it,” she murmurs. Her lips are close to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “Just let us take care of you.”

Your heart races as Lilia steps closer, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve worked so hard, darling,” she says, her voice low and soothing. “You deserve to rest. To feel wanted.”

The way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand moves to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that leaves you breathless.

Before you can respond, Rio rises from the sofa, her movements slow and deliberate. “You’re overthinking,” she says, her smirk sharp as she closes the distance between you. “You want this. I can see it.”

Her fingers trail down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Let yourself enjoy it for once.”

Alice is the last to move, her presence quieter but no less intense. She steps closer, her eyes locked on yours as she speaks. “We’re not asking for anything you don’t want to give,” she says softly, her tone disarming. “But if you say yes, we’ll make sure you never have to worry again.”

Agatha’s voice cuts through the haze, commanding and steady. “Say it,” she urges. Her hand reaches out, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her touch is firm but not harsh, her thumb brushing over your jaw. “Say yes.”

The weight of their attention is almost too much to bear, your body reacting in ways you can’t control. Your mind is screaming at you to think, to process, but your heart is louder, pounding in your chest as their words sink in.

“I...” you begin, your voice trembling.

Jennifer’s lips brush your ear, her voice a sultry whisper. “Yes, baby. That’s all you have to say.”

And before you know it, the word falls from your lips. “Yes.”

The shift in the room is immediate. Agatha’s smile is predatory, Rio’s grin smug. Lilia’s eyes light up with warmth, and Jennifer presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, her touch lingering. Alice nods, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

“Good girl,” Agatha murmurs, her hand still cradling your face. “You’ve made the right choice.”

Rio steps behind you, her hands brushing your waist as she leans in close. “Now, let us show you how much we appreciate you.”

Jennifer’s fingers trace slow patterns against your arms as Lilia pulls you into a gentle embrace. Her perfume surrounds you, a soft, floral scent that makes your head spin.

“You’re ours now,” Lilia whispers, her voice dripping with affection. “And we take care of what’s ours.”

The way she says it sends heat rushing through you, their touches and words weaving a web around you that you can’t escape—and, deep down, you realize you don’t want to.

The air in the room feels heavy, thick with anticipation. You’re caught in the pull of their presence—five women who’ve effortlessly taken control of the space and, now, you. Each of them steps closer, their combined energy overwhelming, intoxicating.

Agatha’s hand lingers at your chin, her sharp nails lightly grazing your skin as she tilts your face toward her. Her piercing eyes search yours, and a faint, satisfied smirk spreads across her lips. “You’re trembling,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth. “Are you nervous? Or just excited?”

Before you can respond, Lilia presses against your side, her arm wrapping around your waist. The warmth of her body seeps into yours, and her fingers begin to trace soft circles along your hip. Her touch is gentle but firm, grounding yet possessive.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Lilia whispers, her lips close to your ear. “We’ll take care of you. Let us show you just how much you mean to us.”

Jennifer’s laugh is soft and teasing as she moves to your other side. Her hands slide over your shoulders, her touch featherlight but deliberate. “You’re ours now, sweetheart. There’s no need to hold back.”

Rio leans against the wall, her dark eyes fixed on you with a smoldering intensity. She doesn’t move, but the heat of her gaze is enough to make your knees weak. “We’ve been waiting for this,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “And now that we have you, we’re not letting you go.”

Alice is quieter, but her presence is no less commanding. She steps forward, her hands sliding into her pockets as she watches the others with a small, knowing smile. “Don’t let them overwhelm you too much,” she says softly, though the glint in her eyes betrays her own intent.

You feel surrounded, enveloped by their presence and their touch. The intensity of it all sends your pulse racing, your breaths coming shallow and uneven.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lilia murmurs, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. Her gaze is warm and affectionate, but there’s a glimmer of something deeper—something darker—just beneath the surface.

Agatha’s thumb grazes over your lower lip, her smirk widening at the way your breath hitches. “We’ll make sure you never feel neglected again,” she says, her tone promising and possessive.

Jennifer leans in closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is let us take the lead, baby. We’ll handle the rest.”

You’re caught in their web, their touches and words binding you tighter with every passing second. You don’t know where this will lead, but you’re certain of one thing: they won’t stop until you’re completely theirs.

_-_-_

Please don't hesitate to leave a comment, like, and reblog. Tenchu!

[jubshead]

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲

Paring: Lithario (Lilia x Agatha x Rio) x Reader

Summary: “Aren’t you afraid they will come at night and bite you, drinking your blood until you are nothing more than a corpse or worse, turning you into one of them?”

A/N: Special big big thanks to my beta @yourbasicqueerie for reviewing most of this for me!

Warnings: Vampire sex, Blood kink, Marking/biting, Dubious consent, Corruption kink, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Thigh riding, Crying during sex, Deceit, Innocent reader, Over sensitivity, Vinginity kink

Date: Dec 20, 2024

Comments are always welcome and if you don’t wish to be identified, my inbox is open!

Masterlist | Request | Moodboard | Taglist

Tag list: @live-laugh-love-lupone @amethyst-bitch @greek-freak101 @crescendoofstars @multixfan @im-a-carnivorous-plant @thoroughly--confused @kukikatt @aggieharkness @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @diorrxckstar @liliastriangle @cowboykay @czl4t @daddyriovidal @maevaofendora @thecavalrywife @welmelsblog @nctxrejects @seaoflittlefires @thegoddamnfeels @gilmoresliarss @delusionalforolderwomen @walkethisway @tremordusk @lanfear-is-my-darkmistress @confuseuniverse

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Thunder rumbles in the distance as the dark forest lights up. Heaven is pouring over the path, the green leaves are heavy with wetness and the ground is thick with mud. In the midst of the storm, an old castle stands, its towers high and covered in vines. Inside, the inhabitants of the place can hear the harsh drops banging against the glass windows.

In one of the rooms, a man lies groaning and mumbling, pain and fever drowning out his brain. Your father’s illness was spreading faster than anticipated, worry grows in your stomach at the prospect of being left alone or worse, having to find a husband to care for the state. 

Early on, your father made you believe it was a common disease that would pass with time, but now you realize he was only trying to spare you. You’ve been by his side since he was put on bed rest. 

➙ continue

A/N: My holiday present for you guys!

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

🍸 (You Don’t) Own Me 🍸

Avis Amberg x fem!Reader

tags: Light Dom/sub, Impact Play, Riding Crops, Extramarital Affairs, sugar mommy vibes, Cun!ilingus, Vag!nal F!ngering, Aftercare, Mommy K!nk (light), Praise K!nk, Teasing, Org@sm Denial

wc: ~ 6.2 k

summary: For a few weeks, Mrs Avis Amberg has been taking girls to Dreamland—but the girl was never you. This time will be different, you decide.

A/N: this was a request and very fun to write (yet also a lot of work). hope you like it, anon <3

******************************************

You hunched over the gas station's bill in the cold, run-down office when the black Cadillac pulled up. The one you waited for every single day, hoping the lady with the fancy hats atop her red pin curls would pick you instead of Margaret one of these days. The chances weren't that slim since she and you were the only women here who also took care of other women—and still, it had yet to happen.

At first, Mrs. Amberg had only occupied herself with the boys. One of them, Jack Costello, she had toyed with for quite a while. It was noteworthy, though, that he had been her last boy. After him, she'd only ever taken Margaret—and you suspected that the sole reason for it was that hers had been the first name Ernie had mumbled to her.

By all means, Margaret and you should be friends, considering your husbands' mutual affiliation, but you didn't. You hated the beast. But everybody assumed the two of you must be bedding each other since you both had a preference for the fairer sex. It didn't work like that, but it wasn't like you could lecture anyone in this day and age. You were glad if they didn't spit at you if anyone happened to find out.

William allowed you to work, and he didn't care what you worked as. He knew that you were more than a secretary at the gas station, considering you earned better than he did at times, but he was content with his own life and bank account, whereas you had to stash your cash under the mattress, together with a revolver you carried in your purse wherever you went.

Abandoning your paperwork, you made for the front with quick steps, parading your curves in front of Mrs. Amberg as you approached Ernie, pretending you had something to discuss with him.

"Get Margaret, girl, will you? You know Mrs. Amberg likes her."

You bit back your displeasure and nodded. "I will fetch her right away."

As you'd spoken, Mrs. Amberg, impatient as ever, had taken out a cigarette and lighter and was just about to click it when you swiftly snatched the golden lighter from her hands.

"You'll blow up the gas station if you smoke here," you said, winking as you twirled and left with one of her possessions. She didn't even have time to protest or yell after you, so quick you had disappeared back into the building.

-> continue

let me know what you think in the comments here or on ao3 <3

[plush4bunny]

You take a deep breath and enter, only to find the very woman that has occupied your mind for all these days sitting at the table with the sleeping kitten perched on her shoulder.

- scene from @chrism02’s 3rd chapter from their Lilia Calderu x reader fanfic called “Tempting fate”

[timeforaneclipse]

Masterlist for Patti Lupone

LILIA CALDERU (Agatha All Along)

Falling Apart - Lilia Calderu x Reader (On going)

Chapter One Chapter Six

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter five

Blood Countess - Lilia Calderu x Vampire!oc

Be Mine Forever - Lilia Calderu x Countess Nathalia (Vamp!oc)

Cast List

YELLOW DIAMOND (hear me out)

(nothing here yet)

ROSE (GYPSY)

(nothing here yet)

AVIS AMBERG (Hollywood)

Tease

MRS LOVETT (Sweeny Todd the musical 2006)

(Nothing here yet)

JOAN RAMSEY (Ahs) (hear me out)

Hellfire - Yandere/obsessive?Joan Ramsey x Witch!reader (Being written)

NORMA DESMOND (Sunset Boulevard)

(nothing yet)

HELENA RUBINSTEIN (War Paint)

(nothing yet)

JOANNE (Company)

(Nothing yet)

RENO SWEENEY (Anything goes)

I need you, not him

ANY REQUESTS LEMME KNOW/ANY OTHER CHARACTERS YOU WANT

[linraiyxa]

so obsessed with Lilia it's making me go crazy.

im desperate for more fanfictions please please ao3 work more of your magic

[chipsnkayso]

Burgundy

Lilia Calderu x Reader

6k words | E rating

While your English professor is helping you with your essay, your pen falls under her desk. The department head chooses that moment for an impromptu meeting and you're stuck under the desk until the meeting is over. Luckily, there's a way to pass the time.

Read it on ao3

[cabinetofquriosities]

Everybody Wants to Rule the World || Chapter 1

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Violence, Smut for later chapters

Leave a review on Ao3!

(Listen along while reading)

Full playlist

Fic Masterlist

———————————————————————

Chapter 1: Westview

Mr. and Mrs. Hart took their nightly walk through their lovely neighborhood in Westview. The smell of an incoming storm was in the air. It was sharp and heavy, carrying a tightness within it. Mrs. Hart happily chatted with her husband of forty years about every menial thing throughout their day, finding contentment in the comfort of their lifestyle.

In the distance, she heart a meow.

She perked up at the sound, wondering if it was a neighborhood pet who escaped. Outdoor cats were banned by the housing association for their risk to the local ecosystem. The only felines allowed needed to be confined to a house.

“Oh, Arthur, we should-,” Mrs. Hart began.

“Absolutely not!” Arthur said, anticipating his animal lover wife’s reaction.

“Honey, don’t be so heartless. If we don’t find that cat, the animal control officers will.”

“What if it has tags?”

“What if it doesn’t? Remember when Mittens was taken? Diane had to jump through hoops to prove she was hers. They were a week away from putting that poor cat down!”

Arthur let out a heavy sigh. He knew that if they didn’t at least try and something happened to the cat, his wife would lose respect for him.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said.

Mrs. Hart visibly relaxed, giving a grateful smile to her husband. They set out to look for the animal. She cooed and made kissy noises to lure her out. They did not have to look far. Clear blue eyes glinted with moonlight. The white, long-haired cat sauntered out from a bush.

Mrs. Hart knelt down, baby talking to the cat as her husband noticed something on the pavement. Paw marks. Red paw marks. Mrs. Hart petted the friendly cat’s head before her eyes dropped to its legs. The bottoms were soaked in blood.

“Is she hurt?” she wondered aloud, carefully taking a paw and checking the pad.

“Any scratches?” her husband asked.

“None,” she said, looking up at him with her face draining of color.

“She’s Herbert’s, right?” he asked.

“Yes. Mittens,” she said, looking at the cat’s stained feet.

“Stay here,” he said.

“Arthur, wait! It might not be safe!” She said.

“Someone might be hurt in there. I’ll be okay,” he said, waving her off before thinking better of it, “If I’m not back in five, call the cops.”

Arthur walked up to the green front door, knocking on it before it slowly creaked open. He leaned in a bit to call out with his feet firmly planted in the doorway.

“Herb? We found your cat… you okay?” he listed for a minute, “Herb?! I’m coming in, so no need to ‘stand your ground’, okay?”

He carefully crept in. The house was completely silent and still. Shadows engulfed a leather sectional, mounted fish, and dozens of other items that made it clear the place hadn’t known the touch of a woman for quite some time. He looked around, seeing nothing out of place in the living room. Even though it was early in the evening, every light was switched off. Arthur hoped that he was just out at a friend’s place… and happened to keep his front door ajar. He heard a floorboard creak from the staircase.

“Herb! You here?”

He hurried to the stairwell and was met with nothing. He began climbing up before hearing a few muffled steps in the kitchen. He froze for a moment before walking back down. His heart thudded against his chest at the thought of what he would find. Perhaps his wife had been right.

He hoped against hope that he would find his neighbor of fourteen years puttering around his place, exhausted after a long golf game. After a few slow steps, he opened the kitchen door. The screen door to the outside squealed shut. The crackling of the autumn leaves sounded, only to grow distant as rain began to fall. Whoever had been there was now gone.

Rather than give chase with his bad hip, Arthur returned to the bottom of the stairs. He could just stop now. He could just call the police and have them check, but how would that make him look? The steps could’ve been a branch knocking against the wall. The door could’ve been opened and shut by the strong gusts of wind that were starting to kick up. He refused to be some loopy old man who overreacted to a strange situation.

Taking a deep breath, he ascended the stairs to the second floor. He was about to call out again, but knew it would be redundant given that Herb hadn’t answered before. Instead, he walked to the end of the hallway, passing pictures of Herbert’s late wife, their daughter, and their various pets throughout the years. His life had whittled down to just him and a cat now.

Time seemed to stretch as Herb reached for the doorknob. He finally turned it, revealing the fate of his neighbor. The stains that decorated the wall were angry and long from a violent struggle.

The dim streetlights outside illuminated the horrifying tableau. Frames on the wall were tilted or broken on the floor with smeared crimson streaking across them. A mahogany nightstand had been kicked over, leaving the lamp atop it in pieces. The forest green curtains had been torn down during whatever took place with dark stains where someone had clung to them. The rod they hung on was crooked against the wall after being yanked down.

The curtains unfortunately did not save Arthur from seeing the full extent of what Herb had endured in his final moments. He was sitting up on the floor by the window, his head tilted back and his mouth stretched open. His hazel eyes were bulging out, fixed on the ceiling above as if he were frozen in fear.

His body had been savagely vivisected. His chest and stomach had been cut. The cut was long, traveling down from the bottom of his belly up to his diaphragm. Whoever cut into it was messy. Several slices formed the wound as if the killer either didn’t have the care or the tool to completely open someone up in one go. They had grabbed each side of the cut and pulled it apart, opening his body to show Herb’s inner workings. It looked more like he had been attacked by an animal than a human being.

Arthur stood there dumbly, his brain refusing to process how this man he knew for over a decade was suddenly turned into nothing more than meat. He was jolted out of his stupor by a voice sounding from the front door.

“Arthur?! Are you alright?” his wife called.

“STAY DOWN THERE!” he bellowed.

“Why? What’s ha-“

“Call the police!”

—————————————————————

Agent Harkness downed a black coffee on the way to her next assignment. The bitter taste made her cringe, the grounds loose in there from her broken coffee maker. She had been called to a scene an hour and a half away following an urgent request by a small town chief who understood how in over his head he was. The town was one she had never heard of. Westview sat in Connecticut between Wilton and Ridgefield. Since it was a single killing in a single town, she would only be aiding the local police, so she figured it would be an easier situation than traveling states away. It especially helped that it was less than ninety minutes away from Longmeadow. For someone in her profession, that was a reasonable commute.

The neighborhood surrounded the taped off yard of Herb’s home. The neighbors craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Despite their supposed care of the dearly departed, they still had that morbid curiosity shared by humanity as a whole.

She stepped past the perimeter and into the yard. While it had been Westfield’s first murder since the seventies, Agatha had to admit that the local cops did well in securing the scene. She walked up to the front door where a man with an aggressive mustache greeted her.

“Agent Harkness? Hello, I’m Chief Jones,” he said.

“Hey, Chief. Nice to meet you. So, we have an intruder homicide here?”

The Chief nodded, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Despite his position, he had a self consciousness about him. Agatha was shorter in stature, but commanded any room she was in with a confident attitude. The two of them looked like a combined contradiction.

“…Could you take me through the scene?” she asked dryly after a few silent moments passed.

“Oh, right, sorry…” he sputtered out, stepping inside and guiding her up the stairs.

Agatha took in every minute detail she saw. Nothing was disturbed. Every frame was perfectly balanced. There were no signs of a struggle, no busted doorframe, no broken windows. The door was ajar, but the lock was in tact. The surgical precision of the break in was all a sharp contrast to the bloody scene in the bedroom. Even with everything Agatha had seen in her line of work, she was still stunned for a beat by the unexpected brutality of the kill. Maybe she hadn’t completely numbed herself to the darkness of the world.

“Geez… look at these cuts…” Agatha said, kneeling down.

Chief Jones winced and looked away, unable to keep his eyes on the carnage. Agatha, however, pushed through her own discomfort by treating it all like a puzzle. She leaned in, squatting just far enough to preserve any evidence on the body. Her attention was drawn to the jagged edges of the wounds

“This killer hated this man,” she muttered.

“Uh… How’dya figure?” the Chief asked.

“Look here,” she said, forcing him to face Herb.

He gagged before regaining composure. Agatha rolled her eyes. She took a pen out of her pocket and used it to point out the discoloration surrounding the wounds.

“See the swelling here? Only living tissue develops edemas like this. You can also see marks of active bleeding down the entire path of the injuries.”

“So… he was-“

“Alive through the entire thing.”

“Shit…”

“I know. This killer wanted him to suffer.”

They both straightened up, standing and facing each other.

“Did he have any enemies?” she asked.

“Herb? No. He was just a nice guy. Never bothered anyone.”

“Heard that before.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head, “He definitely made at least one enemy. I would say it was a hired killer, maybe a business dispute, but this seems more personal than that. No professional would be this… emotional.”

“Someone who can do things like this can’t have feelings or regular emotions, can he?” the Chief asked.

“Rage is an emotion. A pretty strong one,” Agatha said before leaving to examine the rest of the house.

—————————————————————

Agatha made the long drive home while on the phone with her boss. She felt spent after not only seeing such a horrible scene, but also trying to keep an inexperienced police force calm while handling their first major crime.

“I don’t know how well this case is going to go if it all falls on them,” Agatha said.

“Well, that is why you are there to help. Keep them on track. If there are more victims across state lines, then you can take it off of their hands. In the meantime, be a resource.”

“Lilia, they have no idea what they are facing with this guy. The scene was…”

“Was what? You sound shaken.”

Agatha sighed, biting her thumbnail while resting her elbow on the driver’s window sill.

“It reminds me of Englewood,” she said.

“Oh, dear…”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Agatha began to drift off into her thoughts again until Lilia’s voice cut through.

“How similar is it?”

“The method of killing is different. A knife as opposed to blunt trauma, but something about it…”

“How about the victim?” Lilia asked.

“Elderly male.”

“The other was thirty six.”

“I know, I-“

“Agatha, I know you have your hunches, but I am failing to see a connection.”

“It was a perfect scene apart from the body itself. I mean… nothing disturbed or left behind. No prints, no hair, not even a discernible footprint. Everything was so skillfully done… except the kill itself.”

“Was the victim a mark?”

“I don’t know. It was so much more brutal than a hitperson would bother with.”

“Perhaps he was paid to torture him beforehand?” Lilia posed.

“Not like this. This body was hacked to pieces. He wasn’t tortured in the typical ways done by hired hands. The pursuit and escape were smooth and planned. The unsub left no fingerprints or DNA behind as far as we have found. But, the murder used excessive force and emotional drive. They allowed for a struggle that left blood everywhere. They didn’t try to hide the body or clean the room even though their own tracks were completely covered. It was a chaotic kill, but not an unplanned one.”

“So, disorganized during the kill but an organized killer in every other way?” Lilia said uncertainly, “And you think this could be someone who knew him? If it was, it is unlikely the same person killed someone states away in the same manner.”

“Maybe. I just feel like they must be linked. Maybe he doesn’t know them personally… maybe he hates them for what they are. Like how some killers hate mothers and kill older women, or hate their ex girlfriend and kill someone who looks like her.”

“Similar ages and types of people. These two… a young dentist and an old retiree? I don’t know, hun. It seems like a reach. You need more.”

“I know. I’ll let ya know if I have it,” she sighed.

“Agatha?”

“Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.”

Agatha let out a small laugh through her nose before hanging up. She mentally thanked the universe for the sleeping pills waiting for her at home.

Once she pulled into her garage attached to her ranch style house, she turned her car off. She got out, pressing the button to close the garage door and kicked off her boots. She could hear the soft noises of her pet through the door before she walked inside. Agatha smiled at the black and white rabbit waiting for her in an oversized enclosure she had built for it.

“Hello, Señor Scratchy!” Agatha cooed, her voice taking on a tone that only the rabbit would ever hear from her.

The rabbit jumped around happily like a kernel of popcorn at her arrival. She opened his enclosure and picked him up, hugging him close. She carried him as she checked the house. In her line of work with her own personal history, Agatha could never relax before checking every dark corner of her home.

She returned to the living room with him, setting him down on the floor to explore. She wandered into the kitchen while rolling her neck, groaning as it popped. She took the bottle of pills from a cabinet and took one out. She nearly reached for the wine, but could just imagine her friend Wanda scolding her about mixing the two. That woman was the only person apart from Lilia who could be that motherly toward her without getting an earful. Maternal figures had left such a bad taste in her mouth throughout her life.

She opted for water instead of wine and washed the baby blue sleeping pill down. She felt her thoughts beginning to blend together as it started to take effect. She was swaying on her feet by the time she was brushing her teeth. She watched as shadows seemed to shift in the room. One passed by the window and stopped for a minute, the dark outline falling over Agatha. She turned around and it moved away. Occasional hallucinations were a symptom of the medication, she reminded herself. It did little to ease her mind.

She squinted her eyes to see a soft outline of the word “hi” rubbed into the fog on her window, revealed by the frosty temperature drop outside. She shook her head, convinced it was her mind drifting to sleep before she had reached the bed. She clumsily stripped her clothing off, flinging each article in a different direction. She face-planted into her pillow before sinking into her mattress.

The next morning, she was jerked out of a deep sleep by her screeching alarm clock. She groaned, her limbs feeling heavier than usual. The meds had done their job almost too well. She stumbled to the bathroom with her eyes still closed and sat down on the toilet. As she peed, she looked up at the window and remembered the message from the night before.

After flushing, she looked at the pane of glass that was stippled with the morning dew. Instead of “hi” was a spot that looked like it had been wiped off by someone’s sleeve.

She rolled her eyes and smirked, knowing it was likely one of Wanda’s kids who often snuck into her backyard. They would write messages in chalk or the snow to say hello to Agatha when she was away for work. It was very sweet and meant more to her than she cared to admit.

A question of why Billy or Tommy had wiped it away flashed in her mind, but it was shooed away as she tripped over her bunny.

—————————————————————

“Where’d you get a black eye?” Chief Jones asked as she walked into the station.

“Where’d you get that stain on your shirt?” she calmly snapped back.

He looked down at his white shirt, noticing a few drops of brown from his coffee.

“Damn it…” he muttered, dabbing at it with his tie as if that was any better.

“So, were the witnesses interviewed?” she asked, sitting herself in a chair by his desk.

“Yeah. Sharon…”

“Who’s Sharon?”

“Uh, Mrs. Hart. She’s the wife of the man who found Herb,” he said as Agatha nodded and motioned for him to continue, “She told her husband, Arthur, to help her find a loose cat. The cat was Herbert’s. Mr. Hart approached the house. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the house… apart from-“

“The corpse in the bedroom-“

“Uh, right. He found the front door open and went inside.”

“Which is when he found him,” she droned on, making an impatient circling motion with her hand.

“Actually, no.”

“Oh?”

“He heard something first. Someone in the kitchen. He went to see what it was and saw someone fleeing the scene.”

“What details did he give about the killer?” she said, sitting upright with more urgency.

“Uh… he said he didn’t see them. He saw the door close and heard his footsteps.”

“Damn…” she muttered before perking up again, “Wait… he was there and the killer just ran off?”

“Yeah, luckily.”

“Huh… the killer was really only there for Herb…” she wondered.

“I guess so. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet,” she muttered, “And his daughter?”

“Pepper? Oh, they don’t talk much.”

“Why not?”

“Eh, loss changes families. Y’know?”

“I do…” she said quietly before clearing her throat, “So they’re estranged, then?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you reached out to her?”

“She’s been notified. She said she doesn’t have interest in any of this.”

“Really?” Agatha asked with an arched brow, “Do we know where she was that night?”

“Yes. She was on the other side of the country vacationing in the Hamptons.”

“Wow… A rich alibi for a rich woman.”

“Yeah, she ended up working at a pretty big ad agency.”

“And she won’t fly back for her dead father? Herb must’ve done something to drive his only child away like that,” she said.

“Like I said, loss changes people.”

“Not like that, it doesn’t. Not so much that you don’t cut your vacation short if they get murdered,” she said, thinking back to when her own mother passed, “No, there is something deeper. Do you think she was abused?”

“By Herb?! No, the guy was a teddy bear. He was always so proud of her. He’d never do anything to her.”

“Thing is, Chief, a lot of people who terrorize their families seem like harmless people.”

“I knew the guy. No drinking issues, no bar fights, no cheating on his wife. I don’t think he ever even got a speeding ticket.”

“And Pepper?”

“What about Pepper?” Jones asked.

“Was she also a rule follower?”

Chief Jones hesitated a bit before saying, “Well, every kid goes through a rebellious phase.”

“And what did hers look like?”

“Just the usual stupid teenage mistakes. Getting drunk, caught with pot, fights with girls at school…”

“She got into fights?”

“Yeah. She would get pretty scrappy in the locker room when she was on the soccer team.”

“A temper issue?”

“Something like that. Girls fighting over a boy. Typical. Tale as old as time,” he said.

Agatha fought every instinct to bristle at that comment.

“Which boy?”

“Tony,” he said with a grimace.

Agatha took note of his reaction, unaware that the man was capable of showing such vitriol for one of his neighbors.

“Tell me about him.”

“Well, if you think Pepper was rebellious, he made her look like a saint. He was a bit of a heartbreaker. He was this little rich brat who would hold these wild parties and…”

“And what? Partying isn’t worse than fist fighting other students.”

“Well… Pepper always had bruises on her when she dated him. Herb hated him. Hell, I hated him. Everyone tried to reach her, but she never pressed charges.”

“Sounds like Tony had a reason for a grudge. When did they break up?” she asked.

“They didn’t. He’s with her in the Hamptons. Married for over twenty five years.”

“Geez. I’ll have someone look into their finances. If there’s anyone who could afford a hired gun, it would be them. I need to talk to them.”

“They aren’t answering any questions.”

“Tell them the FBI wants to speak with them. That usually lights a fire under people’s asses.”

—————————————————————

“Tony STARK?!” Lilia yelled over the phone.

Agatha flinched at the reaction.

“Yes, that Tony,” she said.

“You had better be sure to tread lightly here. This is a powerful and litigious family.”

“I always tread lightly.”

“Agatha, you tread with the weight of an elephant in steel-toed boots. Be. Smart,” Lilia scolded.

“I will be! I just need to look at them. They are the strongest leads we have right now. Like you said, they are rich and powerful, which means they have the resources to get away with murder. They also have anger issues and a grudge against our victim. Now, either Pepper is hiding something about why she wouldn’t speak to her father or her husband isolated her from him on purpose. Either way, we need to explore this.”

“Agreed, as much as I hate to say it. Ugh, there is going to be so much paperwork. I will try to get a warrant for the finances AFTER you speak to them.”

“That could give them the warning they need to move things around!”

“If they are masterminds who plan murders, they have already done that. This will go much better if you get an interview with them.”

“Fine. I will do everything possible.”

“Good. Call them.”

Lilia hung up and Agatha huffed out a breath. She retrieved their numbers and called them all, only to be sent to different answering services. She left messages with each one.

—————————————————————

After going through every detail of what they had, Agatha forced herself to leave for the day. She drove the hour and a half to Longmeadow while listening to a podcast and stopped off at the 24hr gym a few miles from her house. It wasn’t the fanciest gym, but it was the only one that was open after she worked half the night or when she couldn’t sleep.

She took her gym bag out of the trunk and walked inside, a handful cars surrounding her in the parking lot as the streetlights turned on. She changed into yoga pants and a sleeveless tee that hung loosely around her muscular form. She brought her bottle, put in her earbuds, and got onto an elliptical. As she exercised, she scanned the gym to take stock of her surroundings. She had made a habit of memorizing the people around her.

A mother and teenage daughter were on the other ellipticals, seemingly competing with one another in a friendly manner. There was an old woman on the exercise bike. Two high school boys were spotting each other on the bench, pressing weights with terrible form. She was watching them closely when a woman next to her got onto the treadmill.

She seemed younger than Agatha’s fifty three years. This woman was either in her late thirties or early forties. She had dark hair and prominent brown eyes. The irises were nearly black. Her mid length hair was pulled up into a ponytail that bounced as she ran. She definitely worked out. Though slender, Agatha could see abs and lean muscle given the sports bra and shorts she wore.

She looked away the moment she was caught staring, swallowing as she moved a little faster, pressing a button to raise the machine’s resistance.

She heard a muffled voice close to her. She looked around before her eyes fell on the woman next to her. Agatha tapped her earbud to pause it and took it out. She must have looked annoyed since the other woman looked apologetic.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t know you were listening to something,” she said.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Agatha nearly stuttered out, “Uh, did you need the machine?”

“Oh, no,” she said, lightly panting as she jogged on the treadmill, “I’m new here and just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Alison.”

Agatha normally hated socializing with anyone outside of her tight friend group. Her resting bitch face normally warded people off. This woman seemed unaffected, though. That alone interested her.

“Agatha,” she said.

“Both A names. Weird coincidence,” Alison said with a smirk.

“I mean, maybe,” she said.

Agatha needed a plan of escape if this woman started talking about fate or, even worse, astrology. It was bad enough that Lilia used her birth certificate in her file to do her charts. She didn’t need someone else telling her that she was anxious or upset because “Your 8th house is in Saturn” or whatever the fuck.

“Yeah, I guess that’d be more impressive if our names started with X or something,” Alison joked, “Did you just get out of work?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious… also, you’re wearing a watch.”

“Why does a watch give that away?” Agatha asked.

“The only people who wear watches are old or in a job where they can’t always be on their phone. Unless it’s a smart watch, people normally don’t carry them around.”

“Huh… forgot it was on,” she said, undoing the thick, men’s silver watch and slipping it around her water bottle.

“What do you do for work?” Alison asked.

“I’m a law enforcement officer,” she said.

“Oh, so the enemy, then,” Alison said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Sorry?” Agatha asked.

“I work at a nonprofit that works with victims of police violence and I organize protests on the side. A lot of your boys in blue have caused their share of trouble.”

“Ah… yeah, I’m not one to defend dirtbags like that. I’m also not in blue. I’m a federal agent.”

“Ooh,” Alison said, clearly pretending to be impressed, “DEA? ATF? Immigration? What sort of people do you go after?”

Agatha scoffed at the baiting this woman was doing. While she was fully aware at the massive flaws in the system, she also didn’t appreciate being lumped in with all of the corruption due to her job title alone.

“Murderers. I work in homicide,” Agatha said tersely.

“FBI. Okay, I actually am impressed.”

“So glad to have your approval,” Agatha muttered, looking ahead as she kept exercising.

Alison sighed and said, “Hey, I’m sorry. That was really hostile. I’ve been told I can come off a little strong sometimes.”

Agatha slowed down and looked at her for a beat.

“Same,” Agatha said, “And that I’m off putting and too blunt, so I guess we have that in common.”

Instead of being offended like most people would, Alison let out a full body laugh. A small smile settled on Agatha’s face as well.

“I like you, Agatha,” she said.

“Thanks… you’re not terrible either,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

The two exercised quietly, only talking a bit during water breaks. Agatha appreciated how sarcastic and self assured Alison was. She also caught herself sneaking a few peeks at her while she ran. She couldn’t deny a slight attraction.

After an hour and a half later, the two of them made their way to the lockers. Agatha took her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“You’re not showering?” Alison asked, already taking her shoes off.

“No, I live really close by.”

“Oh, well, I hope I see you later!” she said, “Never thought I’d want to spend time with a cop— well, Federal Agent.”

“I never thought I’d want to spend time with a bleeding heart, but here we are,” Agatha retorted.

“Bleeding heart? You make me sound soft,” Alison said with fake offense, dropping her register to a goofy creepy voice, “No, I have a tough, black heart.”

“A bleeding black heart?”

Alison laughed again, winking at her. Agatha knew from the warmth in her cheeks that she was blushing.

“See you around, Black Heart,” Agatha said.

“See you around Officer,” Alison teased before walking deeper into the locker room.

Agatha found herself smiling as she walked back to her car.

Fic Masterlist

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: Gaudium In Finem

Summary: Death, upright; growth, change, new beginnings. Luckily for Lilia, she has the perfect guide to help her navigate the unknown.

AO3

Included: Mentions of death, allusions to smut, fluff and comfort, found family

Words: 2.7k

A/N: This is my love letter to Agatha All Along and to the group of people I'm fortunate enough to call my own coven. I'm sad to see the show end, but excited to see where it leads. It has been so much fun playing in the fandom sandbox every week with you all <3

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @thoroughly--confused @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @macnbriee @liliastriangle @im-a-carnivorous-plant @allseingeye

Lilia loved being a witch. 

Loves. 

Loved? 

“If you think about it too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.” A voice calls from behind her. 

She turns, startled to find herself staring back down The Road. Her feet are bare, the leaves rough against the bottom of them, hair a wild mess of curls. She can smell the mud on herself, but mercifully seems absent from it on her person. 

The familiar weight of her own clothing startles her. She runs a hand down the sleeve of her cardigan, feeling the slight differences in texture between the yarn. Years ago, in a fit of fancy, she’d made it herself; it has been one of her most prized possessions since, and she’s relieved to have it returned. 

Lilia pauses at the sight of you. You lean against one of the gnarled trees, smiling in that fond way time had robbed her of remembering. There’s a welcoming energy surrounding you that she remembers, though, and finds herself drawn back into your orbit. 

Loved it is, then. 

“How are you here?” Lilia asks, breathless. 

“Where else would I be, my Lilia?” The accent lilts off your tongue just as she recalls, too. 

“You know what I’m asking.” She says, “How are you here—how am I here? I fell.” 

You tilt your head. Though the look you offer is curious, calculating, the warmth doesn’t ebb. It makes her feel lighter than a feather. 

“Death, upright.”

The words make her flinch. She can still feel it; the weight of the deck in her palm, the eyes of her coven on her, the encroaching doom of the swords aiming for all of them. And that final card—the destination—sealing the fate she had known since stepping into the trial. 

Death, upright. 

Your eyes are expectant, waiting. 

It clicks for Lilia, “New beginnings, transformation, and growth.” 

“Death is only a new beginning, and The Road is Death.” 

The Road is Death, yet she has never felt more alive. She feels the reliable weight of her magic still in her veins. Her heart is light at the sight of your smiling face and loving eyes. She itches to take your hand in her own again. 

As if sensing the desire, you extend your hand, palm up. She closes the distance to take it and finds herself pulled into a kiss. It’s sweet and slow, but brimming with centuries of longing. She pulls back and presses a kiss to your palm. 

“My Lilia, how I’ve waited for you.” You whisper, cupping her beautiful face between your hands. She looks back with soft, glassy eyes. “Come, I have so much to show you.” 

--- The Road is much more subtle in death than it was in life; or, at least, it is more casual about the changes it weaves in. The wild forest thins on either side, trees growing more sparse, or pushing back away from The Road as homes pop up alongside it, from victorian-style to mere cottages.

She can witness scenes through the windows, families caught in images of domesticity she doesn’t care for but they must find joy in. Others are outside tending gardens or enjoying the endless existence sprawled before them upon their porch. It’s peaceful, beautiful. 

Lilia is warmed by the fact that almost everyone offers a greeting. She regards you from the corner of her eyes when every soul regards you with recognition.

Before she can question the behavior, the two of you come upon the edges of a city. 

Old, worn stone in gray rises into buildings that blot out the eternal moon. Buildings she finds matches for in the back of her mind. She can hear the water lapping at the shore even from here. Eager in a way she’d forgotten, she pulls you along the streets, ignoring the glances of everyone around, until she finds that old stone staircase. 

Not a rock is out of place, nor has the water weathered anymore of the sand than she remembers. The waves are dark blue—purple, even, where they meet the shore. White moonlight bounces off the crests. 

“Care for a dip, like old times?” You ask. 

When Lilia turns, you look just as you did, then; so young and joyful, elaborate skirts bunched up in your hands. She nods. Stepping down the staircase, she finds she, too, is clad in the skirts she wore, having to hold them lest she trip. 

Lilia is one-hundred-and-two again, not appearing a day older than a mortal twenty-five. Her hair cascades in thick, loose brown curls around her shoulders and down her back. Her skin is smooth and sun-kissed and her eyes twinkle with the remaining joyful youth she possessed then. But when she sheds her dress to bare herself to you, she isn’t shy. 

You sink to your knees as you did then. The moonlight traces every contour of her form that you’re eager to bring your lips to. And you do, mouth winding a path up her leg when a hand in your hair stops you. 

“This isn’t how the memory goes, darling.” Lilia tuts. 

Your eyes are pleading, “A little embellishment couldn’t hurt, could it?”

She shakes her head. Her hand moves from her hair to cup your cheek. 

“I love the scene as it is.” 

“Then that is how it will remain.” You press a kiss into her palm. 

Lilia steps fearlessly into the waves and beckons you. You shed your layers and follow, desperate and eager for her after such a long separation. Somewhere between touches and caresses, your bodies return to their wiser, more lived-in forms; the past remembered and honored, but made anew, as Death tends to do. You kiss Lilia hard. 

--

Varying paths shoot from The Road. Some are made of stone, winding uphill and into towering cities that are archaic in appearance. Others extend until they vanish into treelines. It is none of these that bring Lilia to a stop; the one that does can barely be referred to as a path, but rather a pattern of spots where the grass has been weathered away permanently. 

It is plain. Worn. The patches of exposed dirt reveal divots in the earth that are small enough to resemble thousands of footsteps. She stares along its length in search of answers. She feels herself tempted. 

Lilia looks over her shoulder to you. 

“Wherever you lead, I will follow.” 

“But is it safe?” She presses. 

“There is nothing that can harm you in Death. I swear it.” 

The first step onto the path prompts something to unfurl in Lilia’s chest, like that of a loosening fist. Her feet match the steps of her formers, bending, molding into the divots and taking an infinitesimal piece of the earth with her. 

Each moment moving away from The Road brings change; past the treeline looming ahead, there’s a whisper of music. Muffled voices in the hundreds or thousands rise in harmony. 

Closer, she nearly pauses, the melody hitting her like a train. It only makes sense that The Ballad should have made it into the afterlife. Her hand reaches for your own, gripping tight. Faces pass behind her eyes; Jennifer and Alice and Agatha and Billy. 

Her coven. Oh, how she misses them—loves them, even now that Death has stolen her away. Some things never leave a witch. 

The two of you come to stand in a wide field, an impossibly large stage near the back edge. Lorna Wu is center stage, microphone pulled close by one hand while the other gestures and weaves. She is lost in the music, moving in a whirl of color and flowing fabric; she’s a goddess straight out of the seventies, just as the pictures portrayed. 

Alice’s resemblance is strong when Lorna throws her head back and smiles. Lilia’s not sure she’s ever seen evidence that the woman could smile; but given her goal in life, it’s no surprise that her peace would be found in Death. It comforts her to know Alice is here somewhere basking in the glow of her Mother’s joy. 

Thousands of witches mill around the stage. No two groups look exactly the same—some, she thinks, may even be older than she. Others are young, taken before their power could manifest. Her heart aches, yet there is a levity in knowing they’re all together, free to traverse the existence after life, absent of hurt. 

“Would you like to join them?” You ask. 

Lilia takes in the crowd, a rebuff poised on the end of her tongue. She’s far too old to dance like a girl amongst her sister-witches. Yet, she doesn’t give voice to her denial; because despite her age and her feelings on what would be proper, Lilia wants to be among them. 

“More than anything.” She answers instead. 

Your face spreads into a beautiful smile. Offering your hand to her with a flourish, “Well, then allow me, my lady.” 

The two of you work your way into the center of the crowd. Lilia doesn’t miss how people part for you, every single one offering a nod. But your attention is focused solely on her and it’s heavier than she remembers, with more behind it. 

Lorna has worked away from The Ballad and into Red Haired Woman. Witches on either side move as the music bids them, limbs fluid and wild. The air is thick with smoke and cedar and lavender. She tilts her head back and breathes deep. She can’t claim to know what it is that takes hold of her spirit, but she allows her limbs to move of their own accord, finding your own as the two of you dance with abandon.

--

“Darling?” Lilia murmurs, watching you. 

You’re focused hard on the fruit presented in front of you. Hands hover, unsure, painfully intentional in the piece you want to pick for her. It reminds her of the early days in Romania, years before you—she pushes that thought away. 

The witch that has plucked each piece to sell watches your process. Her lips curl in amusement, leaning against the stall, waiting. There is familiarity in how she regards you and it is this that sets Lilia’s mind running. 

Your hand comes to hover over one of the oranges and you snatch it up as if it would be taken from you. 

“Thank you.” You say to the owner, who only nods. Then you turn on your heel and offer the orange to Lilia, “For you.” 

Lilia takes it with a smile. She walks at your side as the two of you weave through those within the marketplace. You’re careful to keep a steady pace, so Lilia doesn’t get swept away in the crowds. 

Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh of the orange, repeating, “Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lilia?” 

A black cat weaves its way through your legs and nearly trips you up. It runs off, a child no more than seven running after it. 

“Who are you to the dead?” She asks. 

“A guide.” A loose term, really, “I aid the newly dead in letting go of life and embracing the after.” 

Lilia wonders for a moment if that is what you’re doing now, but she knows that isn’t the truth. You waited for her same as she has longed for you. Not one moment spent together has been out of something as simple as duty. 

“They all know you, as if you’ve been around for eternity.” 

“Something like that.” You shrug. 

She eyes you with that look that means she expects an explanation. But the way this place works—the way Death works is difficult. It would take years for even the most enlightened witch to understand it. Well, years being a filler term, anyway. 

You sigh. Words come to mind, only to be banished, labeled unsuitable. Finally, you weave together the concept as best as you can, and open your mouth to speak. 

“Death is eternal—past and present and future. I’ve been here for eternity, same as I’ve been here only a couple of centuries.”

Lilia seems to have no trouble grasping the concept, “Death winds outside of time.” 

You nod. Of course Lilia would understand, with her experience of living outside the linear path; your Lilia, winding out of time, who saw the true sequence of existence in the fact that there is no sequence—things just are. 

“By your logic, all beings are eternally dead.” 

“They are. In a way.” 

Her head tilts, “Yet you said you waited for me. If a being is eternally dead, I would have always been here.” 

“My position grants me… unique insight into the illusory flow of time seen in life. I exist here, where time doesn’t live, while being aware that souls still remain on the linear path. I did wait for you, for so long—because my seeing both existences cemented your path in the linear.” 

Torture of the truest sense; knowing, rationally, that she should be with you in the existence after, only to glimpse into that illusion of life and find her cemented there, far out of your reach. You could have clawed away at the timeline and brought her home to you, but you knew she needed to find what existed there; so she would find what makes Death more than just an end. 

The mere reminder of the torturous existence without her has you stopping in the center of the crowds, uncaring for how they have to weave around you two. You pull her into a loving, intense kiss. She responds in kind. Her hands fist in the fabric of your shirt and pull so not a whisper can exist between the two of you. 

When she pulls back, her lips are swollen, eyes dark, “Where do we go from here?” 

“Wherever home is.” 

“Helpful. Thank you very much, darling.” Lilia deadpans. 

“Home is wherever I have the pleasure of seeing you happy, my Lilia.” You say, endlessly affectionate, your hands on either one of her cheeks, “I’m merely following you to where that may be.” 

“Some guide you are if I’m the one doing the guiding.” 

You laugh. Her eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief. Despite her spoken misgivings, though, she takes to the role well. Lacing her fingers through your own, she begins to pull you back down The Road as it winds. You follow, just as eager as she is to figure out where home is meant to be. 

--

Home isn’t what you expect. 

You anticipated an ancient place—like the homes you shared in Italy and Romania—or at least somewhere more rooted in nature; this is neither. The two-story house is right out of a modern sitcom. It’s somewhat plain, absent of the wizened flair you’ve come to associate with Lilia. 

Lilia, who stands on the porch, hands hovering over the door as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Lilia, who had picked up speed the second she saw the house in the distance. Lilia, who is looking back at you, tears in her beautiful brown eyes. 

A bark of laughter from inside is muffled by the door. You raise your brows. 

Lilia’s smile is incandescent. You’re not sure the door was unlocked, but she turns the handle and it opens all the same, the voices dying down inside. Then you hear the sound of hands clapping together. 

“Finally.” A voice calls, “I was beginning to think you lost your way, Dory.” 

You recognize the voice and hide a laugh behind a cough. Lilia glares, but there is no heat. 

“Agatha, seriously?” Jen sounds utterly exhausted. 

“What? You were all thinking it.” 

“They weren’t, actually.” 

“No one asked you, William.” 

Standing just a step behind Lilia, you watch the interaction with a smile. You understand now. They’re broken and a little peculiar, but they fit in an odd way. 

Agatha’s poring over something at the kitchen table while Jen sits at the other end, mixing furiously. She does look up to offer Lilia a fond smile. Billy rests on the living room floor with Scratchy in his lap while Alice is sprawled on the couch behind him. 

It’s a hodgepodge of personalities that should never work, but they do. Better than anything you’ve seen in a very long time. 

“Darling,” Lilia says, taking your hand, “come meet my coven.” 

You ignore the fact that you’ve already met every one of them—with the exception of Agatha, who Death had been very intense about handling personally. The door closes behind you. In the back of your mind, you thank whatever forces have led you here; home, winding outside of time. 

[rippersz]

𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (NSFW; Thigh-riding; Titles) (~4.7k words)

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“I think this is my favouritest place in the entire universe,” you admitted softly, your words slurred and muffled against the sweet-smelling skin of your lover’s neck. 

“I thought your favourite place was your bed,” she huffed, lips twisted into a smirk. 

“It is. But this is my most favouritest.” You moved your head, pushed your nose further beneath the curve of her jaw, and nuzzled closer into the corner of her shoulder and neck with a dizzy blissful smile. 

The urge to sigh took over quickly and as you breathed deep, utterly content with your soft witchy pillow, the mixed smells of wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, and gardenia filled your lungs. It was the most comforting combination, full of happy memories, a reminder of home, a staple of your Lilia, and when you breathed out, you caught the notes of the lemon shampoo clinging to her damp curls. Which, as beautiful as they were, were still incredibly unruly and slow to dry after a relaxing shower. They tickled your nose and chin, drawing damp streaks of water, and you reached up to tuck them away behind Lilia’s neck. 

“Quit it,” she nudged you gently, shifting you on her hip. 

“I’m not doing anything, your hair is getting in my way.” 

“Oh now she blames the hair,” your lover drawled, “What next? Is my lap not comfortable enough for you?” 

“It is. And it would be even more comfortable if you weren’t reading that stupid book.” 

She knew you weren’t being serious–you loved when Lilia got a moment to calm down and read peacefully–but she’d had her nose buried between the pages of the damn thing since the moment you settled. It was about flowers and sigils and ancient forms of casting and other things you didn’t care to remember because you were snuggled up on the right side of Lilia Calderu’s body and you would not move even if the Divine Mother herself had begged you to do so. She was simply too comfortable, simply too soft, simply too perfect. Braless, relaxed, matching your rare choice of pyjamas for the evening: Underwear and a T-shirt, the latter having been stolen from Lilia’s closet even though you had your own. It was flimsy, old, thin, and also the best thing you had ever worn as you’d straddled her thigh, wrapped your arms around her waist, and happily realised that you could still feel each warm part of her body through the two layers of cloth. 

That alone was a feat you had to accomplish together once upon a time—getting out of your comfort zones. It took a while before you were secure enough to open yourselves up intimately, to even think of getting undressed in the same room, to even kiss without skirting around each other first. You had your fair share of insecurities, but Lilia was a different story. She’d lived a life unlike any other, being a fugitive witch, skilled in divination, who travelled the waves of time as a skipping rock rather than a sailboat. Her upbringing wasn’t very liberal, much less accepting of homosexuals, and though she managed to get through life regardless, her preoccupied on-the-run mind steered her away from debauchery. All in all, that meant sex and intimacy simply was not as important to Ms. Lilia Calderu as it was to most of the population. She still felt the urge of course, she was a woman with such needs, but there was no time to desire a physical outlet - no time and no energy and no candidates. There was one girl in her youth, part of her original coven, and maybe a few flings in her mid-200’s, even something a little more long lasting toward the end of her 300’s, but the itch was never so persistent. It didn’t wait in the back of her head or lurk around right before going to bed, and it never came up in her thoughts when out in public. She was an adult woman with too many things to think about, focus on, and consider. She didn’t have time for desire. She didn’t have time to want.

And then you walked into her little shop on a rainy humid Wednesday afternoon, fuzzy-haired and wild-eyed, and the sight of you sent her careening into the future. She returned quickly, with an awed look, serious eyes, and the soft murmur of “The Wheel of Fortune”, and only after some time passed did you both realise that yes, change for the better was indeed in the cards. 

And Lilia found herself wanting that day. 

Then most of the days after it. 

For about three years, that was her normal. The sudden uproar of desire, not incredibly strong (for her subconscious would not let it get that far) but definitely noticeable. She found herself thinking about you often, about your skin, your hair, your hands, your fingertips, your legs, your smile. She found herself wanting to touch. To reach. To caress and to kiss and to bite. Once the two of you recognised your attraction, you quickly agreed that anything sexual or intimate would be postponed. It simply had to come at a time in which you were both ready, open, and uninhibited. And if it took a while, then it took a while.  

It took only two years, after which you finally gave yourself to Lilia and she gave herself to you. It was all very romantic; a dark evening, slow and desperate, wet and hot, quiet and needy. Completely unforgettable. It opened a gateway of sorts, a chance for you both to expand and explore, and after a lifetime of not being able to embrace sexual liberation, Lilia was finally given the opportunity. You encouraged her as best you could without overstepping boundaries, always willing to try what she wanted to try (even though she often found herself on the receiving end of your innovative thoughts instead of the other way around but nevertheless), always eager to do the necessary research if that’s what your time together required, never a complaint on your tongue whenever she admitted she wasn’t in the mood. No corners were ever cut when it came to the desire you had for your lover. 

Except when it came to book corners. Those were cut instantly. 

“What would you rather have me do, hm? Movie marathon? Bake a cake? Swim my way to Egypt? This is how I relax, now deal with it or get off,” Lilia snarked, moving her hand from the cover of her book down to your thigh to give you a small pinch. She was too quick for you to jump away. 

“Owch! Mean!” You flinched from the sting, dislodging yourself from your comfy drape over her shoulder to fix her with a playful glare. 

Lilia didn’t hesitate to meet you head on, taking her eyes away from her book to look up at you through dark lashes, right over the rims of her glasses. Glasses that she only wore when alone, when with you, with a little chain that held them in the place, with a shape that complimented her face so perfectly. They made her seem so… sophisticated. So… strict. A red candy-apple coloured body, slight cat eye details around the rims, and curved well enough to always be perched at a very specific angle on her nose at all times. You hated them. You really hated them. You wanted them gone. You wanted them away. You wanted them to stop being so tempting. She was already attractive enough - she didn’t need the fucking things setting your pants on fire every two seconds. And whether she knew about their effect or not, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter either way - her attention was excruciating, and to it you would never be immune. 

“Get rid of this book right now,” you started strong, straightening up in her lap with a haughty cross of your arms. 

“I’m busy with it,” she tightened her hold on her prized possession as if you were about to lunge forward and take it from her. 

“Yeah? Well I’m busy with you, so lose the book Calderu.” 

Her perfect lips pursed, displaying playful disdain, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow - just to be bratty. You watched as she considered her options, as she glanced down at her book, then back at you, then back at her book. And when she looked up for the last time, you changed your tactics and shuffled closer, moving up from her thighs to the curve of her torso - right by her lower belly. You pressed yourself there, dropped your eyebrow, and gave her the sweetest eyes you could conjure. 

“I just want to cuddle, Lili. Is that too much to ask for?” You sighed, moved your hands, and placed them on top of the book. 

Without fail, as you’d hoped, Lilia conceded. She almost always did whenever you addressed her like that, being so unaccustomed to pet names and terms of endearment as she was. To hear it from your lips was a tantalising thing, a sign of worthiness and ongoing love, and you saved it for your more intimate moments - just to coax her into doing something you knew she wanted to do but was simply too stubborn to go through with. Like putting her book down and giving you all of her attention. 

“I guess not,” she grumbled a few seconds later, melting into your efforts, and you grinned as she moved to set her book down on the bedside table. 

“See?” You hummed as you reached forward to gently pull the glasses from her face, being careful to first slide the chain from around her neck. “I knew you’d come around.” They were placed next to the book a moment later and you didn’t even wait a passing second before you were pouncing into Lilia’s arms. 

Like an overexcited puppy, your body went squirming and pushing into your lover’s, wiggling playfully as you worked your arms around her waist. She accepted you happily, letting out a sigh and a big eye roll before you tucked your face into her shoulder again and finally let the stress of the day properly wash off of your body. As Lilia’s muscles relaxed, allowing herself to give into the comforting weight of your clinging, she placed her lips to your shoulder and gave it a small kiss. 

“You’re going soft on me,” you murmured into her ear, delighting in the low hum that rumbled from her chest. 

“That’s the point,” she whispered, lighthearted and gentle.

Lilia couldn’t see the smile that spread across your face, but it was most certainly all soppy, soft, and loving. Utterly gormless, completely bewitched. She had you wrapped around every one of her fingers, oh her delightfully nimble fingers, and you never wanted to be unravelled. Not when paradise existed in her arms, flashing itself behind your closed eyes as Lilia began rubbing your back and tracing mindless shapes through the fabric of your shirt. Circles, squares, stars, triangles, trapezoids, words and phrases, squiggles and lines, suns and moons. Eventually, her pattern changed and she began following the same familiar loops and curves you’d seen her do a million times. 

From the top of your left shoulder blade diagonally to the plush fold of your right hip. 

L

I

L

I

A

A pause.

From the top of your right shoulder blade diagonally to the curve of your left hip.

C

A

L

D

E

R

U

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Lilia retraced her writing with the lightest press of her fingernails, going back over the loops of her ‘L’, the hills and dips of each letter, until she reached the tail of her ‘u’ and lingered there. One second. Two seconds. Until your skin began to tingle, and then she started to draw little circles, going from small to big in a slow spiral, and your skin began to buzz. Her caresses made it sensitive, bringing it to life, forcing the expectant attentiveness only an eager body could have as you sat in her lap and started to squirm. The circles quickly faded into nothing before the pattern reset. Back up to your shoulder blade, again across her name. 

“L-Lilia,” you breathed, feeling your body grow hot beneath her attention. 

“What?” Came her whispered response, soft like satin against your ear as she closed her eyes and placed her chin on your shoulder. 

She didn’t seem to realise what she was doing. All the warmth that she spread through you, continuously, while her traces turned to touches and she started pressing her palms to your back. She felt so good and gentle, so caring and calm, and when you took a deep stuttering breath to try and grasp your bearings, to delay the inevitable downfall of desire, you were once again overcome by her scent. It blanketed your lungs, purred within your soul, and the wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, gardenia, lemon, love… the smell of love… made you whine. It was just so Lilia. So nostalgic, gentle, light and intoxicating. 

She sparked a warmth—a stringy, viscous, thick warmth that settled in you. Like a pool in your abdomen, it burned and lapped. It called to her from the inside, reaching for the sweet kiss of her mouth, the gentle curl of her fingers, the way her tongue felt when it dragged along the inside of your thigh. You’d felt it before, yearned for it before, gone hours with and without the careful delicate heat Lilia always managed to coax from you. And it didn’t take much. It never did. All you needed was a thigh between your legs. Pressed up against a thin piece of cloth, the only thing separating your cunt from her skin. Hands on your back. Warm and grounding, the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. A mouth by your neck. Soft breaths fanning onto your shoulder, the only thing that broke your flimsy resolve.

“You’re making me horny.” It was blunt, soft, and said with such  tightness, you knew that it was obvious you were embarrassed.

You clenched your eyes shut. 

How pathetic was it, after all, to be incapable of lasting a few minutes on your lover’s lap, receiving all of her attention, without succumbing to an eager lust? How pathetic was it to be unable to focus when she felt so good beneath you? Was that how your mind worked? So one-tracked? Was that how your body worked? So easy and loose for Lilia Calderu? Like a slut?

Yes. Yes, exactly. 

You would do anything she asked of you. You’d be anything she wanted you to be. If Lilia woke up one morning and boldly decided that she always wanted you on top, that she wanted to stay in her pillow princess luxury and succumb to your tongue and hands until she couldn’t take it anymore, you’d do it. If Lilia decided that she never wanted you to touch her ever again, in history, and that she was the only one to harness any control in the bedroom, then you’d relinquish your own. If Lilia wanted you on a leash, if Lilia wanted you chained to a bed, if Lilia wanted you in a crate, on the floor, against a wall, against a table, against a ceiling, wearing nothing, wearing everything, wearing too much or too little, you wouldn’t stop her. You wouldn’t refute. Not because you couldn’t, but because you didn’t want to. She was a witch, a powerful witch, and a woman, a powerful woman, and the very second you looked into those neverending puppy dog eyes and saw the sadness and the strength, you were whipped. You were totally, absolutely hers. Lilia’s slut. No — Lilia’s girl. 

But even Lilia’s girl made mistakes sometimes. Even Lilia’s girl was, in certain moments, too greedy. And the moment the words were out of your mouth, your depraved confession, her touch stopped. 

It was excruciating. 

Your chest hit hers with every deep inhale you drew, growing deeper the longer you sat there, and it began to shudder as your heart crawled into your ears. She was so still, so rigid, that your mind descended into worry. Did you ruin it? Did you say the wrong thing? Should you have left it? Ignored it? Maybe she just wanted to cuddle. Maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself, tried controlling it better, and returned to it in the bathroom after she fell asleep. Maybe you screwed up the evening because you couldn’t cuddle with Lilia for one second without wanting to fuck her brains out. Maybe..

“Do you want me to stop?” 

You blinked. You didn’t really have a response. Of course the answer was God, no, but if Lilia wanted to stop, then you wouldn’t push her. You didn’t want her to feel obligated. 

Lilia breathed slowly through her nose, off put by your silence, and pressed her still hands harder into your back. 

“I- if-... if you want to,” you whispered quickly, terribly unsure with your wavering confidence but so desperate for her touch that you felt your mind grow hazy. Goodness, she was so close and she felt so warm. Your heart returned to your chest, eager to beat in sync with your lover’s as you felt her body slowly relax underneath you. 

She let out a steady breath, so quiet you could barely hear, and then shattered the peace a second later.

One of the lingering palms on your back shot up to your hair, wrapped a thick handful of it into the curl of a fist, and wrenched your head back. You squealed, eyes tearing up with the sudden sharp pain in your scalp, and your body went falling into Lilia’s other hand. She held you up with only a flex and kept you there, suspended, unable to move.

“Be assertive,” Lilia commanded, not even giving you a moment to recover. “Do you want me to stop?” Her whisper was gone, replaced with a quiet serious depth, and you shivered as you looked into her eyes. 

They were dark. Hypnotising. Swirling with chocolate desire, with the honour of love, and at the sight of her focus, her undivided attention, the knowledge that she knew — she knew you were dying for her – the flame in you soared into a blaze. It was a wicked sludgy sort of thing, intense and impulsive, and its hunger, its ache made you throb. Lilia’s hand twitched in your hair, feeling so much better the longer the sting settled, and the words were tumbling off of your tongue before you could catch them. 

“No, no please. Please don’t stop Lili…,” your chest heaved with breath, affected by the feverish way she handled you, and you could feel the sickening helplessness of your expression. Brows furrowed, eyes wide and glossy, lips licked and cheeks dark. Pure want for your lover. Pure desperation. 

“Please.” 

Lilia considered you, running her deep gaze over your face. She took in the look of you, the need, and you watched her perfect lips purse, her beautiful eyes narrow, her dark brows furrow - before she hummed, relaxed the hand holding your hair hostage, and went to cradle the back of your head. You let her do it all without worry, knowing she wouldn’t hurt you, and sighed with bliss as she put pressure behind her fingers and brought you forward. Your eyes closed as your body was returned to its previous position, propped up against her, forehead pressed to the curve of her shoulder. Your legs clenched at her gentleness, at the contrast of her touch, and you shuddered as you felt her thigh, thick and soft and heavenly, stop you from getting any friction. 

“Lilia-” you didn’t even know what you were going to say, if you were going to beg or if you were going to question or what you were going to do - but it didn’t matter. 

She cut you off like a knife through flesh as her hands moved to trail down your sides, from the swell of your breasts to the soft plush of your waist to the dip and bend of your hips. Her touch was sure, strong, certain, and your hands flailed to grip at the back of her shirt when she suddenly settled her fingers into the hinge of your thighs and slowly, slowly, pushed you back. Slightly, a few inches, enough to have your legs falling open, leaving you there for a quarter of a second……. and then forward, slowly, to erase the space she made, to close the distance, to drag your core along her thigh. Once. Twice. Until you got the memo and started moving with her, whimpering as the ache in your abdomen started to ebb and flow. 

Your forehead pressed further into her shoulder, lightly muffling the whimpers that dripped from your lips, and you moaned when she shifted herself forward to move her mouth up to your ear. It was velvet against your heated skin, teasing and sensitive, and Lilia took a soft breath in before she kissed the shell and whispered, quietly, like there were others in the room and she didn’t want any other soul on Earth to hear… 

“You look like a whore.”

Then she sped up the pace, grasping your hips with more strength, nearing the point of bruising, and began pushing and pulling with smooth, quick tugs. You couldn’t do anything but hold on and move with her, shifting your hips back and forth on her thigh, and shiver every time your clit caught the fabric of your underwear. Your body had no trouble reacting; throbbing for her, dripping for her, ruining your panties while you clutched at her back and eventually abandoned her shirt to run your hands up over her bare skin. She was smooth, perfect, she felt like a woman beneath your touch, a lover, and you squished your cheek into her shoulder as you moaned. Loud, desperate, and unashamed. 

“Lilia… oh god.” And she let out little pants for her efforts, lips parted and eyes hooded while she watched the way your hips moved for her, gliding with grace, slow like a dance, and the breaths quickly tumbled into soft groans as you shuffled closer and pressed your right knee up against her core. 

“You feel so good,” you turned your head to whisper hurriedly, raggedly, into her ear. “S-so good…” And Lilia shuddered, biting her lip to hold back a moan as you began lifting your hips every time you were dragged forward. 

Your sounds mixed so well, soft and loud and husky and whiny, twirling together in a lustful little symphony as your movements got faster and sloppier. And when your eyes fluttered closed and open in lazy blinks, you saw the tantalising skin of Lilia’s neck, shifting as she breathed, and you couldn’t resist. A strangled moan rumbled up from her throat at the feel of your tongue, wet and hot while you leaned in, closer, more, until your nose was also pressed to her neck and you could breathe her in. She tasted, smelled, felt like Lilia. Your Lilia. Sweet Lilia. Her head dipped as she pressed her nose to your neck, making you pant with desire at the closeness of her lips. You just needed them on you, painting you, opening up so she could be free to sink her teeth in and drink your life from your body if that’s what she wanted. 

“I love you,” she husked, her breath making her deep voice shaky, and you responded with a harder thrust of your hips against her thigh and an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. 

You were too far gone for words at that point, with her practically wrapped around you. Your mouth was open, your tongue was licking lazily, lolling like a dog’s, and your mind was fuzzy, dripping toward your cunt, only working to move you back and forth on your lover’s leg like a depraved little animal. A sickened beast. You couldn’t help it. Her thigh was the perfect surface, strong when she flexed, soft when she relaxed, thick and delicious, and shivers wracked your body as you followed the gestures of her hands. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A heavenly friction against your clit, leaving the desperate weep of your hole to ache. It felt neglected, throbbing for Lilia’s fingers, but riding her thigh felt so good and you didn’t want to get up, you didn’t want to stop, even when your panties began sticking to your skin. You didn’t want to stop, even when your head got so fuzzy, your belly got so warm, your body got so hot that your grinding started to slow. It was hard to keep the pace as you felt your muscles burn, but Lilia wasn’t having it. 

“A little longer,” she huffed, finally kissing your skin, melting you from the inside out with her soft lips. “Just a little.” 

You nodded, choking on a whine as you started up again and forced all your strength into your grinding. 

“Good girl,” Lilia hummed, pushing the hem of your shirt away from your neck with her chin so she could have more room to kiss. “Good girl…” 

“L- Lili-a- I’m… hngg… I wanna- mmmnnn….” Cum. You wanted to cum. You wanted to cum on Lilia’s thigh, you wanted her to help, to encourage, and you nearly fell apart instantly when her teeth started pressing lightly, gently, into your shoulder and her tongue began to swirl around your skin.

“Come on,” she moved her mouth to your ear. “Come on, baby,” her tone was soft, coaxing, and you could sense the tease in her words. 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. You were left on the burning edge, singing your fingers, whining to near tears in Lilia’s arms as you heaved, shuddered, whispered pleads and begs beneath your breath. The pool of desire only grew, glistening below you as you hung above, so close to falling, dangling by a thread, rutting your hips over and over like it would help. The friction was barely enough, pressing so deliciously against your swollen clit, but you were so wet that only the smallest thrusts, the littlest shifts, were all you could handle before the sensation slipped away. It was so frustrating, pulling a groan then a distressed whimper from your lips as your legs began to shake and your hands scratched at Lilia’s back. Not too hard, you didn’t want to hurt her, but the little red lines and the sting were enough to signal that you were having trouble. 

“Relax,” Lilia whispered, making you choke on a breathy whine. “Relax for me.” She spoke slowly, softly, and you breathed in deeply through your nose to calm your pounding heart. “Listen.”

You nodded and nuzzled into her shoulder, slowing the pace of your hips but pressing harder into her leg. It felt so good, so good, but not enough- not enough.

“You’re beautiful,” Lilia panted, making your thighs twitch, “My beautiful girl.” 

“Hmmpngg- Lilia- Lilia-,” you whimpered, letting out a little moan each time you moved. 

“I know. I know you need it,” she nodded, then pressed another kiss to your neck. “Can you let go for me?” Her voice was like warm honey drizzled over your bones and your skin. “Can you let go for Momma?” 

A thick, blinding bolt of heat flashed through your body, making you sweat and shiver against Lilia’s body. No no no- Momma’s body. You felt the desire bubbling, brimming, so close to falling into bliss that you could only close your eyes and go quiet.

“I know you can do it,” she spoke slowly, taking the reins back and using more force to speed up your thrusts. “Let go for me, sweetheart.” Her lips brushed your ear. “Be good and give in.” 

“M- Mo-” you were red-faced, vision blurred with tears, your lower lip quivering, and Lilia came to your rescue.

“Momma gives you permission.”

And just like that, saved by the same woman that tortured you, the thread was cut, the ledge crumbled, and you fell.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

BOO. - Rip x

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[writerspirit]

started writing a lilia fic and in my hyper fixated state i wrote the ending first and now my brain is all mushy with conflict

[msmarycrawley]

Tried my hand at some Lilia x reader fic…

Let me know what you think!

[jubshead]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬' 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭

Paring: Lithario (Lilia x Agatha x Rio) x Reader

Summary: It was common knowledge among the villages that circled this woodland that the place was haunted, owned by witches and their perverted magic. No one had ventured into it for years and all the men who tried had not returned to tell the tale of what lay behind these trees.

Warnings: Loss of virginity, Foursome, Cunnilingus, (Implied) Oral fixation, (Accidental) Wrong use of magic, Aphrodisiacs

Date: Dec 04, 2024

Comments are always welcome and if you don’t wish to be identified, my ask is open!

Masterlist | Taglist

Tag list: @crescendoofstars @diorrxckstar @crazyhatz @oh-rickel @thoroughly--confused @greek-freak101 @frostytherubyrider @alittlewitchyone @gilmoresliarss @lanadelreyaesthic @aggieharkness @filmedbyharkness @nightmare-of-homophobes @confuseuniverse @delusionalforolderwomen @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @greencurlyhair @emilynissangtr @seaoflittlefires @ofgoldandbraid @czl4t @tremordusk @astrophiliaxx @me-47-47-47 @walkethisway @goforgreat @amethyst-bitch @women-4life @thegoddamnfeels @yourbasicqueerie

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Winter is always the hardest time of the year. The soil turns to slippery mud, staining dry leaves and sticking to the boots. The cold makes people sluggish, work is harder when your fingers are numb or your cough hasn’t gone away for a month. Supplies rarely come from outside and, more times than not, the village relies on the merchandise.

A bucket full of water is carried to a small hutt, your arm burns with the effort, the fingerless gloves don’t help with the chill and your palm is freezing. Your body weight is thrown entirely onto your left side, balancing the metal container with your shoulder. Around you whispers run free, the villagers comment on the lack of food, how this has been the worst temperature in years and that the sick people won’t last the season. A few glances are cast in your direction. 

Taking a deep breath and putting on a fake smile, you open the wooden door. The place is almost as cold as it is outside, in the few minutes you have spent out, the fire has died down. A furrow of worry forms between your eyebrows and you almost drop the bucket in favor of throwing more wood into the fireplace. 

➙ continue

A/N: I decided to post it only on ao3, because of the word count!