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drghostwrite · 1 month ago

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This Christmas…

This is a long one so buckle up, it’s also a little late but considering today is Christmas… well I did my best lol.

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x wife!reader

Summary: it’s your first married Christmas together and you have a mischievous plan in the works to brighten your wife’s holiday.

Warnings: smut… Minors DNI!

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The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg lingered in the air as you stood at the stove, a cover of ‘This Christmas’ softly playing in the background. You glanced over at the beautifully decorated Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner of the room. Each ornament reflected tiny sparks of firelight, and the star atop glimmered with enchantments Agatha had whispered into existence.

The soft glow of twinkling lights illuminated the kitchen, casting golden hues across your wedding ring as you stirred the pot of mulled cider.

Its was your first Christmas married to Agatha and it felt like a dream, each small moment filled with warmth and anticipation.

Over the last week, you and Agatha had taken to sneaking little gifts into each other’s stockings early. She had gifted you an antique gold necklace with a small onyx gem that hummed faintly with protective enchantments, and in return, you’d slipped a handwritten poem about the love you shared along with a very expensive cashmere sweater in her signature purple. Yesterday, she had surprised you with a leather-bound spellbook from the 17th century, its pages imbued with whispers of witches long past. And in her stocking today, you’d placed a bottle of her favorite vintage wine with a cheeky note: Save this for dessert, my love.

You heard her before you saw her—the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Agatha appeared in the doorway, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, lips painted a rich wine-red that matched the sweater. She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she approached.

“You’re spoiling me, darling,” she murmured, sliding in beside you at the counter. Her hand found yours, fingers curling around your wrist as she pressed a kiss to your temple. Her other hand toyed with your wedding ring that glinted against the kitchen lights, turning it idly as though marveling at the commitment it symbolized.

“Just making sure you’re as spoiled as I feel,” you teased, leaning into her touch.

“You’re too good to me.” she purred as she continued playing with your ring.

The sight of it made her pause, her fingers curling around yours as her thumb traced the smooth, silver band. Your ring was a marquise diamond surrounded by an elegant twist of platinum and deep sapphires that Agatha said reminded her of starlight. In contrast, her own ring was bold: black diamond surrounded by tiny, white diamonds, a design you chose to reflect her darker mystique.

“I still love seeing this on your finger,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual as she raised your hand to her lips.

“Good,” you replied, leaning back into her warmth. “Because it’s staying there.”

Her chuckle vibrated against you as she nuzzled into your hair. “Of course it is, darling.”

You bit your lip, fighting the grin threatening to spread across your face as your plan began to form. “Actually… I just realized we’re missing something important.”

She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her hand pausing mid-caress. “Missing something? We have wine, presents, cookies, magic-infused cider, and each other. What could possibly be missing?”

“Candy canes,” you said with an exaggerated sigh. “From that little shop downtown, the one with the nice owners that makes them by hand.”

Agatha blinked in disbelief. “Candy canes? It’s Christmas Eve! The stores will be a madhouse, and besides, I can just conjure—”

You shook your head, slipping into your best dramatic pout. “No magic. It won’t taste the same. I need those candy canes to make Christmas perfect.”

She gave you a long, dramatic sigh, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider her words. “You’re right, I am. Now, go on. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back, and I can finish up here.”

Agatha grumbled under her breath but pulled you close, her lips brushing yours in a lingering kiss before she finally relented. “Fine. But you owe me for this, and I’m cashing in tonight.” With a wink, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the night.

As soon as the door shut, you sprang into action. The lingerie you’d hidden away for this moment was a deep shade of burgundy, edged with delicate lace that left little to the imagination as it hugged your curves perfectly, paired with sheer stockings and heels, the Santa hat you wore tying the whole outfit together.

You slipped it on quickly, adding a spritz of your favorite perfume before draping yourself under the tree. The glow of the lights danced over your skin, and you arranged yourself with care, legs stretched out, arms resting above your head, the picture of temptation.

Minutes passed, and then you heard the telltale sound of the front door creaking open.

“Darling, the things I do for you…” Agatha’s voice carried through the house as she kicked off her boots.

“I got the damn candy canes, but if one more person bumps into me—” She stopped mid-sentence as her gaze fell on you. Her sharp blue eyes darkened, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

“Why, Mrs. Harkness,” she drawled, tossing the bag of candy canes onto the couch without a second thought. “What do we have here?” A low sultry laughed slipped past her perfectly painted lips.

You grinned, tilting your head to meet her gaze. “Christmas came a little early this year.”

Agatha’s lips curved into a wicked smirk as she stalked toward you. “My, my. You’re the best gift I’ve ever unwrapped.”

You leaned back on your elbows, letting your legs shift just enough to catch her attention. “I figured it was time to unwrap the real present.”

Her eyes trailed your body, “You’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, “You going to punish me?”

“Punish you?” she echoed, her lips brushing against yours as her fingers found the hem of your lingerie. “Oh, darling… I’m going to make sure you don’t leave this spot until morning.”

You leaned up, capturing her lips in a kiss that made her sigh against you. “Merry Christmas, my love,” you whispered, your voice laced with anticipation.

Agatha’s reply was a low, teasing growl as she trailed kisses down your neck. “Oh, darling, Christmas isn’t over yet. Let’s see how many times we can unwrap this present tonight.”

Agatha’s words sent a shiver down your spine, her sultry tone lighting a fire in your chest. Her hands were firm yet tender as they slid over the lace framing your body, her fingers expertly tracing every curve with maddening precision. She paused, her lips hovering over the hollow of your throat as she chuckled softly.

“And to think you pretended to need candy canes of all things…”

You tilted your head, pretending to look thoughtful. “Well, I did need those candy canes for the perfect Christmas…”

“Forget the candy canes,” she interrupted, her voice a low growl, “The only thing I want tonight is right here.”

Your laughter was cut short as she leaned in again, her lips finding the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. She kissed a path down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you gasping. You let out a small groan your hips grinding down into her lap. She undid your bra quickly tossing it aside and pulling an erect nipple into her mouth.

“You’re absolutely sinful, you know that?” she murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. The way her dark blue eyes burned into yours made your cheeks flush, your breath catching as she smirked. “If this is how you’re starting Christmas, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for our anniversary.”

You reached up, threading your fingers through her hair, tugging gently to draw her closer, her lips connecting with the bare skin between your boobs. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s plenty more where this came from.”

Her laughter was low and wicked, the sound sending another wave of heat through you as she leaned in. “Then let’s make this Christmas one to remember, shall we?”

Her grip was firm as she laid you back onto the plush rug beneath the tree. You couldn’t help but marvel at her strength, the way she carried herself with such confidence and control. The twinkling lights of the tree cast shifting patterns over her face as she trailed heatedly kisses all down your body.

Her thigh was pressed to your core and you tried your best to grind up against her, searching for any kind of friction. She grinned against you at your silent pleas but decided she would be generous with the teasing, sliding her long delicate fingers beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Mm… so wet for me already, waiting all day really did a number on you.” She whispered as her fingers stroked through your dripping folds.

“Agathaaa…” you whined against her soft lips.

“Careful darling, I wouldn’t want to rush unwrapping my gift…”

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and peeled them off, seeing the wet spot already forming. She tossed them over her shoulder and they ended up hanging from your tree, you chuckled but it was cut short by your wife forcing your legs open.

One hand dug into your bare inner thigh while she watched her fingers slowly drag through your slick, she let out a low possessive groan and she watched you clench around nothing.

She slowly bent down, and stuck out her tongue flatly running it against your pussy tasting you, she gently pulled your clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue.

“Agatha, baby?” You pleaded.

“What does my darling wife need… hmm?” She hummed, mesmerized by the effect she had on you. She continued to tease you, her fingers sliding into you as she moved to bite into your thigh.

You bucked against her at the feeling of her fingers inside you, curling against you but you needed more, you needed to feel more of her inside you.

“Please my love…”

“Words, use your words pretty girl.”

She leaned up kissing your breasts but her fingers roughly pressed against your clit, she felt your buck against her. Her hand on your thigh came up to brush against your swollen lips and you quickly sucked her thumb into your mouth, the action snapping her blue eyes to meet yours. You moaned against her and she roughly brushed your clit again making you gasp and release her finger, her hand coming to wrap around your throat.

“I need you… I need you to fill me up, I need to feel you inside me…” you gasped out, your wife’s breath hot against your skin.

“Does my gorgeous wife need me to fill her with my cock… is that what you need darling?” She asked you and you quickly nodded as you clenched around nothing but air, her fingers still lightly brushing your sensitive clit.

She bent down to kiss you and you whined into her mouth, you bucked your hips and she took the hint. She quickly sat back and fumbled with the button on her jeans, unzipping them and sliding them down her thighs, your mouth watered at the sight of her sliding her pants and underwear over her toned thighs and the effortless way she tossed her sweater and bra aside.

But the moment she waved her hand and a deep red strap appears your mouth ran dry, “Agatha…” you trailed taking in the sight, this one was bigger than the others.

“Cat got your tongue darling?”

“It’s… it’s…”

“Bigger?… well you didn’t think you were the only one with a few presents hidden did you?” She said grasping the silicone cock and lining it up at your entrance, you were propped on your elbows watching as she lined it up and started to push the tip in.

You fell back, the only thing stopping your head from hitting the floor was Agatha’s hand as she cradled you, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, tears coming to your eyes.

“Agatha, it’s too big…”

“You can take it pretty girl…” she said pushing into you further, the burn and stretch intensifying.

“It hurts… Agatha I don’t know…”

“Okay love… just hold on…” she cradled you in her arms, fingers gently running up your spine as your nails dug into her shoulders. She halted her movements when she finally bottomed out, waiting to feel you relax, when you finally did she spoke up.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Snow?”

“Good girl…” you weren’t sure how but you clenched around her at the pet name, “are you okay?… or do you need me to pull out?” She asked.

Agatha could be ruthless but not when it came to you, even if you were being a brat she still let you know that she cared.

“I’m okay… m’okay…” you assured her and felt her start to move, slowly thrusting in and out of you.

You knew she could feel it, the way you clenched around her, the way your pussy greedily pulled her in, Agatha enchanted every single one of your straps. But tonight wasn’t about her, not yet, right now it was about you.

She started to speed up, still holding you in her arms as she thrusted harder and faster… your gasps and moans in her ear signaling that you were close.

“oh god… oh my god… don’t stop… Agatha don’t stop…” you said breathlessly and it only spurred her on.

“Agatha I’m going to…”

“Go ahead love, cum for me pretty girl…” she whispered and she felt you come completely undone, your legs quivering around her waist, your head falling back as your body went limp in her arms.

“Holy shit…” you laughed, your body warm against the rug covering the wooden floor, Agatha watched you closely still planted firmly inside you.

“Darling are you okay if…?” She trailed, motioning to the strap and you slowly nodded. She pulled out and you gasped at the loss of contact, the loss of that fullness but you could feel the ache and soreness building.

“Your turn Mrs. Harkness…” you trailed and grasped her shoulders slowly pushing her to lay in front of the tree.

“Oh, I think…” before she could say anything you ran your hands up her legs, opening her thighs and laying in front of her, you started gently, running your tongue through her dripping pussy, her head falling back as she propped on her elbows.

Your tongue swirled around her clit as her gasps and moans filled the room, you ate her out like a starved woman, one that wanted nothing more than to taste her wife forever.

Agatha’s hand tangled in your hair as you quickly brought her through her first two orgasms, but you didn’t stop there.

You snaked a hand up her thigh planting it firmly on her lower belly, your fingers easily sliding into her as you continued to suck and lick at her clit, your fingers curled inside her hitting that dangerously sweet spot. When you felt her getting close you applied a little more pressure and before you knew it she was orgasming all over again.

She squirted into your mouth, her juices covering your chin, running down your neck. You sat up with the most love drunk smirk on your lips. A little chuckle escaped you as you saw the blissed out look in her eyes, her lips slightly parted.

“Well darling, I see you’ve learned a few things… and apparently that means we’re going to need to replace the rug….” she laughed in a low sultry tone.

“You’re my wife… I’m supposed to know exactly how to make you feel this good… I can always buy another rug.” you leaned up to kiss her lips, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

She kissed you and you could taste the mixing of each other on your lips, the kisses gentle but heated as you both enjoyed each other, hands still gently roaming.

The world outside was forgotten as you lost yourself in her touch, her kisses, and the way she murmured your name like it was the only thing she needed. By the time the tree’s lights began to dim, your plans had unfolded perfectly, and Agatha made sure you knew just how much she appreciated her early Christmas gift.

As you lay together afterward, wrapped in a blanket on the floor beneath the tree, Agatha tilted her head to look at you. “You know,” she said with a teasing smile, “we still haven’t opened the rest of the presents.”

You grinned, resting your head against her chest as her fingers traced lazy circles along your arm. “Oh, I think we’ve already unwrapped the best one.”

Agatha laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, my perfect little temptress.”

“Merry Christmas, my wicked wife,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of her arms and the soft glow of the tree wrapped around you both like a spell.

#x yn #x reader #x reader smut #smut prompts #agatha all along au #rio x agatha #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x reader #agatha coven of chaos #agatha all along #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #christmas #wlw smut #smut

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scourge-sympathiser · 1 year ago

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SCOURGE SUNDAY 006/???

the blood of the covenant is thicker thn the water of the womb

#scourge wc #warrior cats #scourge #scourge warrior cats #scourge (warriors)#bloodclan #wc #i dont hav anything to add here just. smiley face #covenant au

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child-of-the-danube · 3 months ago

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I'm still in my Lilia brain rot era and I keep thinking about her and Agatha, and their dynamic and parallels.

Like, Agatha is a dick to everyone from the start, even Teen, but she's extremely chill and even, for her being who she is, weirdly respectful towards Lilia. Maybe it's because of the age, maybe it's because Lilia was the only one to show she still had true power when they first met, maybe it's because they share experience and persecution the younger ones don't truly understand, maybe Agatha just has a soft spot for those who are very clearly outcasts and weirdos.

The only sting at Lilia I can recall is calling her "Dory" in the last trial lmao

She never once questions or mocks her gaps. Hell, she said "we came to the right place" AFTER she saw Lilia scream her head off in ep2 over, to them, nothing. "Hmm, this bitch a lil bonkers, but that's exactly what I like and need :)"

She told Lilia that she couldn't take her power unless she's blasted with it - something she was certainly aiming for if the door didn't open and that ended up saving them in ep2 when she was using her ye old technique of being a menace. She may have told it to her only to get her in, but that's a big minus to her plan B.

When everyone had their hallucinations, Agatha didn't mock Lilia when she was, once again, "being weird". She believed her and reassured her in a soft tone that it was ok.

One interaction I found really funny is in ep3 when Teen asks about a sous vide machine and Agatha turns to Lilia with that "What the fuck is that? That wasn't around in our time" look

Usually when one of them starts spewing wisdom, someone will give a snarky remark, usually Agatha, but when they were talking about summoning a new green witch, Agatha let Lilia speak and was the only one who, at least somewhat, listened to her advice (50/50 but still haha). It was Lilia after all who was the first one to, tho reluctantly, agree to Agatha's idea of summoning a back up green witch.

Also the way Agatha looks at Lilia when she calls Jen out for giving Sharon only one dose of antidote when she had two glasses of wine. It's just so "mmm 😈 I like this one"

Agatha's first choice for "who could possibly play piano" wasn't Alice. Ya know the daughter of a rock goddess who would be the most logical choice. It was Lilia and I find that sweet and a lil funny too.

Lilia didn't tell Agatha's Salem story with judgement, even if she said "when Agatha killed her original coven". It was delivered as mere fact to explain the story.

Then when Evanora showed up and Lilia looks angry and almost disgusted at what she's hearing her say to Agatha. Even after Alice's death, she didn't jump on Agatha's back and accuse her. She let her be cause she was clearly distraught.

Agatha "I'm not drinking the poison. You can suffer but I won't!" Harkness jumped on Lilia and covered her with her own body in the latest episode when the sword was about to impale her. And then she let her do her magic even if it didn't seem to work as the ceiling was still falling and even if she thought tarot was bullshit. She trusted she knew what she was doing.

And the look they give eachother when Lilia reveals Rio is Death. Lilia's face reads as terrified, but more than terrified, she seems to have a moment of compassion. It's the look of "How deeply fucked must your life have been that the only one that ever showed you love and kindness is the one who everyone else sees as the bringer of pain?". Death broke Lilia's heart many a time, but in that moment she understood, she broke Agatha's heart too in even worse ways.

AGATHA LIKED HER! SHE LIKED HER FROM THE START AND RESPECTED HER! AND LILIA LIKED HER TOO, DESPITE THE INITIAL SUSPICIONS!!!

I need to know what her reaction to finding out Lilia sacrificed herself to kill the threat that was specifically after her will be. Will she brush it off and pretend she doesn't care to keep appearing stern and emotionless or will this be the thing that finally makes her realise people care for her? Cause Agatha has never had anyone, except literal Death, show her kindness, much less sacrifice themselves so she could keep living. And I find it beautifully poetic that the one other person Death has known well for centuries, who Death has acknowledged by name in that coven, was the one to do that.

Again, I'm aware that this is just my brain rot speaking, but Lilia was truly the MVP. She's the one with wisdom, the biggest experience, the one with seemingly most patience, the hype man ("Jennifer, look what you did", "It was all for you", "Don't worry, baby. We're cool"). Her trial is the only one where the rest was in fact not needed and was of no help. Actually, all they did was make it worse. The first three trials depended on teamwork. Lilia's was truly solvable ONLY by Lilia.

Anyways, Lilia mentally adopted Agatha and realised she truly was part of her coven and therefore worth dying for and I will never fucking recover 💔💔😭😭

#agatha all along #AAA #Agatha Harkness #Kathryn Hahn #Lilia Calderu #Patti Lupone #my thoughts have been consumed by their relationship since ep7 came out #I am unable to be normal about it #I need an AU where a young Lilia first comes to the US #and finds a freshly shunned from her coven baby Agatha #and takes her in #I NEED MORE OF THEM

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heartzfromel · 1 month ago

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undercover

detective!agnes x fem!model reader

summary; the nypd has been tasked with protecting a murder target in a high profile case. with detective o’connor being the most attractive in the department, she must ditch her rough around the edges look for girly glamour as she goes undercover. but what happens when agnes falls for the young model? will she love her for who she truly is under all that makeup?

tags; suggestive, depiction/mentions of murder and injury, violence, age gap, touchy agnes, sexist jokes, rio as a meddling side character as always

a/n; i love writing this!! also fyp i imagine tony to look like howard stark

chapter 1 | chapter 2

agnes was late for work this morning. she’d had what was most likely her worst experience yet on the metro, with some couple arguing loudly next to her at half past six, left her keys on said train and wasted twenty minutes trying to find them, and then missed her second train. safe to say that she wasn’t in the best mood.

her mood was made worse by the teasing from her co-workers as soon as she got in, but they shut up quick after she gave them a warning look. she might’ve got on well with them all, but that didn’t stop then from being scared of her. by the time agnes got into her office, it was near enough nine o’clock. she pulled her chair out to sit, and what couldn’t have been ten seconds later, her office door burst open.

“o’connor!”

oh great. agnes thought to herself, as the chief barged in.

“chief vidal.” she nodded, trying to sound somewhat happy to see her. the look on vidal’s face told her it didn’t work very well.

“what time do you call this?” she snapped, pacing around agnes’ office, “i have been calling you for an hour!”

“listen, chief, i had a rough morning, okay? won’t happen again.” agnes replied. she realised she didn’t sound very professional.

“oh it better not, or else theres a job back on ticket duty with your name on it. now come on, i’ve got a case for you.”

agnes wanted to respond, to snap back in some quick witted way, but she knew vidal wasn’t joking about those parking tickets, so she kept her mouth shut.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“so,” vidal began, pacing around the room once again, showing off a case file, “three murders so far, all highly paid models, all y/h/c, all around the same age, all with the same associates. all the victims were killed by a single shot to the head, and each victim had the next ones initials carved into their wrists. they were all also killed during big fashion and beauty events, and obviously the miss u.s.a. pageant is coming up this week. we believe that our killer is going to strike again at some point in the week of the pageant, so we crosschecked the initials carved on the wrist of our third victim with the names of the girls competing in the pageant. three names were flagged, but we took a look at their photos, and only one of the girls matches the description pf our previous victims. her name is y/n y/l/n, she is 27 years old, and is currently miss texas. our unit have been tasked with keeping an eye on miss y/l/n, and ensuring that she is safe until our killer is caught. any questions about that?”

“yeah, uh, cheif vidal?” agnes’ partner, tony, asked, “how exactly are we gonna keep an eye on her?”

“ah, yes, thank you accardi, i was just getting to that.” vidal replied, “someone’s going undercover. we need someone who could win miss new york. she’s gotta be pretty, but also strong and can keep her cool. so who’s up for it?”

the room seemed to have gone silent. it was painfully obvious that none of the people in the room were overly keen on going undercover, and it was made worse by the fact that there were only three women, excluding vidal, in the whole unit.

“well i vote o’connor,” one of the men said, “i mean, if she wasn’t for the ladies i’d totally hit that.”

agnes shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes confused, wondering whether or not to take that as a compliment.

“jones.” vidal warned, before turning back to the group.

“i’m with jones on this one, chief. she could win miss new york, easy.” another officer agreed.

“i could see that.” another agreed.

“you are really pretty, agnes.” one of the female officers added.

agnes was stunned to say the least. she had never ever thought of herself as pretty, though it had never seemed to bother her.

“right then, it’s settled,” vidal confirmed, looking agnes up and down quickly, “you’re going to need a bit of a makeover.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“you know, hon, you really should consider going blonde.” your agent remarked, grimacing at your current hair colour.

“thanks marv, but my current hair colour seems to be making me enough money right now.” you replied, rolling your eyes.

you were currently sat in your hotel room, your agent, marvin, sat on the bed, whilst you were at the vanity, hair in rollers as your nail tech finished up your manicure.

“just a suggestion.” he replied. the sound of emails on his computer was irritating you.

“do you have to type so loudly?” you snapped, frustration painting your features.

“well excuse me for trying to book you another vogue cover for next month!” he replied, slamming the laptop closed.

“you know, marv, it’s getting late maybe you should go.” you sighed, feigning tiredness.

“alright. fine.” he mumbled, the nail tech leaving behind him.

you leapt onto your bed and sighed peacefully. you wanted nothing more than a morning to yourself, with a lie in and no marvin yelling in your ear about what to wear and what not to wear. it’s not that you didn’t like your job, you did. it was everything that came with it. the agent, the fame, the scandals, the staged relationships with men you despised, doing anything just to make the front page.

you wondered if you’d ever be in a relationship and fall in love. out of all the relationships you’ve been in, albeit they were all fake, the men always seemed to fall for you. what you couldn’t fathom is that you couldn’t find it within yourself to love them back. all you wanted in life was love, yet you seemed to have everything but it.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

agnes didn’t recognise herself when she looked in that mirror. tony’s jaw had dropped, and vidal smirked, knowing now that agnes was the perfect choice. she looked like a supermodel. tony let out a wolf whistle and agnes rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head.

“who even is that?” she asked, eyes finding her reflection once again. her hair was down and curled for the first time in what must have been 15 years, and contained so many extensions that she thought there must be more of them than her own hair. her lips were painted a deep shade of red, complimenting her pale skin perfectly. her eyes now sported a flirty set of falsies and a shimmery dark shadow, and she was currently showing more skin than she had ever shown before, the deep purple dress showing off her collarbones and cleavage, but stopping just above her ankle. she looked beautiful, but she wasn’t agnes.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

the flight felt longer than it was, and agnes was increasingly uncomfortable in the dress. she wondered how people wore things like this on a daily basis, it was so itchy. the flight seemed to last longer for tony and vidal, who had to come along, vidal because she’s nosy, and tony to be agnes’ fabulous assistant. they were quite the trio, both tony and rio threatening to throw themselves out of the jet if agnes complained one more time.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

the hotel was stunning, agnes had to agree. her bag was heavy, and she wondered what could possibly be in here. she had no idea. vidal had just sort of thrown it at her, and wished her luck, before disappearing to the bar. tony had walked her to the room.

“oh my god, what is im this bag?” he whined, throwing one onto agnes’ bed. agnes threw the other up.

“i don’t know, and i’m afraid to find out.” she replied, grimacing at the thought.

she flipped the bag over as she unzipped it, “oh my god!” she exclaimed as she saw the inside. there wasn’t a pair of pants in sight. the thing was full of short dresses and revealing shirts, bottles of perfume, makeup, and what looked like 8000 dollars worth of heels.

“welcome to washington, agatha harkness.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

taglist; @hannah-0730 @m1vfs comment to be added !

#agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x you #agnes of westview #agnes o'connor #agnes o’connor x reader #au #fem reader #request #wandavision x reader #wandavision #wlw #wlw fic #lesbian #queer #el’s inbox 💌

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noocturnart · 2 months ago

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Might be doing fanart of a fanfic I really liked,,,

The whole thing I’m planing on doing is actually a little crazier than that

#agatha x rio #fanart #my art #digital art #doodles #agathario fanart #agatha fanart #agatha coven of chaos #agathario #agatha all along #marvel #rio vidal fanart #rio vidal #Agatha all along au #rio vidal x agatha harkness #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x rio vidal #wlw #artist of tumblr

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sasheemo · 2 months ago

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Friday Thoughts

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: You struggle to focus during your morning shift after a restless night, thoughts lingering on the evening before. A text arrives, set to alter the course of your weekend.

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Index

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You wake up with a start, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your heartbeat pounds in your ears. The room feels stifling, your skin is damp with sweat, and a faint shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of your tangled sheets.

For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, clutching at the fading fragments of a dream that slips through your grasp.

Images of Agatha flash in the haze of your half-formed memories, vivid yet blurred. You can almost see the teasing curve of her smile, the glint of her icy blue eyes catching the light, and the cascade of her dark hair falling untamed. Her voice echoes faintly, curling around you like a spell, though you can’t remember what she said. It’s maddening, this lingering sense of her, the indelible mark she seemingly left on you.

The night has been nothing short of unbearable. Each time you’d stirred awake, it was as if her presence still clung to the air around you, intangible but oppressive. You tossed and turned, trying to shake her loose, but she always crept back in. A shadow in your subconscious, drawing you deeper every time you closed your eyes.

Your bed feels heavier than usual, like it’s trying to hold you down. Your body begs for another hour of sleep, just a little more time to recover, but your brain is already awake, unkindly replaying the events of the previous night.

“Maybe, I should ask you out next time.”

Agatha’s words echo in your head and you groan, pressing your palms into your eyes in a futile attempt to block it all out, as if willing the memories away could undo the knot in your stomach.

You check the clock: 6:30 a.m. The shift at the café starts in thirty minutes. A tired chuckle escapes you—there’s no time to process anything, no time to wallow, just time to get up and keep moving.

For a brief moment, you consider calling in sick. Would it be so bad to stay in bed, avoid the world, and pretend that none of this happened? But the thought of lying there, alone with your thoughts, feels worse.

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself to sit up. The dream, the memories, the exhaustion—they’ll have to wait.

You shuffle out of bed with all the grace of a zombie, your limbs heavy and reluctant to obey. The cold floor jolts you, drawing a sharp breath as you force yourself toward the bathroom. A quick shower will have to do, there’s no time for anything more, even though what you really want is to stand under the steaming water until you feel human again.

The spray of lukewarm water stings your skin, a poor imitation of comfort, but you bear it. Shampoo, rinse, towel—everything feels mechanical. Your mind is still clouded, replaying snippets of your restless night and the weight of her voice, her presence, her gaze.

The mirror fogs over as you step out of the shower, and you stare at your reflection with a faint grimace. You look as exhausted as you feel, the bags under your eyes a testament to the chaos in your head. You wrap a towel around your hair and shuffle back to your room, pulling out the first set of clothes you can find: a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers.

Still towel-drying your hair, you glance at the clock. Shit, it’s already 6:50.

You hurl the damp towel on top of your bed as you shove your feet into your sneakers, barely tying one while the other remains stubbornly untied. Grabbing your bag, you throw it over your shoulder and head for the door.

The crisp morning air bites at your damp hair as you step outside. A chill runs through you, but you tell yourself you’ll warm up on the walk to work. Westview may be small, but it’s convenient. The café is only a few blocks away, and you almost never need your car.

Your steps quicken as you make your way through the quiet streets, the town still waking up around you. The sun barely peeks over the horizon, painting the sky in pale shades of gold and pink. Normally, you’d take a moment to admire the view, but not today. Today, you’re too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to think about how unprepared you feel—both for your shift and for the emotions swirling in your chest.

But work doesn’t care if you’re tired. Work doesn’t care if you didn’t sleep. And work definitely doesn’t care if your thoughts are consumed by someone you probably shouldn’t even be thinking about.

You push the door open and step inside, bracing yourself for the morning rush.

The café is already buzzing, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries greeting you like an old friend. You grab your apron from the hook in the back and tie it around your waist, fingers fumbling slightly as your body struggles to keep up with your mind.

“Morning!” your coworker greets, already busy steaming milk for a cappuccino.

You manage a small smile in return, mumbling something resembling a greeting before slipping behind the counter. The machine hums steadily, blending into the chatter of early risers and the clinking of mugs. You know this rhythm by heart—take the order, pour the coffee, hand it over with a polite smile. Repeat.

But today, your focus is nowhere to be found.

“Two lattes and a muffin, please.” a customer says, pulling you back to reality.

“Right, uh, coming right up.” you stammer, forcing a smile.

Your hands move almost on autopilot, scooping grounds into the espresso machine and steaming milk. You should feel at ease here, this is muscle memory by now. But your thoughts keep slipping away, drawn back to her.

You can’t shake the image of Agatha from last night: the way she moved through every room with effortless grace, like she owned every inch of space without even trying. Her voice was a contradiction—smooth and lilting, yet sharp enough to cut through the air, through your thoughts, through you.

And her eyes… God, her eyes. The way they always seem to linger on yours for just a heartbeat too long leaves your mind in chaos and your cheeks burning with heat just thinking about it. There’s something about her gaze that never fails to make you feel exposed, as if she sees right through the practiced smiles and careful words, unraveling every layer she can find.

But it’s not just how she looks at you, it’s the way she always seems to know, to touch something buried deep within, something you’re not sure you want anyone to find.

You let out a quiet sigh as you finish the lattes, sliding them across the counter to the waiting customer. “Here you go, enjoy!” you mutter, though the words feel hollow.

The minutes stretch into an hour, and the café grows busier. You try to focus, really, you do. But every so often, your mind drifts back to her. And to the couple of days ahead.

Normally, you’d welcome the weekend. For the past four months, weekends have been predictable—Agatha never asks you to babysit Nicholas. Saturdays and Sundays are her time with him, and you stay out of the way. It’s been that way since the beginning, and you’ve never thought much about it. But today? Today it feels… different.

You wipe down the counter during a lull, the rag moving in slow circles as your thoughts wonder.

The idea of not seeing her for two days feels inexplicably strange. You tell yourself it’s a good thing, that you won’t have to face her again so soon after last night, after the way she made you feel—like you were living in some wild parallel universe where Agatha would actually ask her younger babysitter out so casually.

But there’s another part of you, a quieter, more desperate part, that hates the idea.

You picture her at home with Nicholas, probably reading or cooking something together. You’ve seen glimpses of their weekends before, little clues in the way Nicholas talks about them on Mondays. It’s their time, just the two of them. No babysitter needed.

You should feel relieved. Relieved that you won’t have to navigate the weight of her presence so soon. Relieved that you’ll have space to breathe.

But… what if you don’t want space? What if relief is the last thing you feel? What if the only thought consuming your mind is the pull of her orbit, the irresistible gravity that is drawing you back to her, no matter how much you try to resist? What then?

Your coworker’s voice breaks through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. “You good?”

“Y-yeah…” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

They raise an eyebrow but don’t push it, which you’re grateful for.

Tired. That’s an understatement. But it’s easier to blame exhaustion than to face what’s really gnawing at you.

You glance at the clock, counting the hours until your shift ends. Until you can go home, close your eyes, and maybe, just maybe, find some way to keep her out of your head.

It’s nearly halfway through your shift when your phone vibrates against the counter. You glance at it, expecting a spam notification or a weather update, but your stomach drops when you see the name on the screen.

For a moment, you just stare at the notification, frozen in place.

Agatha never messages you outside of scheduling changes, and even then, it’s rare. You wipe your hands on your apron before picking up the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer than necessary before you unlock it.

Her message is brief and straight to the point, as always, but it’s enough to send your mind spiraling.

-Morning, hon. I’ve got some work to catch up on this weekend. Think you could keep Nicholas company for a few hours this afternoon? Let me know.

Your heart skips a beat as you read it, then reread it, and then—just for good measure—read it again. She’s never asked you to babysit on a weekend before. Weekends are her time with Nicholas, untouchable and sacred. Why now? Why today?

The rational part of your brain tries to take control, telling you it’s probably nothing. Maybe she’s really just busy, or maybe Nicholas asked for you. But the other part of you, the part that’s been living rent-free in your head since last night, is already racing ahead, imagining every possible subtext and intention behind her words.

You glance at the clock. Five minutes have passed since the message arrived, and you haven’t responded yet. She’s probably expecting an answer.

Quickly, you type back, your fingers fumbling over the keys.

-Of course, just let me know the time.

You hit send and immediately regret the phrasing. Does it sound too eager? Too formal? You shake your head, trying to push the doubts away.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

-Perfect. 4 PM?

The casual ease of her response does nothing to calm you. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you quickly type your reply.

-Sure, see you later.

You slide your phone back into your pocket, trying to focus on the tasks at hand. But it’s no use. Your thoughts are already drifting to the afternoon, to her house, to her.

You spend the rest of your shift caught in a whirlwind of emotions, memories and anticipation creating a deadly mix that throws your usual rhythm at the café completely off balance. Every time the bell above the door chimes, signaling a new customer, your heart jumps, half expecting to see her walk in, though you know she won’t.

You try to focus on the tasks at hand, but your thoughts keep pulling you back. You catch yourself biting your lip as you replay the messages in your head for the tenth time. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. She just needs a little help. But a tiny, most definitely delusional, part of you refuses to believe it’s as simple as that.

By the time the shift ends, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re overthinking it. It’s just a normal day, just a normal message. And yet, as you clock out and head home, the weight of anticipation settles heavier in your chest.

The walk home doesn’t do much to clear your head. If anything, the crisp air only sharpens the edges of your thoughts, making it impossible to push them aside.

Once inside, you toss your bag onto the couch and collapse beside it, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. The message from Agatha keeps playing in your mind, looping endlessly, until it’s almost like you can hear her voice saying the words instead of you reading them.

You tell yourself to relax, to just sit down, maybe eat something, and stop overthinking. It’s just babysitting. Just Nicholas.

You try scrolling through your phone, but the screen blurs as your thoughts drift. You grab a book from the coffee table, but the words don’t stick. After twenty minutes of pacing the living room, you give up entirely and head to your bedroom, determined to at least figure out what to wear.

It should be easy, you’ve done this many times before—picking comfortable, practical clothes you can move around in while keeping up with an energetic eight-year-old.

You pull a few options from your closet, laying them out on the bed as you stare at them like they hold the answer to some unspoken question. A hoodie and jeans? Too casual. A sweater? Maybe, but which one? You catch sight of a blouse tucked in the back of the closet and hesitate. Too much?

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself for even thinking about it. Agatha’s not going to care what you wear. She’s probably too busy with her work to even notice.

But then again…

Your fingers brush over the fabric of the blouse, and for a brief moment, you imagine the way she might look at you. Would she say something? Would she even notice?

You groan, tossing the blouse back onto the bed and grabbing your favorite sweater instead. The soft, worn, deep purple fabric feels like a quiet reassurance as you pull it over your head. It’s familiar, it’s reliable, comfortable without making a statement. It’s a safe choice. Just what you need.

By the time you’re ready to leave, your stomach is in knots, twisting in ways you didn’t think were physically possible. When you woke up this morning, you’d told yourself nothing could feel worse than how you felt then. Turns out, the day had other plans, and it’s really outdoing itself.

The house looms ahead as you walk up the path, your heartbeat quickening with every step. You tell yourself it’s just the cold air or the anticipation of dealing with Nicholas’ boundless energy, but deep down, you know better.

When you reach the door, you hesitate for just a second before knocking. It’s a firm, polite knock, nothing too eager. You shift your weight, staring at the faint glow from the windows as you wait.

The door opens a moment later, and there she is.

Agatha is on the phone, her gaze flicking to yours briefly as she raises a finger, gesturing toward the device by her ear to signal it’s a work call. Without missing a beat in her conversation, she steps aside to let you in, her tone clipped yet composed as she discusses deadlines and budgets.

She gives you a small nod, gesturing toward the living room, before closing the door behind you and disappearing up the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the steps.

You can’t help but marvel, briefly and absurdly, at the fact that she’s wearing heels. At home. While working. For no one but herself. Who does that? Then again, it’s Agatha. Of course she’d find a way to make “business casual at home” look not just effortless, but devastatingly good.

You stand there, the faint echo of her voice drifting down from the second floor as you awkwardly toe off your shoes. It’s not the first time you’ve been greeted by her while she’s on the phone, but today it feels… disappointing.

For a moment, you linger in the entryway, half expecting her to finish the call and come back down. But minutes pass, and the only sound is her voice murmuring faintly in the distance.

Nicholas barrels into the room, breaking the silence. “You’re here!” he says, his face lighting up as he grabs your hand, already tugging you toward the couch. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you!”

His enthusiasm is a welcome distraction, and you let him pull you along, trying to focus on his chatter instead of the constant awareness of Agatha somewhere above you.

But even as you sit down and try to focus on the toy he’s enthusiastically explaining, her presence clings to the edges of your mind, refusing to let go. Her voice seeps through the ceiling like an uninvited melody, pulling your thoughts upward when they should be grounded here, with Nicholas.

You’re here for him, after all. And yet, no matter how much you try, you can’t seem to fully tune into his chatter. A pang of guilt settles in your chest as you realize how distracted you are today, how unfair it feels to him. He deserves your full attention, and instead, all you can think about is the woman upstairs. His mother nonetheless.

Nicholas doesn’t seem to notice how distracted you are—at least, not at first. He’s too busy running circles around the living room, bouncing between a pile of toys on the carpet and his favorite spot on the couch.

“Look at this!” he says for the fifth time in ten minutes, holding up a plastic spaceship with a proud grin.

You smile and nod, mustering a “Wow, that’s so cool!” reaction that you hope sounds convincing. But even to your own ears, it feels off, like the words don’t quite land the way they should.

It’s not his fault. Nicholas is as bright and full of energy as ever, his enthusiasm spilling into every corner of the room. But your mind keeps slipping. Every time he holds something up for you to see, you catch yourself glancing toward the ceiling, half-listening for the faint sound of footsteps or the low murmur of a voice that isn’t his.

Nicholas plops down beside you, tugging at your sleeve. “You’re really distracted today.” he says, his tone more observant than accusing, though it still hits like a punch.

“Am I?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though the knot of guilt in your chest tells you he’s right.

He tilts his head at you like he’s trying to figure something out. “Yeah. Usually, you’re way more fun.”

You let out a soft laugh, ruffling his hair to hide the fact that the comment stings more than it should.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I guess I didn’t sleep great last night.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

Nicholas doesn’t press the issue, already leaping to his feet to grab another toy. He’s resilient like that, bouncing back faster than you feel like you deserve.

For a while, you try to lose yourself in his energy, letting him pull you into his games and stories. He shows you his drawings—one of which features the two of you as stick figures, standing side by side under a cartoonishly bright sun.

“See? That’s you!” he says proudly, pointing to the taller figure with messy hair.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked better.”

His giggle is infectious, and for a fleeting moment, the weight in your chest seems to loosen.

By the time you hear the soft rhythm of footsteps on the stairs, a couple of hours have slipped by. Nicholas has kept you busy, his enthusiasm boundless as always, but your focus has been flickering on and off, caught somewhere between him and the occasional echo of Agatha’s voice from upstairs.

Agatha appears with an effortless grace that borders on unfair, one hand resting lightly on the railing as if she doesn’t actually need it. Her dark hair shifts with each step, a wild, natural wave that catches the light briefly before falling back into place. The heels she’s wearing—a sleek, elegant pair that look more suited for a runway than a staircase—click steadily against the wood. You can’t help but think about how you’d probably twist an ankle just trying to stand in them, let alone descend a flight of stairs with such poise.

Her face, illuminated by the warm glow of the overhead lights, carries a quiet fatigue. There’s no irritation, no sharp edge to her expression, only a subdued calm, like someone who has carried the weight of a long day and has decided not to let it show. It’s Saturday, and you know she’s been working, but somehow, she looks composed, refined, and entirely unbothered, as if the very concept of exhaustion has learned to negotiate with her.

You try to busy yourself with the blocks Nicholas has scattered across the carpet, but it’s impossible not to steal another glance as she steps into the room.

Her gaze sweeps over the scattered blocks, the half-built castle, and finally settles on Nicholas, who is still enthusiastically adding to his masterpiece.

“Everything alright down here?” she asks, her tone smooth and even, though there’s a touch of warmth in the way she looks at her son.

“Mom, look at my castle!�� Nicholas exclaims, waving toward his creation without missing a beat.

Her lips curve into the faintest smile as she nods.

“Impressive.” she says, the word carrying a weight that makes Nicholas beam. Then, her attention shifts to you, her smile curving just slightly deeper, with an edge of amusement that feels as though it’s meant just for you.

“And you?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. “Are you surviving?”

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes your pulse stutter.

“Yeah, I think so.” you manage, a warm smile forming on your lips as you glance affectionately at a very busy Nicholas, though your voice feels too small for the space.

She hums softly, the sound thoughtful as it drifts through the room, before turning and heading toward the kitchen. You take it as your cue. Standing, you brush your hands against your sweater.

“If you’re done for the day, I can head out now.” you say, keeping your tone polite, casual. “Give you two some time to catch up.”

Agatha stops mid-step, turning her head just enough to glance at you over her shoulder.

“Head out?” she repeats, her voice carrying a note of surprise, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“I just thought…” you falter under her gaze, your words tangling. “Since you’re done working, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

She turns fully now, leaning against the counter, her movements as composed as her expression, her eyes scanning you like she’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re not saying.

“It’s getting late.” Agatha says, her tone deceptively casual as she ignores your reasoning entirely. “You probably have plans for the evening. A date, maybe? It is Saturday night after all.”

The question rolls off her tongue with practiced ease, airy and playful, but her gaze fixes on yours with unsettling intensity, as though she’s already unraveling your reaction before you can form it.

“No!” the word bursts out of you, too loud, too fast, and you immediately feel the heat rush to your face.

“I mean- no, I don’t. I wasn’t- there’s no date.” You’re rambling now, tripping over your own words, each one more unnecessary than the last. “No plans. Just me. Alone. Tonight. At home.”

Oh my god. Please, stop talking! Your brain is screaming now, waving an emergency shutdown flag you’re clearly ignoring. Forget a facepalm, you’re ready to dig a hole in the floor and disappear forever.

Her lips curve into a satisfied smile, the kind that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t entirely understand. She tilts her head slightly, her voice dipping into something almost indulgent.

“Well, then.” she says, her tone steady, laced with a quiet finality that makes her next words feel inevitable. “Stay for dinner. It’s only fair after pulling you away on a Saturday.”

It’s not a question—it’s a statement, smooth and effortless, like the decision has already been made for you. And before you can find a way to respond, she turns back toward the counter, pulling open a cabinet to retrieve a bottle of wine.

You’re left standing there, frozen in place as your mind races to catch up. She’s never invited you to dinner before—or any meal, for that matter. Sure, she’s a human being and eating is, obviously, a basic necessity, but the thought of Agatha Harkness doing something as casual as sharing a meal feels almost surreal.

Your plans for the evening are rewritten in an instant. You weren’t planning on doing much, just collapsing on your couch and replaying the last twenty-four hours in your head. But this… this is something else entirely.

You glance at the clock, as if grounding yourself in the reality of the moment, and then back at Agatha. She moves through the kitchen with her usual grace, completely unfazed, her movements as fluid and intentional as her words.

It feels like a door you didn’t even know existed has been cracked open, and you’re standing on the threshold, unsure of what’s waiting on the other side.

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