#the covenant fanfic

[she1smyscar]

Imagine, the whole coven still alive and actually being protective of Rio when they're out and about and she's being quirky in the real world and people in public say shit or look at her weird and then the entire Coven of Chaos simultaneously starts insulting people all at once and no one can make out what they're shouting over each other at the same time and Lady fucking Death just smiles "innocently" (but also thankfully) behind them even though she could totally handle her own

[avxlyse]

"The Marvel series “Agatha All Along,” in which she plays the romantic antagonist to Kathryn Hahn’s “WandaVision” witch"

- The New York Times

[evanchantingpeters]

All my feminism goes out the window when I lay eyes on this man... Uff😬

[sasheemo]

Long day, huh?

Pairing: Detective!Agatha (Agnes O'Connor) x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend Agnes Agatha, lost to the Scarlet Witch’s spell, has no memory of you or the life you shared. But tonight, you have a daring plan to bring her back.

Tags: Smut, Established Relationship, Strap-ons (Rr), Car Sex

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: So, first Agatha smut! Hope it doesn't suck that bad - would love to hear your thoughts if you’re up for it 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s torture, seeing her like this. Agatha, your Agatha, right there yet completely out of reach, trapped under the Scarlet Witch’s spell.

You’ve been together for centuries, standing side by side through battles and blood, through the kind of love that’s spanned lifetimes. 

You were there when she first sensed something off in Westview, when she decided to investigate what was happening, and you offered to come along. But everything went south, and now she’s here, roaming around the streets of Westview every day as a ghost of herself, believing she’s someone else entirely. Every moment you see her as this rough, almost bitter stranger, this ‘Detective Agnes’, it drives a wedge through your heart. But tonight, desperation gives birth to a reckless idea: if she can’t remember who she is maybe you can make her remember.

It’a a Friday night, and the most popular bar in Westview is pretty packed, humming with a low murmur and the occasional clink of glass. 

You step inside, searching, and your gaze falls on her almost immediately. She’s right there, Detective Agnes, a rougher, possibly even quirkier version of the woman you’ve loved for centuries, sitting alone at the bar, absently nursing her drink. In the dim light, she looks as alluring as ever, though that familiar playfulness you knew is buried under layers of frustration and some sort of hard-earned dominance. And yet, you have to admit, part of you doesn’t mind it. In fact, you find yourself… intrigued. 

There’s something thrilling about this version of Agatha. Agnes is rough, unapologetically bossy, carrying that particular brand of perpetual irritation that somehow only makes her more magnetic. Not that your Agatha didn’t have these traits, but this… adaptation of her takes them to a whole new level.

You’ve always loved the way she embodied both her feminine and masculine sides so seamlessly, owning every part of herself with that perfect blend of charm, ambiguity, and raw sensuality that defies any simple definition. Agnes though, leans heavily into her masculine side, and you’re definitely not complaining. Not one bit.

You smooth down the short black dress hugging your figure, fingers adjusting the purple gemstone at your collarbone. With slow, intentional steps, you close the distance, sliding onto the stool beside her. The heavy air around her feels electric, an unspoken charge palpable even through her indifference. She’s flipping idly through a small notebook, likely filled with dead ends from whatever “case” has been haunting her lately.

You lean in, letting the bar’s low light and smoky scent curl around you both. “Long day, huh?”

She doesn’t look up right away. She lets out a sigh, flipping another page in her notebook before her gaze shifts in your direction, mildly annoyed. The moment her eyes meet yours, you feel a spark, realizing those mesmerizing blue eyes will always have the same effect on you, no matter what. 

“Would’ve liked to have a quiet drink.” she mutters, lifting her glass as if to punctuate her point. “Not exactly in the mood for small talk.”

“Good thing I’m not here for small talk, then.” You smile, tipping your head slightly, and you see her interest flicker, even if her eyes narrow.

There’s a beat of silence, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. She radiates that annoyed, no-nonsense attitude, but there’s something in the way she holds herself tonight that makes you wonder if there isn’t some part of her that still recognizes you, that feels the pull between you. You watch her expression, the rough angles of her face, the way she leans back, sizing you up with all the caution of a predator who’s just discovered someone bold enough to trespass.

“I don’t think I know you.” she says finally, a challenge in her voice.

Your smile doesn’t falter and you lean in just a little closer, enough to catch a whiff of her. Agnes carries this scent of cold air and something darkly earthy, stark and distant. It’s a sharp contrast to Agatha’s usual rich, heady fragrance, the kind that clings to your clothes and fills the room long after she’s gone. But somehow, this raw, unfamiliar scent only adds to her allure, drawing you in deeper. 

“Guess that depends on what you think you know.” your voice drops to a low, almost mocking purr, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. You hold her gaze, letting the challenge hang in the air between you, your eyes glinting with just enough mystery to keep her guessing.

She lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, but something in her eyes shifts, something curious, as if you’ve stirred something in her she can’t quite place. She looks at you a beat too long before shaking her head and turning back to her drink, as if trying to ignore that spark.

You watch her for a moment, her fingers curling around the glass, her body language guarded, closed off. But there’s that trace of interest, the smallest crack in her armor. She’s intrigued, even if she won’t admit it.

She might be Agnes right now, but you still know how to push her buttons “Looks like you could use a distraction, Detective. I’ve heard it’s been nothing but dead ends for you lately.” you murmur with a sly smile.

Her hand pauses on the glass. The annoyed look is back, but this time it’s different, that reluctant curiosity now obvious on her face. She sets her glass down with a thud, meeting your gaze head-on. “Careful, doll. I don’t do well with strangers thinking they know more than they should.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You raise your hand, as if in surrender. “I just happen to know that sometimes the best way to clear a clouded mind is a little… fun.”

At that last word you can see her tense up, her shoulders straightening, gaze sharpening. A hint of a smirk crosses her face, but she quickly tamps it down. Agnes may be all business, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes that’s raw, hungry.

“Dance with me.” you say softly, your fingers reaching out to brush the cool glass of her drink. “Who knows, might be exactly what need…”

She lets out a soft snort, like she’s about to dismiss you, but then she pushes back from the bar. Standing, she adjusts her flannel shirt, slipping the small notebook into the inner pocket with a quick, practiced motion as her dark eyes stay trained on you with an intensity that makes the air thicken. She’s a predator through and through, and for a moment, you feel the weight of her gaze like a physical thing, binding you in place.

She holds out a hand, and you take it, feeling her strong fingers and the roughness of her skin against your own. She pulls you toward a crowded corner of the bar where people are already moving to the low, steady beat thrumming through the room. Dim lights cast a warm, hazy glow, bodies swaying close around you, amplifying the charged atmosphere.

Agnes holds you with a firmness that’s almost possessive, both hands at your waist. Her gaze locks onto yours, and in this moment, she’s both a stranger and achingly recognizable, the rough edge of Agnes mingling with the soul of Agatha beneath. Every inch of her exudes assertiveness, her energy powerful and magnetic as her hands rest on your body with unbreakable certainty.

The dance starts slow, a sway more than anything else, but as the tension grows, she pulls you a little closer. Her gaze flickers down to the necklace at your collarbone, the deep violet stone a stark contrast against your skin. You catch the faintest twitch in her expression, her eyes darkening as she lifts her gaze to meet yours again. There’s a hunger there, a dangerous, simmering intensity that speaks of possession and intrigue.

“You’ve got a strange way of introducing yourself.” she murmurs, her voice low, carrying an edge of danger. “Most people don’t… walk up to me like this.”

You lean in, your voice a whisper against her ear “I’m not ‘most people’, Detective.”. You let that last word linger, savoring the irony of it, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you think of the illusion she’s wrapped up in.

She chuckles, a rough sound that vibrates through you, and her hold on your waist tightens, fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric. “Maybe you’re just a little too bold for your own good.”

You don’t bother to reply, feeling the intensity between you coil tighter as her hand slips around to the small of your back, pulling you firmly against her. Her gaze holds yours, dark and fierce, that rough, predatory edge simmering into something more primal. The dance transforms, becoming less about the music and entirely about the electrifying connection between you, every look and touch stoking the fire higher.

You press closer, letting your hips grind against hers in slow, deliberate circles, matching the pulsing rhythm that fills the room. Each movement is calculated, provocative, testing the limits of her restraint. You can feel the tension radiate through her hands as they grip your waist, and her breath seems to hitch every time your body sways against hers.

In the dim light, shadows fall across her face, but her eyes glint with a deepening hunger. You reach up, one arm slipping around her neck as your fingers trace along her skin before threading into her hair. The contact is intimate, possessive, and she leans into it, visibly captivated by the press of your body and the brush of your fingers. With a mischievous smile, you let your other hand glide up her face, fingertips trailing along the line of her jaw as you bite your lip, savoring the spark of control you have over her. 

In an instant, something snaps. Agnes moves with a swift, unrestrained urgency, her hands locking onto your hips as she spins you around, pulling your back against her with a possessive force that steals your breath. Her body presses flush against yours, fitting perfectly, her grip on you strong and unyielding.

The rhythm of the music seems to fade as she matches your movements from behind, grinding into you in time with your slow, rolling pace. The friction between you is scorching, each press of her hips intensifying the heat building between you. Her hands slide along your waist, her fingers digging in as if anchoring herself to you, claiming every inch of space between you.

With Agnes pressed firmly against your back, one of your hands finds its way behind her neck once again, fingers weaving into her hair as your bodies move together, grinding in sync to the steady beat. The desire simmering between you is overwhelming, each movement intensifying the tension coiling in your core.

But as her grip stays firm on your hips, you become aware of something else, something hard pressing insistently against you. The firm, unmistakable pressure against your ass makes your breath catch in your throat, the perfect trigger for a molten rush to spread through your veins.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk, voice low and teasing. “Is that what I think it is, Detective?”

The smug grin spread across her face makes it clear she was waiting for your reaction, every inch of her expression dripping with satisfaction. The look only fueling the heat pooling between your thighs. Her fingers travel up your sides, leaving a trail of sparks across your skin. She grazes just beneath your breasts, her touch light but deliberate, the fabric of your dress doing little to dull the fire she ignites. 

“Behave.” she whispers, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. There’s an edge to her voice, rough and commanding. “And maybe I’ll reward you.” she continues, a low purr full of promise.

But you’re here on a mission, not to behave. Definitely not to behave.

Letting the music and her warmth embolden you, you reach back with your free hand, fingers slipping between your bodies to trace a slow, tantalizing path downward. She doesn’t stop you, if anything, she presses in closer, her breath hot against your neck.

Your movements halt for a split second as your fingertips brush the cool metal of her belt buckle, a shiver running through you at the sensation. Biting your lip, you continue your descent, fingers tracing slowly along the rigid line of her zipper, feeling the unyielding heat straining against it. When your palm finally presses against her, you can feel the hard, thick bulge beneath the fabric, and the sensation sends a surge of desire straight to your core. A low, breathless moan threatens to escape, and you barely hold it back, relishing the sensation as the need builds, leaving you aching for more.

Your fingers trail along her length teasingly, taking your time, and you feel her body tense behind you, hear the soft, low growl in her throat. She drops her forehead to your shoulder, her breath rough as you continue your movements.

You tilt your head back, allowing her see the satisfaction in your eyes, a look you know will get to her. Her breath catches as your fingers continue to tease her mercilessly. “Mmm” you hum with deliberate appreciation. “I knew you’d be… impressive.” you murmur, voice low and dripping with praise.

The effect is immediate, and exactly what you’d hoped for. Her nails dig into your waist, her restraint slipping further as a husky sigh escapes her. She presses into you and raises her head to meet your gaze, the challenge in her eyes flaring, daring you to push her further. 

You’ve always loved how, deep down, Agatha is so desperate for praise. She always had that little spark of pride that flares with each admiring touch, each appreciative word. But with Agnes, that need seems to linger closer to the surface, raw and unapologetic. In this form, she practically soaks up every word, every look of admiration you give her, like she’s reveling in the attention.

She’s holding herself back, barely, and you can feel the restraint beginning to crack, the thrill of it washing over you as she takes one grounding breath. “Keep that up…” she mutters, her tone both a warning and an invitation, “and you’ll see just how impressive I can be.”

With her words still in the air, she thrusts her hips forward, grinding firmly against your hand so you feel the full, hard length of her strap straining through the fabric of her pants. Simultaneously, one of her hands moves to your throat, fingers curling possessively around it in a strong, yet gentle, grip. Instinctively, you arch into her touch, pressing closer, wanting to feel every inch of her as she is pushing against you. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back the moan that slips from your lips. 

Her body freezes at the sound, and for a heartbeat, everything is still. Then, without a word, she grabs your hand, her grip firm and unyielding as she pulls you toward the exit. You can barely keep up with her long strides as she navigates through the bar, her silence and focus only heightening the anticipation that’s been building between you. The moment you step outside, the cool night air hits you, sharp and bracing, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your veins.

Agnes doesn’t pause as she leads you across the dimly lit parking lot, her hold on your wrist commanding, purposeful. But just as you near the shadowy corner where her car is parked, she suddenly turns, and with a fierce intensity, she presses you against the rough brick wall of the bar. The shock of the cold surface behind you only fuels the fire inside, and before you can catch your breath, her mouth is on yours.

The kiss is raw, unrestrained, her lips claiming yours with an urgency that’s nothing short of devastating. Her tongue parts your lips, exploring with a fierce hunger that’s both intoxicating and overwhelming, each movement igniting something hotter, deeper. She moves against you with a possessive need, her hand tangling in your hair as she tilts your head back, deepening the kiss even further.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” she mutters against your lips, voice thick and dripping with need. Her other hand moves down to grab your ass, pulling you against her, her grip rough and unapologetic. You can’t hold back the gasp that escapes you, the thrill of it leaving you breathless.

Your hands find their way to her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as you pull her closer, every inch of her body pressed firmly against yours. She tastes like whiskey and something darker, something that only fuels your desire, making you want more, need more. 

“Teasing me like that all night… you knew exactly what you were doing.” her voice is almost a growl against your lips, her frustration and need laid bare, her words punctuated with another possessive press of her hips.

Your heart races, and you find yourself grinning through the haze of desire. “Maybe I did.” you whisper, a daring edge to your tone.

Her smirk deepens as she leans in, mouth brushing against your ear. “Good.” she breathes “Because now… you’re mine.”

The intensity of her words leaves you dizzy, every nerve lit up, aching, ready for more. She slides a leg between yours, pressing firmly against you in a way that makes your instantly whimper. The sudden pressure tugging at your last restraints, making it impossible to hold back. You pull her into a fierce, consuming kiss, your mouths crashing together, hot and unrestrained, her taste filling all of your senses.

With a deliberate move, you catch her bottom lip between your teeth, biting down just hard enough to pull a throaty moan from her. The sound makes something inside you snap, a fire igniting that feels like it’s burning you from the inside out. You let your tongue glide over the spot you just bit, slow and teasing, savoring the slight tremor that runs through her in response.

Your eyes meet hers, hooded and dark with lust, each breath mingling as you hold her gaze, refusing to look away. “I want you to ruin me.” your voice is barely a whisper against her lips, but every word is thick with hunger. You let the desire in your eyes say the rest, the intensity of your gaze leaves no room for doubt, a challenge and surrender all at once.

You watch the way her pupils dilate, her eyes flashing with something feral and ravenous. Without another word, she grabs your hand again, leading you the last few steps to her car, parked in the shadowed corner with only a few other cars nearby.

As you near the car, you instinctively move toward the passenger side, expecting her to get in and drive you to her place at speed light. But Agnes doesn’t head for the driver’s side. Instead, she stops just behind you, her presence looming as you reach for the passenger’s door handle.

“Other door, doll.” she murmurs, her voice dripping with intent. A shiver runs down your spine as the implication sinks in. You glance over your shoulder, finding her gaze steady, intense, and unmistakably clear. She’s not planning on taking you anywhere.

You release the handle, heart racing as you step to the rear door, her gaze burning into you with every move. Inside of the car, the familiar scent of leather mixed with something distinctly “her” fills the small, darkened space. Agnes follows, sliding in close beside you, shutting the door to enclose you both in a cocoon of shadows and anticipation.

The air is charged with an unspoken understanding as her hand finds your bare thigh, fingers pressing possessively as she leans close, breath warm against your cheek. There’s a pause, enough to let you savor what’s about to unfold, before she brings her mouth to yours, claiming you with the raw hunger that’s been simmering all night.

Her hand starts to move in a slow, tantalizing journey upward, fingers tracing your skin and slipping beneath the hem of your dress, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against her mouth as her touch becomes bolder.

As her fingers graze your inner thigh, both firm and unbearably light, a whimper slips out of your lips. She pulls back just enough, gaze momentarily dropping to where her hand is inching closer to where you need her most, her breathing heavy as she watches you unravel beneath her touch.

Each slow, deliberate movement seems meant to drive you wild, her smirk making it clear she’s relishing each shaky breath you take. Without breaking eye contact, her hand ventures further, until her fingertips reach your clothed core, brushing against the patch of wetness that is seeping through the fabric. Her touch sends a surge of pleasure through you, hips arching as you crave more. She lets out a low, pleased hum, leaning close as her mouth grazes your ear.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” she whispers, her voice dripping with mockery and satisfaction, every word laced with a condescending edge that leaves you trembling. One of your hands grips the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in as you brace yourself, as the other slips between your legs, pushing aside your panties in a bold, undeniable signal. Agnes’s gaze flickers with mischief, her lips curving in a smirk at your willingness, at the silent plea in your eyes.

“Look at you…” she murmurs in that low, almost scolding tone that makes you clench around nothing. “Such a needy pet.” Her fingers finally dip down to graze your drenched folds, now exposed to her touch. Her fingers glide up and down with ease, a deliberate slowness that leaves you panting, every movement igniting raw need within you.

“Mm, so wet for me.” she whispers to herself, pressing her fingers a little firmer, coaxing a soft moan from you. Your grip tightens on the seat as your breathing grows ragged, her touch leaving you helplessly craving more, every nerve under her control.

Her movements are teasingly, atrociously, slow. An impatient thrill rushes through you, impossible to ignore, and without a second thought you straddle her lap in one swift motion. As you settle onto her, your dress rides up around your hips, baring more skin as your legs fall on either side of hers, bracketing her firmly on the back seat. Agnes’s eyes widen in surprise, excitement unmistakable as her hands find your exposed thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as you begin to grind against her.

The angle presses her strap perfectly against your core, each movement sending a pulse of pleasure as you rock in her lap, the coil in your lower abdomen growing tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips. A low growl escapes her as she watches you take what you need, movements relentless and hungry.

Lost in the moment, you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a kiss that’s messy, unrestrained, moans spilling shamelessly between your mouths. “Fuck… I need you.” you murmur, hips rolling harder in her lap, grinding with a desperate rhythm that has your heartbeat racing. You feel her cock press on your clit through her pants, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if you might come just from this.

But Agnes has other plans.

Her hands slip from your waist, leaving you whining at the loss of contact as her fingers find the buckle of her belt. She undoes it with slow precision, followed by the button and zipper of her pants, her gaze locked with yours for the whole time, challenge flickering in her eyes as she smirks.

Her hand slips between your legs once more, sliding over your sensitive core, fingers teasing your hole as if to confirm just how ready you are for her. You bite your lip, completely unable to contain yourself. “Please.” you beg, voice low and trembling.

The smirk that crosses her face is dark, satisfied, as though she’s savoring every word, reveling in how desperate you are to have her inside of you. Desperation starts to kick in as your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers between your folds, desperate for the friction she’s barely giving you. You grind against her hand, each movement sending sparks through your body as you cling to the delicious, aching need building inside you. Your breathing is ragged, and you can barely focus, until you catch sight of her other hand moving down to her waist.

With a fluid motion, Agnes reaches into her boxers, freeing her strap. The anticipation and the sheer intensity of the moment making your breath catch in your throat. As she draws it out, you take in every inch, noticing how it’s bigger than what Agatha would normally choose, yet not the biggest she’s ever ruined you with. But there’s something about the way she holds it, about the way it fills her hand, that has a rush of arousal pooling low in your stomach.

You swallow hard, desire flaring in your eyes as you let yourself imagine how it will feel inside of you, stretching you, abusing your needy hole. Agnes doesn’t miss your reaction, her smirk deepens, that predatory, knowing look in her eyes as she catches you staring. She shifts her hips, letting the strap press against your inner thigh, teasing you with what’s coming.

Her voice drops to a murmur, gravelly and low. “Think that pretty pussy of yours is ready to take it, doll?” she asks, tone both a tease and a command, daring you to say otherwise.

Without hesitation, you meet her gaze, biting your lip, eyes blazing with need. “Yes.” you whisper, breathless. “Fuck yes.”

A shiver runs through you as Agnes aligns herself, the tip of her cock pressing teasingly at your entrance, one of her hand resting firmly on your hip, grounding you. Slowly and deliberately, she begins to sink into you, stretching you inch by inch. A soft, breathy moan escapes you as the fullness sets in. Your fingers dig into her shoulders, clinging to her, every nerve ending lighting up with raw pleasure.

Agnes watches every reaction with a possessive gaze, clearly enjoying the way your body responds to her. She pauses, just for a second, letting you adjust. “Just like that. Mm, I wish I could feel that tight cunt wrapping around me. I bet it would feel so good.” she murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction.

And then, with an agonizing slowness, she presses further, filling you completely until there’s nowhere left to go and she’s buried deep inside. The feeling of fullness settles within you, every inch of her stretching you in a way that leaves you teetering on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. Your gaze drops instinctively to where your bodies connect, where her strap disappears into you, a sight that sends a deep, pulsing ache through your core.

But as you look down, your eyes catch on something else. The purple gemstone of your necklace, nestled against your skin, begins to glow, casting a soft, pulsing light in sync with the pounding rhythm of your heart. A slow smirk spreads across your lips, it’s almost time.

You teasingly wiggle your hips, signaling that you’re ready, craving the friction only she can provide. Agnes tightens her grip on your hips, nails digging into your skin. She meets your challenge, leaning forward just enough to capture your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. In the heated clash of tongues and teeth, her hips begin to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward, filling you again.

Her pace is torturously unhurried, letting you feel every second, watching the way your face reflects each wave of pleasure. After a few measured thrusts, her hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers kneading your skin before delivering a sharp, satisfying spank that sends a shock of pleasure through you. A gasp slips from your lips but, before you know it, her hips have stilled and she’s watching you with a provocative glint in her eyes.

It dawns on you that she wants you to move, to put on a show just for her. You hesitate, breath catching, and her voice drops to a low, rough murmur as she smirks. “Come on doll, you gotta work for it. Let’s see how you bounce for me.”

Her words ignite a fresh wave of arousal and, taking a steadying breath, you start rolling your hips. You move slowly at first, savoring the stretch but it doesn’t take long before you start lifting and sinking your full weight down onto her, each movement drawing a low hum of approval from her lips.

Lost in the rhythm, you quicken your pace, each bounce bringing you down harder, making the base of the strap pressing firmly against her clit. Her hands guide you, watching you arch and take her deeper and deeper, her gaze full of admiration and raw desire. 

The car fills with the wet, needy sounds of your arousal as she fills you completely. Your breaths turn to soft, broken moans, mingling with curses spilling from your lips. “F-fuck… Aggie…” you stammer, the familiar nickname slipping out before you can catch it. “Feels so… so good.” you murmur, half-lost in the haze, voice thick with need as you ride her harder, body pressing into her with abandon.

Agnes’s eyes flash, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s even noticed the slip or if she’s choosing to ignore it, letting it pass without breaking the intensity of the moment. Her grip tightens, voice dropping to a rough whisper that sends a shiver down your spine “Good girl… you’re taking me so well.” One of her hand slides up your back, nails scratching your skin and leaving red marks under your dress. “This is exactly what you were made for, isn’t it?”

Her words ignite something deep inside of you, urging you on as pleasure builds with each movement, your head tipping forward as you release a shameless moan. Your steady, rhythmic bouncing sends waves of pleasure radiating through you, each one stronger than the last, the friction inside you maddeningly perfect. You can feel your own wetness slickening each movement and dripping down your thighs, the glide of her strap effortless as she pushes deeper, unrelenting.

Agnes is utterly captivated, her gaze darting between the raw expressions of pleasure on your face and the sight of her strap disappearing into you. She drinks in every movement, every tremble, barely able to restrain herself.

As if sensing her focus, you open your eyes. You catch her gaze and stare right into her as you bite your lip, slowly and purposefully sinking down onto her cock, daring her. And that’s all she needs.

One hand wraps firmly around your throat, grip strong and commanding, while the other moves to your hip, pressing you down on her lap. For a moment, everything is suspended, you’re pinned under her gaze as the intensity of both the pressure at your throat and the deep ache within makes you shudder, caught between pleasure and anticipation.

Then, without warning, her hips snap up, driving into you with a devastating shove that forces every ounce of breath out of your lungs. She thrusts hard and deep, filling you completely, each movement unrelenting and precise, striking that spot that has you gasping and moaning uncontrollably.

Your hands clutch at her shoulders, desperate for some anchor as she pound into you without mercy, driving you relentlessly toward the edge. Your eyes flutter shut in overwhelming pleasure, but her grip tightens on your throat, pulling you back. “Eyes on me, pet.” she growls, voice low and commanding. “You begged me to ruin you. Now, look at me while I give you exactly what you asked for.”.

You force your eyes open, and the instant they lock onto hers, her pace quickens. The smirk on her face is a mix of dominance and admiration as she keeps pushing you further with every movement. The feeling is all-consuming and, as she continues, you feel yourself surrender completely, helpless under her control, barely holding on as pleasure engulfs you.

Her hips are snapping forward with an intensity bordering on devastating, her feet planted firmly on the car floor, adding force to each thrust. Her hand finds its way between your legs once more, fingers moving in practiced circles over your sensitive clit, coaxing you to the brink.

The purple stone around your neck pulses brighter as your orgasm builds, filling the car with an otherworldly glow that syncs with the rhythm of Agnes’s relentless movements. 

“Mmm, I missed this… I missed you.” the confession slips out you in a raw whisper. For a second, Agnes’ expression falters, something flickering in her eyes that seems to recognize the truth. Before she can react, the light from the stone intensifies, flooding the space between you with a bright, shimmering glow. Her gaze drops to the gemstone blazing against your skin, entranced as though the light itself is unraveling something within her.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you seize the moment and murmur the spell.

Ancient Latin words leave your lips like a quiet chant, each syllable carrying the force of longing and magic, woven with the raw passion building between you. The words wrap around you both, charging the moment, and as the final word slips from your mouth, she gasps like someone just knocked all the air out of her lungs. Agnes’s eyes meet yours, and in that instant, you know the veil has been lifted.

Agnes is gone and Agatha, your Agatha, is back. The full force of who she is, and who you are to her, rushes back all at once. For a moment, Agatha simply stares at you, the love of her life who broke her from that maddening spell… on her lap, strap buried deep inside you. The sight renders her speechless, her expression a mix of wonder and fierce devotion as she processes what’s happened.

Finally, her voice returns, smug and rough yet laden with emotion. “So, this is your idea of a rescue mission? Can’t say I mind, sweetheart.” She leans in, breath ghosting over your lips as her fingers trace your cheek, gaze softening though hunger remains.

You suppress a moan as her hips shift involuntarily, pushing deeper, and she gasps, realizing the full impact of the spell being lifted. She can feel you now, all of you. Every slick, heated movement as she fills you, every pulse of pleasure passing through you both in sync. The raw feeling of you, tight and warm, clenching around her cock, sends sudden jolts of pleasure through her. The boundary between you dissolved completely.

“Fuck… I can feel you again.” she murmurs, voice thick with awe and desire. Her voice drops, thick with satisfaction and yearning. “I’ve waited too long for this, and now… now you’re all mine again.”

Her breath catches, and her hands tighten on your hips, guiding you as she thrusts up with renewed purpose, as if proving to herself that this moment is real, savoring every second of this reconnection. Her eyes glint with pleasure as her nails dig into your skin, pulling you down harder with each thrust, her control slipping as she begins to feel herself approaching her own edge.

A ragged growl escapes her as she whispers against your ear, “You’re still so damn tight, sweetheart. Do you know what you’re doing to me?” Her breath shudders, and a smile plays on her lips as she admits, “I’m already close too… After all this time, I don’t think I can hold back.”

The rhythm between you intensifies as her hands roam over your body, holding you close as she loses herself in the feeling of being truly connected again. You’re nothing short of a moaning mess as her voice guides you closer to the edge with her, whispered praise and promises mingling with the tension building in both of you, pushing you both to the brink.

Agatha is fucking you at an unforgiving rhythm, the intensity blurring everything else. Her gaze never leaves you, watching you come undone as you both reach the edge, every sensation building to a breathtaking crescendo.

Soon, her rhythm turns erratic, her restraint fully unraveled. Her eyes bore into yours, dark and fierce, filled with desire and something deeper—a yearning that transcends this moment alone.

“Mm fuck baby… yes, just like that…” she murmurs, breathless, almost reverent.

Your thighs start to shake, each movement pushing you closer, and you can barely form words as the pleasure tightens, an unbearable ache. “Ah fuck Agatha… d-don’t stop.” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck fuck fuck…” you stammer with each of her relentless thrusts until your voice breaks, overcome by waves of sensation crashing through you.

The car is filled by the sound of your low, breathy moans, mixing with Agatha’s rough, primal groans, all blending together as her hands slide up your back, possessive, grounding, bracing you for what’s to come.

You’re so close, and you know she is right there with you, her body tensing as she growls, “Come with me, now.” Her voice thick, dripping with desire, her words pushing you over the edge.

Your body arches instinctively as you shudder, every nerve aflame as waves of pleasure wash over you. Your head tips back, unable to hold back the cries escaping your lips. Your thighs twitch uncontrollably, your hips moving wildly on Agatha’s lap as your walls clench around her cock, releasing all that built-up tension in one of the most powerful orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

Agatha’s hips snap up one last time, her breath catching as she reaches her own release, her hands pressing you close as she gasps. “Mine… all mine…” her words, raw and filled with emotion, resonate through you, pulling you even deeper into the moment.

Your bodies tremble together, chests heaving, hearts racing as you slowly come down from your high. She holds you there, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her eyes softer but still burning as she meets your gaze. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, savoring the afterglow, feeling completely and utterly entwined.

Slowly, she leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, one that holds all the love and longing she’s felt, buried beneath the spell, and everything you’ve both been waiting to express. Her mouth moves over yours with fervor, a silent promise in every brush of her lips. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as emotions overwhelm you, but Agatha notices, her thumb gently wiping it away as she smiles against your lips. Her expression is soft and filled with gratitude as she holds you close, her hands tracing over your skin as if trying to commit every inch of you to her memory.

“Thank you, my love.” she whispers, voice thick with feelings. Her hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as she finally, reluctantly, begins to pull out. The sudden emptiness leaves you gasping softly, a shiver running through you at the loss, but before you can fully react you’re wrapping your arms around her, holding her close, grounding yourself in her warmth and presence.

Agatha’s hand slides down your back, comforting, reassuring. She presses a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring “It’s okay. I’m here now.” She pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her features gentle yet fiercely protective. “Let’s go home.” she says, her tone pure tenderness “I won’t ever let anything take me away from you again, I promise.”.

She holds you close for one last intimate moment, while her words linger, solid and true. With a soft smile, she shifts and tucks away her strap before buttoning up her pants and fastening her belt, her eyes never leaving yours, filled with affection and satisfaction.

Once she’s ready she turns toward you, her hands moving to adjust your dress, her touch both careful and intimate as she smooths the fabric sliding it back into place around your waist and hips. Her hands linger, brushing along your sides in a way that makes your heart flutter.

Agatha opens the car door, stepping out first, leaning back to help you out of the car. She guides you with a steady hand as she opens the passenger door and, once you’re settled in the seat, she closes the door gently, making her way around the car and slipping into the driver’s seat beside you.

Agatha reaches over, her hand resting on your thigh as she leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. With a final squeeze of your thigh, she starts the car, guiding you both into the night. In the quiet space between you, there’s a shared understanding that this is the beginning of a new chapter, together, with nothing left to keep you apart.

[violet-harmon2011]

to my favorite serial killer, clown, cult leader, hairstylist, vampire, playwright, actor, hotel owner, lobster man, circus performer, zombie, frat boy, and mechanic <3

[d-z20]

Hers and Hers Alone

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha Harkness’s possessive nature burns brighter than ever when she claims you, not just with her words but with her magic. In the charged intimacy of her study, the line between dominance and devotion blurs, leaving no doubt that you belong entirely to her.

-OR-

She marks you with a magic tattoo cause you're oblivious to people flirting with you

Warnings: Possessive Agatha, reader is an idiot when it comes to flirting, magical marking, jealousy/obsession, claiming trope, slight angst, kind of dark romance is implied (at least their relationship is in my head), some dom/sub dynamics, reader gets called a good girl

Words: 1.9k

A/N: FuckMarvelEveryoneLives AU :P I errrr had carried this fic into the smut but then realised the request didn't ask for it so I guess what happened will just stay in my head :))

AO3 | Masterlist

Agatha Harkness always gets what she wants.

That’s the first thing you learnt when you fell into her orbit—her sharp eyes, her wicked smirk, the way her presence alone felt like it could strip you bare. It wasn’t just her power that made her dangerous; it was her confidence, the knowledge that she could claim you with nothing more than a look. And claim you, she did.

Tonight, that claim becomes permanent.

It starts earlier in the evening, though you’re far too oblivious to notice. Another witch—a newcomer to your coven—has been lingering a little too close, her compliments flowing like honey, her hand brushing yours just a bit too often. You think nothing of it, laughing at her jokes and responding with your usual warmth, but Agatha sees it all. She sits across the room, her wine glass in hand, her gaze locked on you with an intensity that sends lesser witches scattering. It’s subtle at first—the narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head—but as the other witch leans in and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, Agatha’s smile falters, replaced by something far sharper.

Jen sidles up beside her, an amused glint in her eye as she tracks Agatha’s gaze. “You’re going to set the room on fire if you keep glaring like that,” she says dryly.

“Perhaps,” Agatha mutters, her tone deceptively smooth. “But how could anyone blame me?" Her gaze flicks briefly to Jen before settling back on you.

Jen’s laughter is soft, a knowing sound that holds no pity. “She’s not doing anything. It’s you who sees it as a challenge.”

“A challenge easily won,” Agatha snaps, her irritation slipping through. Still, she doesn’t move. Not yet. She knows you too well to make a scene in public. No, this required precision.

—

The air buzzes with conversation, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that dance across the stone walls and when you finally turn toward her, your face brightens at the sight of her. You weave through everybody, the scent of burning herbs mingling with the faint tang of red wine, excusing yourself with a polite smile and a brief touch of hands that only fuel Agatha’s determination. By the time you reach her, she has composed herself into a picture of calm.

“You’re being antisocial again,” you tease lightly, tilting your head to study her. “Should I be worried?”

“Hardly,” she replies smoothly, though her voice dips into a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “Although perhaps you should.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Agatha steps closer, her fingers brushing your wrist lightly. The contact sparks against your skin, her magic coiling beneath the surface. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you feel the weight of her presence settle over you like a velvet cloak.

“You’ve been quite generous with your attention tonight,” she says softly, her voice carrying an edge that makes your heart skip. “Perhaps too generous.”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” She laughs low and dangerous. “No, darling. Jealousy is for those who doubt their place. I know exactly where I stand. Do you?”

Her words linger in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, and then Agatha’s fingers trail up your arm, her touch deliberate and slow, leaving behind a faint, smouldering heat. The air between you thickens, charged with her magic and something even more primal. Her breath brushes your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You don’t understand yet,” she whispers, her tone laced with a dark promise. “But you will.”

“Come with me,” she commands, making your pulse race.

Agatha doesn’t speak as she pulls you down the hallway, her grip firm but not painful, though there’s no mistaking the fire in her movements. You trail after her, a little breathless from trying to keep up, still half-confused about what’s gotten into her. It’s not until she shoves open the door to her study and drags you inside that she finally stops, turning to face you. The door clicks shut behind you with a wave of her hand, the air in the room thickening, charged with something electric and unrelenting.

“Agatha—” you start, but her sharp look cuts you off.

“Do you enjoy parading yourself like that?” she asks, her voice deceptively soft as she steps closer. “Letting them think they have the right to touch what’s mine?” The words cut like a knife, her tone equal parts petal and thorn, daring you to challenge her claim.

Her words sting, but there’s a flicker of defiance in your chest. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, yet the weight of her gaze makes you second-guess yourself. “What? She was just being nice."

“Nice.” Agatha repeats, a dark chuckle escaping her lips as she closes the distance between you. “That wasn’t ‘nice,’ darling. She was flirting. And you…" Agatha pauses, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. For a fleeting moment, there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—not doubt, exactly, but something close. Vulnerability that is quickly buried under her usual sharpness. “You’re far too sweet to see it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die in your throat as her thumb brushes your bottom lip, lingering just long enough to make your heart stutter. “You’re mine,” she says softly, almost like a warning, her eyes darkening as she leans in. “You can laugh and smile at the others all you want,” she continues, her voice like silk laced with steel. “But they’ll never know you the way I do. They’ll never touch you like this.”

Your breath hitches; your body already betraying you as heat pools in your stomach. Agatha’s hands move to your shoulders, steady and deliberate as she turns you around to face the desk. You feel the press of her body against your back, her breath warm against your neck as she leans in. “Don’t move,” she murmurs, the command dripping with authority.

You stand still, barely daring to breathe, though your mind races. The weight of her gaze, the heat of her power, wraps around you like an unrelenting grip. A thrill courses through your chest—half fear, half longing—as you realise what she’s about to do. This is more than a claim; it’s a declaration, a tether, and deep down, you’re not sure if you’d ever want to break free.

 Agatha brushes her fingers down the column of your throat and across your collarbone before stopping over your chest. Her touch is gentle, but the power swirling from her is anything but. 

“Right here,” she murmurs, her voice a dark velvet caress. Her fingers brush over your chest, leaving a tingling trail of magic in their wake. “This is where my claim belongs—above your heart, so no one ever forgets who it beats for.”

A surge of violet magic blooms from her palm, tendrils of shimmering light twisting and curling as they seep into your skin. It’s not just energy—it’s alive, sparking and crackling like a storm contained within your chest. Heat rushes through you, both foreign and familiar, as if her power is carving itself into your very being.

You gasp, your body arching instinctively as Agatha mumbles soft incantations under her breath. When she pulls her hand away, your heart is racing, and you feel it—a faint, lingering hum where her magic settled.

“Look,” she instructs, her voice soft yet commanding. 

There, etched into your skin in delicate, curling lines of violet, are Agatha’s initials. It’s an ancient and commanding mark, pulsing faintly with magic. You feel it thrum in time with your heartbeat, as though Agatha herself has left a piece of her soul imprinted onto you. 

You blink, lips parted in surprise, but before you can speak, Agatha’s fingers ghost over the mark. The second she touches it, a wave of pleasure rushes through you, leaving you trembling as a choked gasp escapes your throat.

“Sensitive, isn’t it?” She murmurs, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Maybe now you’ll remember who owns you.”

You shiver under her touch, the magic from the mark sparking with every deliberate brush of her fingers. She leans in close, her voice a low purr against your ear. “And if you ever let anyone get that close again, I’ll make sure you cannot walk for days, darling. Do you understand?”

You swallow hard, nodding wordlessly, and Agatha hums approvingly. “Good girl.”

Agatha’s approval drips like honey into your veins, the warmth of her magic lingering just beneath your skin. Your body betrays you completely—breath shaky, pulse fluttering, and heat pooling low in your stomach. Every brush of her fingers near the freshly marked skin pulls a soft gasp from your lips, and you can feel her smile against your ear.

“Sensitive already,” she husks with dark amusement, the words sending a fresh shiver down your spine. Her fingertips ghost over the mark again, just enough to make your knees buckle, and you clutch at the edge of the desk for support. “Such a pretty reaction. I could play with you like this for hours, you know. Watch you squirm. Hear you beg.”

"Agatha,” you breathe, her name tumbling from your lips in a desperate mix of frustration and longing.

She tsks softly, her free hand trailing down your side, gripping your hip firmly enough to hold you in place. “Do you feel it yet?” she asks softly, tilting your chin up to force your gaze on her. “The way you need me now?” Her voice drops lower, the teasing edge softening into something deeper, more possessive. “That mark isn’t just to ward off wandering hands, love. It’s a tether. A reminder of exactly who you belong to.”

You can only nod, unable to find your voice as the thrum of magic beneath your skin grows more insistent. The mark feels alive—Agatha’s initials pulsing faintly, like they’re echoing your own heartbeat. The sensation deepens when she leans closer, her lips just grazing the sensitive skin below your jaw, and you let out a shaky whimper before you can stop yourself.

“That’s it,” Agatha whispers against your neck, her breath sending another ripple of arousal through you. Her lips curl into a smirk as she presses a kiss there, followed by a deliberate flick of her tongue. “You’re already so desperate. My mark is working beautifully.”

Her hand trails down the front of your body, teasing but never quite satisfying the ache that’s grown unbearable. “I could make you cum just by touching it,” she continues, her voice like velvet as she strokes a single finger lightly over the mark once more. The pleasure spikes instantly—so sharp and overwhelming that your head falls back with a gasp, your thighs pressing together in a feeble attempt for relief.

Agatha pulls back just enough to watch the way you tremble, utterly at her mercy. “Tell me, darling. Do you understand now? Do you know who you belong to?”

“Yes,” you manage, the word escaping in a breathless, desperate whisper.

Her smirk widens. “Say it.”

“You, Agatha,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I belong to you.”

“Good girl,” she hums, her voice softer now, almost tender. Her fingers trace the edge of the mark, drawing a shuddering breath from your lips. “You wear it beautifully,” she murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss just above the sigil. Her magic lingers there, warm and possessive, as she cups your cheek with a rare gentleness. “Mine,” she whispers again, more for herself than you.

-----

I just need to take a moment to appreciate the way Kathryn looks at the camera in the gif used at the start... the woman is staring into my soul and ughhhh the piercingssssss 😩😩😩

-----

Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony

[iilanaslvr]

Me waking up straight to agathario fanfics like it's my daily newspaper

[buttercandy16]

Watchful Eyes

PAIRING(s): Professor!Agatha Harkness x Student!Reader

SUMMARY: A student’s admiration for their enigmatic professor spirals into obsession—but the deeper they delve, the more they uncover a dark game they may never escape.

WARNING(s): Dub-Con. Obsession. Manipulation. Possession. Stalking. Toxicity. Power. Control. Age-Gap. SMUT

A/N: More smut! Happy Holidays!

The lecture hall was always quiet before she entered. It was like the air itself held its breath, waiting for her to walk through the door. Professor Agatha Harkness was more than just your teacher. She was an enigma, a force that seemed to exist outside of time, out of reach, untouchable. She moved with an effortless grace that left you breathless every time you saw her. Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating, would briefly flick over you as she began the lecture, and in those moments, you’d feel as if your very soul was being studied.

But it wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just fascination. You were obsessed with her. You had been for months. Every moment you spent in class, every fleeting interaction, every look from her—it consumed you. You couldn’t focus on anything else. No other professor, no other student, not even the rest of the world existed for you anymore. Just Agatha.

You would find yourself following her, stalking her every move after class. At first, it was innocent enough. You simply wanted to know where she went after her lectures. What kind of person was she when she wasn’t standing at the front of the classroom, speaking with that confident, almost distant air? It started with casual observations, standing on the fringes of the campus, watching her walk alone through the park after class, her figure framed by the golden light of dusk. But soon, it became an obsession. You would take longer routes home, just to watch her, just to see where she went, who she talked to.

You began leaving her notes—anonymous, of course. Written in the darkest corners of your mind, each word you penned carried the weight of your obsession, but none of it ever gave away the depth of your feelings. You’d slip them under her office door, or leave them tucked into the margins of her books in the library.

At first, you thought it would be enough for her to notice. For her to see you, to understand the quiet adoration that pulsed through you every moment you were in her presence. But as the weeks went by, you began to feel something darker, something sharper. You craved more than her acknowledgment. You craved her. You wanted her, needed her.

You didn’t realize it at first, but she had begun to notice you too. There were glances, lingering just a moment too long. A raised eyebrow when you hesitated during office hours, as if she was waiting for you to say something more. The soft, knowing smile she gave you in the hallway, her eyes flicking to the note you’d slipped under her door only hours earlier. It was subtle, but you could feel it. She was paying attention.

And then, one fateful afternoon, you found yourself standing outside her office once again. This time, your heart was pounding louder than ever before, your mind racing with fantasies of what would happen if you were to step inside and confess everything. The door was ajar, just enough for you to see the soft, warm light spilling into the hallway.

You knocked, breath caught in your throat, and waited. For what, you weren’t sure. But you could already feel the heat of anticipation, your mind filled with a thousand scenarios of what might happen once she let you in.

“Come in,” came her voice, soft, almost reluctant, but unmistakably hers.

You pushed the door open slowly, the heavy wood creaking under your touch. The sight of her standing behind her desk made your pulse race. She looked so much like a goddess in this dim, golden light, her dark eyes watching you with a strange, unreadable intensity.

“Miss [Your Last Name],” Agatha greeted you, her tone calm but strangely tense. “What brings you to my office today?”

You swallowed, stepping into the room. “I—I needed to talk about the last lecture,” you began, your voice shaking slightly. It felt like an excuse, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit the real reason you were here.

She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something about her posture, something about the way she shifted uneasily in her chair, that made you pause. She wasn’t looking at you with the same cool, detached air she usually did. There was… wariness in her gaze.

“Is everything alright, Miss [Your Last Name]?” she asked, her voice smooth but strained.

You frowned, not sure how to respond. The way she was watching you felt different now. She was standing a little straighter, her back stiff, as if she were on alert. Had she… noticed your obsession?

“I just—I wanted to talk about the material,” you said, your words faltering as you saw the flicker of something strange pass through her eyes.

She took a small step back, pressing her palms flat on the desk as if bracing herself. “You’ve been coming around a lot lately,” she remarked, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “I’ve noticed. More than usual. You’ve been… lingering outside my office, following me after class. I—” She faltered, her eyes flicking to the door, as though considering whether or not to close it. “Are you… alright, Miss [Your Last Name]?”

For a moment, you were confused. What was she saying? She sounded—scared.

“Of course I’m alright,” you said, your voice growing louder, more insistent. “I just—” You stopped yourself, unable to say the words out loud. You wanted her. But she seemed distant, afraid of you. Why? Had she realized your obsession? Was she… repulsed?

Agatha took another slow step back, her eyes darting toward the door. She seemed to be calculating something. “I’ve… been meaning to speak to you about your behavior,” she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “I’ve noticed how you watch me, how you follow me. It’s not… normal, Miss [Your Last Name]. I’m afraid I have to report this.” Her words were like a slap in the face.

You froze. You had never imagined she would say something like that. The words cut deeper than you could have ever expected.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You stepped back, as though she were about to send you away. The reality of the situation was sinking in, and it hurt. She had noticed, and now she was scared of you.

Agatha’s expression softened for a brief second. Then, like a switch being flipped, her features hardened. She straightened, eyes narrowing, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

“No,” she whispered, her voice dark now, the calm exterior gone, replaced by something that felt far more dangerous. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Miss [Your Last Name]. You enthralled me. All this time, I’ve been watching you too.”

You blinked, confusion clouding your mind. What? What was she talking about?

Agatha’s smile widened, an almost predatory gleam in her eyes. “I’ve been watching you just as much as you’ve been watching me. You thought you were the one in control, didn’t you? But I was always the one in control.” Her voice dripped with something darker, something seductive, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath caught in your throat. “W-what do you mean?”

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing your ear. “I let you play your little game, Miss [Your Last Name]. I let you think you were the one pulling the strings. But the truth is, you were just a piece of my game all along.”

You could feel your heart thundering in your chest. Was this some sort of twisted joke? Agatha seemed so distant, so terrified of you just moments ago. But now, her presence was overwhelming, suffocating. It was clear now that she had been playing a far darker game than you could ever comprehend.

She cupped your chin in her hand, tilting your face toward hers. “You thought you were the predator. You thought you were the one stalking me. But in reality, you were always mine.” Her lips pressed lightly against your ear, her voice dropping lower. “And now… now I think it’s time to finish what we started.”

The twist of her hand as she pulled you closer left you breathless, unable to move, entirely under her control. Her obsession with you had been simmering beneath the surface this entire time, and you were just too blind to see it.

As you were pulled into her grasp, the realization hit you like a shockwave—You had never been the one in control.

Agatha’s hand lingered at the edge of your jaw, firm but teasing. Her smile widened as you trembled, her gray eyes locked onto yours like a hawk sizing up its prey. It was as though the world had collapsed inward, leaving just the two of you in the oppressive, stifling silence of her office.

“I’ve been patient with you, darling,” she murmured, her tone syrupy but laced with a razor’s edge. “Watching you unravel, watching you think you had the upper hand… it was delicious. But now I think it’s time I stopped playing along.”

Her confession pierced your chest like a dagger. Your knees felt weak, and you stumbled back, only to find yourself trapped between the door and her looming presence.

“You knew?” The words slipped out in a whisper, small and broken.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she laughed softly, the sound rich and velvety, dripping with dark amusement. “Of course I knew. Did you really think you could follow me, linger around my office, and flood my desk with your little letters without me noticing? You were never subtle. But that’s what made it fun.”

Fun? Her words were mocking, taunting. Your obsession, the thing that consumed you for months, the thing you thought was hidden deep beneath layers of careful secrecy—she had known all along and had let you indulge in your madness.

“But you…” you stuttered, your mind struggling to piece together the fragmented truths unfolding before you. “You acted like you were scared—like I was…”

Her head tilted, that soft smirk never wavering. “Oh, I played the victim beautifully, didn’t I? Just enough fear, just enough hesitation to make you think you had the upper hand. People like you—people so desperate, so reckless—fall apart when they think they’re in control.” She leaned closer, her voice soft and sinister. “And you fell apart perfectly.”

Your breath hitched. She wasn’t just acknowledging your obsession—she was savoring it, as if every twisted act of devotion you’d shown her had been part of some elaborate game.

“Why?” The question escaped your lips before you could stop it. You hated how weak it sounded, how small you felt under her intense, unrelenting gaze.

She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against your cheek, her touch both chilling and electrifying. “Because I wanted you,” she said simply, as though it was the most natural answer in the world. “From the moment I saw you in class, sitting there with that mix of fear and fascination in your eyes, I knew. I could feel the weight of your thoughts every time you looked at me. It was intoxicating.”

Your stomach twisted, the realization slowly dawning. She hadn’t just been aware of your obsession—she had wanted it. Encouraged it.

“You thought you were the one losing control,” she continued, her voice growing darker, “but really, I’ve been guiding you the entire time. Feeding your obsession, letting you think you were pulling me into your web, when it was my web all along.”

You shook your head, your mind screaming at you to push her away, to run, but your body was frozen. Every muscle, every nerve seemed to betray you under the weight of her presence.

“I could’ve stopped you at any moment,” she purred, her hand sliding to your throat, resting there lightly. “But where’s the fun in that? Watching you spiral deeper, watching you stumble closer to me—it was addictive.” Her grip tightened, just slightly, enough to make your breath catch. “You’re addictive.”

You tried to speak, tried to protest, but the words were caught in your throat. She was too close now, her breath hot against your skin, her body pressing against yours.

“And now, my darling,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a dangerous low, “you’ve given yourself to me completely. Your secrets, your devotion, your obsession—I own all of it. I own you.”

Her lips brushed your ear, and your stomach flipped. You could feel the power she held over you, the suffocating control she exerted without effort.

“And the best part?” she continued, her tone turning almost gleeful. “You never even saw it coming. You really thought I was afraid of you? Poor, naïve little thing. I’ve had you wrapped around my finger from the very beginning.”

A sudden wave of anger surged through you, a last-ditch effort to break free of her hold. “You’re sick,” you spat, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and defiance.

Her laugh was low and chilling, her fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she cooed, “you’re just as sick as I am. Maybe worse. After all, you started this game. I’m just making sure I win.”

Her grip loosened suddenly, and you stumbled back against the door, your head spinning. The room felt smaller, darker, as if her presence had consumed every bit of air.

“But don’t worry,” she said, her voice soft again, almost soothing, as she stepped closer. “You don’t need to run, my darling. There’s nowhere to go. You’re mine now. Completely.”

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with a strange, terrifying mix of affection and possession. “And I’m yours,” she added, her voice a whisper. “You just don’t realize yet how much you’ve always been in control.”

Her hand cupped your chin again, pulling you toward her until her lips were almost touching yours. “The question is,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “how far are you willing to let this go?”

Agatha’s hand on your chin held firm as she tilted your head up to meet her gaze. Her gray eyes were unreadable now, vast and stormy, but with an intensity that made your stomach churn. You opened your mouth to speak—to do something, anything—but no sound escaped.

“Speechless already?” she teased, her lips curving upward as her thumb grazed your jawline. “I thought you liked this game. Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

“I—” you stammered, your voice catching in your throat. For the first time since this obsession began, you felt the sharp sting of vulnerability. Your skin prickled as a realization crawled through your mind. She wasn’t just obsessed with you. This wasn’t a harmless game of attraction. This was something darker.

You stepped back, pressing yourself against the door as you tried to create some distance. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the way she was looking at you—as though you were hers to take, to claim, to keep.

“Scared, my darling?” she asked, her voice soft but taunting, almost pitying. “I don’t blame you. It must be jarring to realize the one you’ve been chasing all this time has been chasing you right back.”

“Stop,” you croaked, your voice weak as your heart pounded against your ribcage. “This isn’t—this isn’t what I wanted.”

She laughed softly, the sound like velvet brushing against glass, sharp and smooth. “Oh, but it is,” she countered, her voice laced with something cruelly sweet. “You wanted me—needed me—so desperately. Don’t deny it now that I’m giving you exactly what you craved.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. Your breathing was shallow, panicked. The reality of her presence, of her predatory gaze, pressed against you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

Her expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, you thought she might actually let you go. But then she stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking a cornered prey.

“I see it in your eyes,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her touch was gentle, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine. “That fear. That uncertainty. Do you know what I find most fascinating about fear?”

You tried to push her away, but her hand caught your wrist in an iron grip. The softness in her eyes disappeared, replaced by something dark and unrelenting.

“It’s addictive,” she said, her voice low, almost intimate. “It makes you vulnerable, exposes all your deepest, darkest secrets. And you? You’ve already bared everything to me. You belong to me, body and soul.”

Your pulse raced as her words wrapped around you like chains. There was no denying it anymore—she wasn’t just indulging your obsession. She was feeding on it, twisting it into something you couldn’t control.

“Please,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Agatha tilted her head, studying you like an artist admiring her masterpiece. “Oh, darling,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You don’t need to beg. I’ve already decided you’re mine. Forever.”

Her grip on your wrist tightened as she leaned closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “You thought you were stalking me,” she whispered, her breath warm and chilling all at once. “But all this time, I’ve been waiting for you to come closer. To fall right into my arms. And now, my sweet, there’s no escape.”

You tried to pull away, your movements frantic, but she was relentless. Her hand slid down your wrist, pinning it against the door as she loomed over you.

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, your voice trembling.

Her eyes softened for a brief moment, and she smiled—not the sharp, taunting smirk from before, but something gentler, almost tender. “Because I love you,” she said simply. “More than you’ll ever understand.”

The words sent a wave of terror crashing over you. This wasn’t love. This was obsession—pure, unrelenting, and suffocating.

“But you can’t leave, you know that,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact now, as if your fate had already been sealed. “I’ve spent too long waiting for you, nurturing this… connection we share. And now that I have you, I’m never letting you go.”

Her lips brushed your temple, her breath ghosting against your skin. “You thought you were in control, but I’ve been ten steps ahead all along. Every glance, every note, every word—it was all leading to this moment.”

“I’ll go to the police,” you spat, the fear in your voice betrayed by the sheer desperation of the words.

She pulled back slightly, and for the first time, her smirk faltered. But it wasn’t fear you saw in her eyes. It was amusement.

“Oh, darling,” she said, chuckling softly. “And tell them what? That you stalked me? Left me unhinged notes? Or that you followed me home and watched me from the shadows like a ghost? No one will believe you. And even if they did—” She paused, her smile turning cruel. “Do you really think I’ll let them take you away from me?”

Tears stung your eyes as the weight of her words sank in. She had thought of everything, planned for every possibility. There was no way out, no escape from her carefully constructed web.

Agatha stepped back slightly, her hand lingering on your wrist as she studied your face. “Don’t cry, my darling,” she said softly, her voice almost soothing. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s a gift. You wanted me, and now you have me. Completely. Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

You shook your head, your chest tightening as her words wrapped around you like a noose.

Agatha sighed, releasing your wrist but staying close enough that her presence felt suffocating. “You’ll understand, in time,” she murmured. “This is love, in its purest form. And soon, you’ll see that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. With me. Forever.”

As her words echoed in the suffocating silence, you realized with a growing sense of dread that she meant every word.

Suddenly, Agatha’s lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you gasping, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip before her tongue plunged into your mouth. The taste of her was intoxicating—dark, sweet, and dangerous. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her, and you could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her blouse. 

She broke the kiss, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered, “You’re mine now, darling. Every inch of you.” Her fingers trailed down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before she grabbed the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head. The cool air of the office hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Agatha’s eyes raked over your body, her gaze predatory and possessive. “Beautiful,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. She stepped closer, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden instantly. You gasped, your head falling back as she leaned in to capture one in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.

Her hands moved to your waist, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties. She knelt before you, her hands running up your thighs, her nails digging into your skin just enough to make you whimper. “So wet for me already,��� she purred, her breath hot against your core. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, tossing them aside.

Agatha’s tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your slit, and you moaned, your hands tangling in her hair. She chuckled darkly, her breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. “You taste divine, darling,” she murmured before diving in, her tongue lapping at your folds, teasing your clit with expert precision. You cried out, your hips bucking against her face as she devoured you, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place.

She pulled back, her lips glistening with your arousal, and stood, her eyes locked on yours. You whimpered, your body trembling with need. “Please, stop,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

She smirked, her hands moving to unbutton her blouse, revealing the black lace bra beneath. She shrugged it off, her breasts spilling free, and you couldn’t help but stare. She was perfect, her skin smooth and pale, her nipples hard and begging for attention. She reached behind her, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor.

She leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. You moaned into her mouth, your hands gripping her shoulders as she pressed her body against yours.

She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses in their wake. Her hands moved to your waist, unbuttoning her pants and sliding them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her black lace panties. She stepped out of them, her body pressed against yours, and you could feel the heat of her core against your thigh.

Agatha’s hand slid between your legs, her fingers teasing your folds before slipping inside you. You gasped, your head falling back as she curled her fingers, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Please," you whimpered.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine now," she whispered. "Every inch of you."

You tried to pull away from her, but she held you tight. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "I can't do this. I can't be yours."

Agatha's hands tightened around your wrists, her nails biting into your skin. She smirked, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Oh," she purred. "But you're already mine, darling. And nothing is going to change that."

Pressing her body against yours. "I'll never let you go," she whispered, her breath hot against your neck.

And then her lips crushed against yours, her teeth nipping at the bottom of your mouth before she thrust her tongue inside. You whimpered, trying to fight it, but her hold was too strong.

She pulled away, her eyes flashing with anger. "You should be grateful for what I'm doing for you," she snarled. "You should thank me for making you mine."

Panting heavily, her eyes wild with desire. "Tell me," she demanded. "Tell me you're mine."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Please," you whispered. "Let me go."

Agatha smirked. "Never," she said. And then her lips were back on yours, her tongue demanding entrance.

You tried to fight it, but she was too strong. And soon, your mouth was opening, accepting her tongue. She moaned, her body pressing harder against yours, her hands still holding your wrists above your head.

"You're so perfect," she murmured against your lips. "So perfect for me." She leaned back, her eyes scanning over your body. "You'll be my perfect little pet," she purred, her hand moving to your breast. She pinched your nipple, making you gasp. "I'll train you to do whatever I want," she continued. "Whatever I want, you'll do."

She smiled, her fingers moving down your body to your core. She slipped her fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that made you moan. "And I'll make you cum for me," she whispered against your lips. "I'll make you cum so hard."

You tried to protest, but her hand over your mouth stopped you from speaking. She pressed her fingers deeper inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over.

You were trying to hold on, but it was impossible. Her fingers were too skilled, too good. You tried to push her away, but she didn't budge. And then the pleasure exploded inside you, making you cum on her fingers.

Agatha pulled her hand away, her fingers glistening with your wetness. She brought her hand to her mouth, sucking your juices off. "Delicious," she purred.

You stood there, shaking from the orgasm and the realization of what just happened. Agatha had taken control of your body, forcing you to submit to her desires.

You had played with fire, and now, you were trapped in the flames. Her flames.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💜

[redroses07]

said what i said

[caramelloss]

"you are my witch"

lilia calderu x reader • pure smut • 3.2k w/c

summary: you've been friends with lilia calderu for years. drunken from the poison of wine, you confess your love for the woman. although reluctant to admit her feelings, because she harbors a secret you don't know, you learn that lilia feels the same way. years of yearning come to an end, and you find yourself falling into your desires, unable to control what has been kept away for so long.

taglist: @setsuna1415 @honeypiperpizza123 @valarmorghuli @allseingeye @im-a-carnivorous-plant @worstendingever @ramblininsomnia @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsines @onlyv4use @kenzie-floops @screamsin-gay @numenamortenia @valkyrierain @babythere @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @astrophilliaxx @giona45-5 @evilregal2002 @crescendoofstars @yourbasicqueerie @primalnight @darkangelchronicles @sapphic-girlss @thegoddamnfeels @doctormaviatorres @i-hate-most-insects @brisgayshit97 @iheartmilfzzsposts @redrouge7e7as @novavala @finnza @wandringlightsaber @romanoffsho @kingpreciouswrld @emilyprentitss @elobv10 @wandasreallover @kaypastore38 @thegayassbit-ch @marinalunaestrella @gryffindor-forlife @lorrainemylove @anais-casablanca @girlwithissuesworld @ofgoldandbraid @justgaygirlthings @beachhausu @deathly777 @confuseuniverse @eepyvampy @whyilovewomen @r-3-becca @roksana6448 @bugcolector @etw12 @heartsfromelle @zyguard118 @thelesbianapollokid4 @opossum-in-disguise @snoopyaah @amberwhale @marisacoulterswife @ionlylikefictionalpeople @derry-n @evie-101 @ganyulover123

author's note: so first i'd like to just THANK all of you for blowing up my post asking for who'd like to be tagged, because the taglist isn't even done, i can't fit them all in the blog. also, i tagged you if you liked or reblogged the tag ask post, because i bolded i would tag those who liked or reblogged. second; i'm sorry this isn't a longer fic. it was originally planned to be, but i don't want to use my idea i came up with in a one chapter fic, i'd like it to be used in a longer more meaningful one. i really hope you enjoy this. if you have any positive, negative, or general feedback, please let me know! i want to become the best author i can be for you guys. also, i'd love to receive any asks for fanfiction or one shots! i'm currently focused on my big multi character x reader fic, but im 100% open to and willing to write for your requests.

content includes: fingering, oral stimulation, biting, praise, hair pulling, pet name usage

you noticed the difference in her eyes like it was bolded in bright red ink. her smile fell, like an angel to descend from heaven. 'this is it' you thought, 'she’ll hate me.' you turned away in shame, your heart dropped. words flooded out, stupid, careless words. "i love you, lilia." 

you couldn't bear to look, you feared the disagreement would show on her face. your body tenses, and you scrunch the bridge of your nose with your fingers. you expect her to tell you to get out, or leave.. but you hear nothing. 

but you feel, oh, you feel. 

you feel her behind you, closer than when you had muttered those stupid, damning words. her fingers gently traced your neck, and you closed your eyes, the yearning in your soul up to its brink of expression. each breath you take is shaky, is heavy. you tilt your head aside, desperate to feel her warmth on your skin forever. 

you open your eyes when you feel her breath on your neck. she must've noticed your body's reaction, because she paused, and remained still. lilia traces her fingers down your body, to your hips. she stops here, her lips close to your ears, as her body presses into your back. 

you lean into her, your head slightly leaning back, at the pure and utter pleasure you feel being so close to her. her lips part, and with such composure, yet so little solidity, she delivers a line that would come to send shivers down your spine. "i have loved you since i saw you the first time, long ago. i am consumed and rattled by you at every waking second.." her hands pull you in, and you hum at the gesture. your eyes are closed, not because you hate this, or don't want to be there, but because the way you long for her in this moment now is too painful for you to bear. a lump forms in your throat when you feel her wet cheek graze your neck. she was in tears, and you needed to console her; but how? how should you console her now? you did not have much time to think. her lips, warm, soft, and gentle, were on your neck. the kiss she blessed your skin with felt like one that existed prior to the world, and forever past the present. it was torture, it was devastation, when she pulled away. it hurt, it was brutal.. so brutal, your lips parted, and you gasped quietly. your hand reached back for her head, and you enveloped your fingers in the curly, silver locks of her hair. you held her head close to yours, as her thumbs rubbed gently upon your hips. her voice broke as she completed her confession, and your heart broke with it; you'd do anything to protect her, to keep her from harm. "i'm a witch, y/n.. how could you ever love a witch?" 

your eyes opened, and you stopped breathing, for just a moment. you were sure you'd heard wrong. with a furrowed brow, and a worrisome expression, you broke away from her touch, from her hold. you turned to her, and your head tilted to the side, as tears began to form in your waterline. the sight of her, so weak, so doubtful of herself, so ashamed.. your heart shattered like a broken mirror. 

her face was lined with streaks of wet. she had cried for this, she suffered for it. she couldn't even look at you, her eyes were avert. 

your hands raced to cup her cheeks, and you gently wipe away her tears. her lips part, in astonishment, followed by her eyes meeting your gaze. finally, you saw those beautiful eyes again. your heart skipped a thousand beats at the sight of those irises. you smile, and your face softens. "lilia.." you whisper, your forehead pressed against hers now, "i've loved you since the sun rose opposite the moon. i've chased you in all of my wildest dreams. i've loved you in every moment and i would not stop because of what you are or are not." at your notation, her lips fold into a smile. she grabs your wrists softly, holding them. once more you spoke, "you are my witch, my little piece of divinity. you are mine, and my heart is yours." you watch as her eyes move from your eyes to your lips, and you wish for nothing but her to kiss you. 

after all these years, of being her "friend", you have never wanted anything more than for her to kiss you. it's like an insatiable hunger you cannot destroy. 

lilia bites her lip, and she grabs your chin with her pointer finger and her thumb. you start to breath heavy, and your heart begins to race. she brings your face to hers, so close that your lips graze against one another’s. you ache for her, you long for her. you need to taste her, to merge your body, your soul, your heart, with hers. you need her to kiss you. 

and she does. her lips mesh with yours in perfect harmony, like the melody of heaven’s sea. your mind is adrift, clouded. you cannot form a thought, you do not desire to form a thought. her unaccompanied hand caresses the small of your back, and you pull her closer with the hands you hold on her face. 

she slips her tongue along your bottom lip, and you moan softly into the kiss. her grip on your chin releases, and she holds your jaw instead. she guides you through the long, heart-felt kisses. her lips control your body, your mind. 

warmth builds between your thighs, and your head is still covered by nothing but a blanket of emptiness. lilia is the first to pull away, her lack of oxygen in her lungs being the culprit. you curse the living necessity of air. 

you yourself breathe heavy, panting almost. lilia’s lipstick is smudged, and you smirk at the notion that you've just kissed this marvel of a woman. she notices your cocky smile, and a single eyebrow lifts. she now wore a smirk herself. 

“you're looking at me like you've just seen me naked, y/n.” you chuckle when she says this. “while i wouldn't be opposed to that, i'm just a little satisfied with the fact that in the midst of kissing me, you forgot about your lipstick.”  

her smirk faded and her lips parted again, she pop looked offended, but you could tell it was just her beautiful sense of sarcasm. 

“fix it for me?” she asked this with a lower tone and a wink, and you felt your core throb at the sound of her voice. she wanted you to kiss her again. 

you ran your tongue across your bottom lip, and you couldn't help your smile. her hands guided your face close, and you pushed a curl behind her ear. she grew desperate, unable to wait. her lips caught yours, and you shut your eyes at the contact. in your head you pictured her eyes, beautiful and brown, like the rock embedded and shaded on the side of a mountain. your grip on her hair tightened as she pushed you back softly, making sure not to break the kiss. her lips were soft, so soft it felt like the comfort a pillow brings in the hour of sleep. you moan as your lower back makes contact with her counter, and your head leans back, which breaks the embrace. 

the wetness between your thighs grows, and you figure your underwear must be utterly ruined. lilia's fingers stroked your hair, and she shook her head slightly, a whisper following shortly. "let me taste you.. every inch of you.." you bite your lip, and hold her gaze, nodding hesitantly; even though you don't feel hesitant on your answer at all. her smirk returns, and her hands descend, down from your hair to your neck. she drags them further down, past your shoulders. she stops at where the unbuttoned cardigan opens, pushing the material off of your arms and body. her warmth intoxicates you when her skin brushes against yours. she plants hot kisses on your upper arms, which are exposed because of the camisole top you wore. 

her hands found the straps to your shirt, and she pulled them down slowly, kissing the empty place they used to cover. you tense, and your eyes shut as your lips purse together while you try to conceal the soft hum of pleasure you make.

lilia's fingers pull away the top, leaving you completely naked and exposed from your waist up. she smiles at the sight, her hands cupping your breasts. you feel the slick between your legs, it seems the inner part of your thighs had gotten soaked by extension.

her thumbs grazed over your nipples, and the sensation was enough to drive you wild. you pulled her head into the curve of your neck, your lips parted as soft moans escaped. she chuckles and her lips start to kiss your neck. 

your knees go weak, simply from the ecstasy her lips brings you. her thumbs lose the feel of your sensitive buds, and she begins to creep down your throat. she leaves sloppy kisses down your collarbone, and down to your nipples. her eyes close as she takes one into her mouth, suckling on the sweet spot. your eyes fall back, and you inhale, biting down onto your lip to stop yourself from being loud. her fingers play with your lone nipple, and you feel as though you will not be able to take much more of this before becoming pathetic for her. 

the witch releases your areola from her mouth and takes in the other, her tongue lapping around the bundle of nerves. her hands trace the curves of your body. they pause when she's reached your hips, and she digs her nails into your skin. the pain blends with the pleasure beautifully, and it's as if they are interchangeable. 

you breathe heavily, your stomach twitching when she starts to drag her lips down your stomach. your pussy was so wet that she could smell the scent of arousal from your waistline. her fingers pulled up the black skirt you wore, and it revealed your soaked nude panties. she chuckled, looking up at you with eyes that were darkened and overwhelmed with lust. she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, which made you roll your eyes. 

“you're so wet, darling. i could just devour you.” you gently pull her hair, forcing her head back a little. she smirks, and you pout. “please, i need you” you say, pleading for her tongue, for her fingers, for her to be the one to shape you into a mess of a woman. 

she winks, bringing her mouth to your inner thigh. she leaves kisses along your skin, and it seems as though she’s teasing you. her eyes stay locked onto yours with each touch of her lips, she wants to see your face as she tortures you.

your hands release her hair, and grab onto the counter behind you, your nails scratch the surface with each new touch. her eyes look so dark, and it turns you on even more. 

but your view of them is gone as she bites into your other thigh. her teeth are sharp, and your jaw drops, you whimper. her teeth release, and she kisses the bite mark. you open your eyes to see it, to see the mark she had left. it was dark red, and your expression changed, you felt your core throb uncontrollably, and you grabbed her head by her hair, guiding her to your cunt. your eyes pleaded with her. 

lilia opened her mouth and licked the wet slick on your panties, all while looking you dead in the eyes. the touch was faint, but it was all your body needed to jerk up. it was so cruel, the way she left you needy and desperate for her. you couldn't think beyond her tongue on your clit, or her fingers buried in your warm folds. 

she bit the material of your under garment, pulling it slowly down your legs. her eyes were stolen away by the sight of you completely naked and in front of her, soaked, ruined. you were such a slut for her. you wonder if she would tease you about how soiled you got for her later down the line. 

the witch sighed, and her lips kissed the very inside of your thighs, right beside where you writhed for her. you thought you might faint. 

using your hand, you rubbed her cheek, shaking your head at the sight of her, down on her knees, ready to please you.  

she turned her face, kissing your gentle fingers. you smiled, and you took a deep breath as she brought her face as close as possible to your core. her eyes were focused on your face, you could tell she wanted to watch your face as she ate you out. so typical of her. 

her face buried between your legs, her tongue circling your clit. your hands shot behind you to the counter once more, desperate to hold yourself up. your eyes closed, and your back arched. the moan that echoed through the room was inevitable. she took her time, finding the nerves that were more sensitive and paying more attention to them. you thought she must've found you stupid to be so wet and needy for her. 

her tongue sped up, and she took your clit into her mouth, suckling the bud. you couldn't control the way your hips bucked, or the way your knees fell wobbly and weak. her hands grabbed your hips to stabilize her, and she pulled her mouth away in a flash. 

you were worrisome, you thought maybe you'd messed up, or maybe she'd realized she didn't want you like this. it was almost heartbreaking to feel her pull away. 

she had never stopped looking at you, though. you of course couldn't tell because your eyes had closed before out of the extremity of what you were feeling. 

she looked serious, determined, but her eyes were still as dark as before. you blush at the sight of her face covered in your taste, your slick. her mouth opened, and you heard every word with such a heavy impact. “do not close your eyes again. i want to see your eyes, your face, at every moment. do you understand?”

your heart starts to race again, there was just something so inexplicable about the way her words made you feel. you nod your head, scared that if you spoke your words would be jumbled. she didn't accept it though, her voice changed, from demanding to mischievous. “you understand..? what do you understand, dear? how does it make you feel..? tell me how i make you feel.” 

you bite your lip, looking up at the ceiling. maybe you were throwing up a prayer that you wouldn't mess up, or maybe you were just trying to prepare yourself for what she wanted from you. her right hand slipped from your hip, and you didn't notice, so fixated on her request. you went to start speaking, but as you did, you felt her fingers inside of you. 

your head leaned back, and you closed your eyes. a hushed “fuck!”, was followed by a loud humming. she smirked, “what did i say about closing your eyes, baby?” 

you forced them open, forced them to lock their gaze down onto her own. you wanted to make her happy. you needed to please her just as badly as you needed her to make you cum. 

“i'm sorry, darling—” as you began again, her fingers started to pump inside of your pussy, and your mouth lay agape. she didn't stop, even as you took a moment to continue, and you took a deep breath. 

“you want me to look— oh, fuck.. god.” it was like she went faster with each word you spoke. you took note of her devilish grin, thinking that you'd someday get your revenge. “you want me to look at you, you want to see me when— shit!” your body flinches as she curls her digits inside you, her speed still gradually increasing. “come on, princess, you're doing so good” she whispered this against your clit, right before sucking it into her mouth again. 

you bit your lip and your hands pulled her by the hair, just giving you something to hold onto. “when i cum for you, when i'm just a puddle for you.. you want to see me when i take your fingers!” 

the words came out shaky, spaced between your moans and whimpers. her fingers started to go as fast as they could, and lilia lapped her tongue around your wet clit, stimulating every single part of your cunt. she was still looking at you. you held her gaze as you started to tremble, your body shaking as it came to the brink of an orgasm. 

you finished your thought, giving her what she asked of you. “it makes me feel like abandoning everything for you, to have you like this, every second, every moment.”

her eyes closed, and you watched her remain between your thighs. your body hit a climax, and your hips bucked up, your back arching. you yelled for her, her name. your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you bit your lip to muffle any further sounds as she fucked you through your orgasm. 

when you had came, your white fluid casing over her fingers, she pulled her mouth away from your clitoris. 

you, with your head still fuzzy, had managed to pull her back up to you by her hair. her lips were so wet because of you. you immediately pull her in to kiss you, tasting yourself on her tongue and lips. she pulled away, breaking the contact. her teeth captured your bottom lip and you sighed when she pulled it back. 

lilia’s lips started kissing your neck, and she brought them to your ear, whispering hushedly, “clean your pretty little mess, my love.” 

you whimper, and you open your lips, as she slips her two cum-covered fingers inside of your mouth. you suck off your fluid, and the growing wetness between your legs returns.

the older witch laughs, kissing your neck again. her lips find yours once more, and she kisses you like there is no other action in this world. her tongue invades your mouth, as she tastes the sweetness that remains. 

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[ariascoven]

⟡ INSOMNIA PILLS

PAIRING : agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : established relationship, agatha is reader’s wife. gender neutral reader. pure fluff. whiny agatha.

WORD COUNT : 732

MY MASTERLIST | REQUESTED

You were sleeping peacefully, having the same nonsense dreams as always — for some reason, the Gods above decided that you would never have a coherent dream in your life. That is, until Agatha’s shuffling and groaning awakened you. You squinted your eyes and looked out the window, groaning when you saw nothing but pure darkness, the stars sparkling faintly. You turned your head to glance at the bedside clock, marking 2am. Agatha let out an annoyed grunt that almost made her sound like a spoiled child rather than a powerful, centuries old witch. You sat up slowly, rubbing your dizzy head. “Is something wrong, my love?” You were still half asleep, the simple task of speaking becoming a nightmare as your words slurred out in an almost incoherent blabber. Your wife turned around to face you, a childish pout lingering on her lips and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “Can't sleep, honey?” She nodded, her expression softening slightly at the concern and affection in your voice. “Come here.”

You shuffled in bed, sitting against the headboard and getting comfortable, arms opening wide in invitation and leaving no room for an answer. Agatha accepted the offer without a second thought, snuggling against you like you're her own personal pillow — not that it wasn't true. Her arms snaked around you to keep you close as she laid her head on your chest, her dark hair tickling your neck. She whined, making you giggle. “What?” She said grumpily, moving her head to glance up at you, that adorable pout still on her lips. You couldn't resist the temptation, leaning down to kiss her tenderly. You felt the annoyance slipping away from her body with a contented sigh the second your lips touched. You pulled back to look into her eyes, causing her to smile. You gently made her lay back down on your chest, your fingers combing through her thick hair softly as you hummed a calming tune, watching as she closed her eyes. Your lips joined the fingers that were tangled in her hair, peppering the top of her head with kisses, your free hand rubbing her arms soothingly.

Feeling your lover’s heartbeat, you smiled as she snuggled even closer to you, seeking the affection and comfort that only you could provide. Your legs were entangled with hers and you noticed her feet were cold — stubborn the way that she is, Agatha refused to put on socks before bed, even though you practically begged her to, saying the air was getting cold and you didn't want her to get sick. ‘I’m a witch, I’ll be fine. Agatha Harkness doesn't need socks,’ she claimed. The woman drove you crazy with her tantrums, but you loved her dearly. And she loved you, too. You knew it. And so did everyone that spent 5 minutes watching the way she treated you and acted around you. Her caring and affectionate side was reserved to you only, and you would be lying if you said you didn't like that. Even though you often had to reprimand her like a toddler when she acted up in public by starting an argument with a stranger or giving weird looks to random people on the street, your heart grew oddly warm knowing you were the only person that she would actually listen to. Sharon Davis — also known as Mrs. Hart, the name Agatha refused to stop calling her — told the witch to ‘stop staring, it's rude!’ once, which ended up in Agatha ruining the poor lady’s garden. Of course, you made her fix it.

“I love you.” Agatha muttered groggily before drifting off to sleep on top of you. You don't know exactly how much time you spent just admiring your sleeping wife’s features that night, giggling at the way she looked grumpy even as she snored peacefully. You waited to make sure that Agatha was in a deep sleep and there were no risks of accidentally waking her up and unleashing a tired, angry beast before reaching your arm out to turn off the lamp you don't even remember turning on. Probably did that when you were still half asleep, you think, shrugging it off. You found a bit of difficulty to lay back down with the weight of Agatha’s body on top of you, but you managed. You hugged her tightly before whispering in her ear. “Thank you for being mine.”

[gleafer]

“In The Midnight hour, He Cried More More More!” -🎶Billy Idol, probably

The fight before the magical make up!

(Psst! 2024 is going to be a great year for my Patreon Spicy Insider crew! Join the hordes!!! One of us. One of us. One of us.)

[ellastone-olsen]

Plush-Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: GP!Natasha Romanoff × f!reader

Summary:After a long, difficult mission, Natasha come back home. It's been the most exhausting week of her life and you, as her sweet loving girlfriend, decide to take care of her.

Warnings: NSWF, bottom!Nat, top!reader, dry humping, blowjob, breeding, dirty talk, praise, aftercare, little fluff and hurt/comfort

Word count: 1.6k

AN: I remembered my love for Natasha and especially for the bottom Natasha, I promise someday I will write a fic without smut

In the silence of the spacious apartment, the front door slammed. Something seemed to fall on the floor, then there was the sound of running water in the bathroom. You became wary and got out of bed, putting the book on the nightstand. The door was only closed and you quietly looked through the crack where the light was coming from to understand who had just climbed into your and Natasha’s apartment.

A shock of red hair flashed and you relaxed. Natasha got back, but... something was wrong. You knocked and quietly entered; the woman was sitting with her back to you in the bath, her arms wrapped around her knees. "Babe? Hi, I missed you so much, did something happen?...” You fell silent when you got a better look at her back. All covered in bruises and scratches. Natasha turned her head and smiled at you over her shoulder, it seems her face suffered no less. "Hi дорогая (sweetheart)" She said quietly, “I brought you a small gift, it’s in a bag in the hallway..”

You cut her off and walked over to take her face in your hands. She was covered in dirt, her lip was clearly broken. Natasha looked like a beaten kitten. “Oh my god baby what happened to you?” Fear settled in your eyes and she turned her head to rub her cheek against your palm and then kiss it. "It's been a terrible week." She wheezed. “I just want to take a bath and go to bed please.”

You nodded and rubbed the pad of your thumb over her slightly sore cheekbone. “Should I help you?” She shook her head in protest and directed the shower stream onto her sore back. "Okay, then I'll wait for you in the room." You walked out and closed the door behind you.

After 20 minutes, the sound of the water stopped and Natasha came out with only a towel on her hips. Her chest didn't look as bruised as her back, but there were still yellow bruises on her abs. She sighed and found clean house clothes in the closet. “Wait, I’ll treat your back, don’t get fully dressed.” The woman pulled on loose sweatpants and sat on the edge of the bed. You took out the first aid kit and moistened a piece of cotton wool with an antibacterial agent, barely touching it, wiping her wounds.

“Everything didn’t go according to plan. I should have already left there, but I was delayed and I got the worst of it because I was protecting the weight.” You listened to her without stopping your work. “Damn, it hurts.” “Shhhh I know my love, I know.” You applied healing ointment. When you finished, your hands rested on her shoulders, gently kneading her tired muscles. "I'm so happy you're with me again." A small moan escaped Natasha’s lips in response to your actions. The hands moved to her neck and then dropped back down. “You did great, let me take care of you.” You bit your earlobe and your hands slid to the redhead's breasts. Natasha’s breathing quickened as you played with her nipples and squeezed her soft breasts.

“Oh damn Y/N.” The woman's hips jumped up and you noticed the bulge forming in her pants. You grinned and turned her head towards you for a soft kiss, but almost immediately Natasha's tongue begged for permission to enter your mouth. "No no, I'm in charge here today." You said as you pulled away and grabbed her rock hard cock with your hand through the fabric her house pants. She sighed noisily, the woman's head leaned back on your shoulder while you stroked her length, watching as a small wet spot appeared on her pants. Your lips touched her neck, your teeth biting the sensitive skin. Whining began to come from Natasha. "What do you want baby?" Your hands were stroked wherever they could reach. “You..” The redhead’s thoughts were confused. "More concrete." You said sternly and squeezed her balls. It was so good, so good the redhead thought that she would cum just from this. "Fuck...Y/N please. I need your mouth, your hands, your pussy on my cock."

You moved to the floor between her legs and slowly pulled the gray sweatpants down her legs. Her throbbing cock jumped out and hit Natasha's stomach. The tip was leaking pre-cum and looked red and sensitive. She could hide it, but when you took the initiative into your own hands, it turned her on more than being on top, she went crazy when such a cute little thing like you did whatever you wanted with her.

You collected her pre-cum starting to stroke Natasha's length, obscene squelching sounds filling the room. She began to push into your hand, but you held her back, prohibiting any action on her part. "I told you. I'm in charge." With that, you wrapped your lips around her tip and took every inch of her cock into your mouth until your nose touched the woman's stomach. The redhead's head fell back from this sight, her hands clutching the sheets so as not to start fucking your mouth. "Fuck oh god baby." You continued to suck, looking into the green eyes from above, one of your hands fell between your legs, starting to rub your swollen clit through the fabric of underwear. Not only Natasha enjoyed this, you liked sucking her dick even more than fucking her. You realized how sensitive you both were now and before at least one of you came, you stopped and stood up.

"Lie on your back." You commanded and the redhead climbed to the head of your shared plush bed, taking the desired position. The woman watched as you took off your panties, but left your light housedress on and took out the lube from the cabinet nearby bed. Cold thick liquid dripped onto her length and she twitched, you quickly warmed and rubbed it, and then pressed your soaked folds against her length to slide and rub. "Please baby. I can't take it anymore." She felt that she would cum at any moment. With every movement, your clit hit her red tip, making you even wetter. Your nails dripped into her shoulders as you processed what she said. Your hips began to move faster. “That’s it Natty don’t hold back, cum for me.” Her hands flew up to your hips, helping you move against her. Her hips still began to jerk involuntarily and within seconds ropes of her cum fell onto her flat stomach. "Fuck Y/N oh god." You were still grinding her cock prolonging her orgasm, your hand reached out and the tip of your finger gathered her release. You put it in your mouth, tasting it as if Natasha was the most expensive dish in the world. The redhead's eyes darkened at this sight and her dick twitched, she so needed to be inside you.

"Mmmm I didn't even have to try to make you cum. And you're still so hard." You leaned down and press your lips onto her, licking the stinging wound. “Do you want another round Natty? Although your dick speaks for you..” You stood up to finally line up the tip with swollen folds, rubbing your clit with it a little.

In one motion, you sank down Natasha’s cock, taking the entire length at once. The feeling of your warm wet walls around her made her ready to explode instantly, she was still so sensitive. Your hands grabbed hers and pinned they to the bed as you began to ride her quickly. "Oh yeah Fuck baby I love your big fat cock so much." Your thighs slapped against her, wetness flowing between your bodies. Her tip hit the sensitive spot inside you every time. "Do you want to cum in me Natty? Fill me up to the brim. I'm going to love it so much." The redhead nodded quickly and buried her face in the pillows, you grabbed her and turned her back. "Look at me when I fuck you." From the fast pace and your rude words, Natasha’s orgasm was approaching at breakneck speed. One of her hands moved away from your grip and her thumb rested on your swollen clit. "Oh fuck fuck cum with me baby. Come on, can you do it for me Natty?"

She did it, how could Natasha upset you? The feeling of her cum inside you made you see stars and your pussy milked her cock dry. Your legs shook and you fell into Natasha's arms, her hands rubbing circles on your back as she fucked you through your orgasm.

You lay together in this position for a few more minutes, after which you slowly got off Natasha and her cum immediately flowed out of you, dripping onto her stomach. The redhead reached over to the bedside table and grabbed wet wipes to clean herself and you. "Thanks babe." You kissed her gratefully and lay down next to her, resting your head on her shoulder.

You both closed your eyes and began to fall asleep when Natasha suddenly jumped up and walked towards the corridor. "I forgot about my gift." Her voice came muffled. She walked back into room holding something behind her back. You sat up, taking an upright position. "What do you have there?" Natasha pulled out her gift from behind her back and you laughed. "Plush seal? Oh my God, he has such a funny face." The redhead frowned. "What don't you like?" "Oh I really like it, give it here." You lay down again hugging a new toy. “Are you going to sleep with it now and not with me?” The woman feigned offense and lay down with her back to you.

[sasheemo]

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 1

Word count: 5.3k

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

Four months. That’s how long it’s been since you stepped into the quiet, modern house nestled at the end of a well-kept street. Four months since you met Nicholas, bright-eyed and full of questions, the kind of kid who could win over even the most reluctant babysitter. And four months since you met his mother, Agatha Harkness.

Agatha had been polite, professional, and just distant enough to make her presence intoxicating. At first, you told yourself it was nothing, just admiration for someone so self-assured, so obviously in control of her world. But as the weeks passed, admiration turned into fascination, and fascination into a quiet, gnawing ache you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t as if the two of you shared many conversations. Agatha kept things brief—efficient, almost clinical. A quick rundown of Nicholas’ dinner preferences and bedtime routine, a reminder to call if anything urgent came up. She never offered more than the bare minimum needed to keep things running smoothly, yet her presence made every exchange feel heavier than it should. 

You tried not to think about her too much. Tried to focus on Nicholas, the job, anything else. But ignoring Agatha Harkness was like trying to ignore gravity - inescapable, pulling you in whether you wanted it or not. 

It wasn’t just her appearance - though that certainly didn’t help - it was the way she occupied space, commanding attention without effort. The way her gaze would flick to you, sharp and assessing, like she was filing away every detail for later consideration.

And when she left… she didn’t just leave. She left behind. The faint scent of her perfume, rich and warm, clinging to the air long after the door had closed behind her. The lingering echo of her voice, low and smooth, a melody that at times could feel almost too calculated to be accidental.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a natural reaction to being around someone like her: refined, confident, and utterly out of reach. But the longer you spent in her home, the harder it became to convince yourself of that, especially when so much about her remained shrouded in mystery.

You had no idea what she did for a living, only that it involved late-night calls, countless virtual meetings, a constant stream of emails at all hours, and events that demanded an air of authority as much as they did elegance. 

She was always impeccably dressed, whether she was working from home or heading out for an event: power suits tailored to perfection, silk shirts and blouses that radiated precision as sharp as the cut of her blazers, and fitted dresses that looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine.

She exuded the kind of confidence that made you certain she held a position of influence, something important, something that carried weight. CEO, maybe? Or some high-ranking executive? It would explain the polished demeanor, the frustration that would sometimes edge into her voice during a call you definitely  weren’t meant to overhear, and the meticulous organization of her home office. 

Then again, she had an air of mystery that didn’t quite fit neatly into the corporate box. She was decisive, yes, but there was something else beneath it, something restrained, like she was only showing a fraction of what she was truly capable of.

You didn’t even know Agatha’s exact age. There were old photos scattered around the house, most of them of Nicholas as a baby, a few of her alongside Rio, her ex-wife. You’d caught glimpses of them during one of Nicholas’ enthusiastic storytelling tangents, the kind of childlike recounting that brought those still frames to life. Rio looked noticeably younger in the pictures, which only deepened the intrigue surrounding Agatha. How old was she? Late forties? Early fifties? 

Not that it mattered, or at least… it shouldn’t have. But the more time you spent in her orbit, the harder it became to ignore just how much space she occupied in your thoughts. It was unprofessional, irrational, and entirely out of your control, as if every little detail about her demanded a corner of your attention whether you wanted it to or not.

The first time you met, you’d thought she was intimidating. There was something about the sharpness in her gaze, the way she seemed to size you up as if you were being evaluated for a job far more critical than babysitting. 

You’d left the interview certain she didn’t think much of you. But then she’d hired you.

To be fair, you hadn’t exactly taken the job because of your love for children. Babysitting seemed like an easy way to make some extra cash while juggling your morning part-time job. You hadn’t expected to enjoy it, much less grow attached to Nicholas.

But Nicholas wasn’t like other kids. He was curious, creative, and so full of energy that you couldn’t help but be drawn in. He’d ask you about your favorite books, try to teach you the names of constellations from his room, and once insisted on making you a friendship bracelet out of beads and string.

And then there were the quieter moments. Like the time he’d curled up beside you on the couch after a rough day at school, falling asleep mid-sentence while you read his favorite book. Or the time he’d asked, out of the blue, “Do you think my mom gets lonely when I’m at school?”.

You hadn’t known how to answer that one.

Nicholas made the job feel… easy. Comforting, even. But his mother? She made it kind of impossible.

Every time you walked into her home, you’d feel her presence. Not physically, she was rarely around long enough for that, but in the little things she left behind, subtle markers of her existence woven into the very own fabric of the house. 

The low hum of her voice drifting from the upstairs study during late-night calls, words too muffled to make out but carrying a cadence of control that made you pause, just to listen. The faint impression of her meticulousness in the perfectly aligned cushions on the couch, the neatly stacked mail on the counter, the absence of even a stray sock or misplaced book.

Then there was the way her heels clicked against the floor when she came downstairs, the sound crisp yet unhurried. She didn’t rush, Agatha Harkness was not the kind of person who rushed. Her movements seemed to shape the rhythm of the house itself, setting a quiet standard for everything and everyone in her space.

Soon, you began picking up on details you had no business noticing. Small, fleeting moments that clung to the edges of your thoughts like whispers you couldn’t quite ignore. Like, the slight smirk she gave when Nicholas said something clever, a mixture of pride and amusement softening her features. Or the way she adjusted her hair when she was stressed, tucking loose strands behind her ear with a practiced motion, revealing the elegant curve of her neck.

And then there were the more unconscious gestures, each one driving you wild in its own very excruciating way. The quiet rhythm of her foot tapping against the kitchen floor when she sipped her coffee between meetings. The faint click of her tongue against her lips when Nicholas tested her patience, a subtle attempt to hold back words she clearly wanted to let loose. The way she stood when she was lost in thought, her arms loosely crossed as one finger absently brushed against her lips, almost as if she was tasting the edge of an unspoken idea. 

And her laugh. God, her laugh. It wasn’t often that Nicholas managed to coax it out of her, but when he did, it was warm and rich, a sound that lingered long after she left the room.

Everything about her seemed carefully curated, controlled at all times. And yet, in those instants, you saw something else. A woman who, despite all her poise and precision, carried the weight of something she never let anyone else see.

You weren’t supposed to think about her like this. Not when she was the mother of the child you babysat. Not when every interaction with her reminded you of just how far apart your worlds were. Not when she was so far out of your league, it was laughable.

She is older, accomplished, and entirely unattainable. The kind of woman who probably spends her evenings at upscale dinners or in rooms filled with people who match her level of sophistication. Women who are successful, and as captivating as she is, people she could meet as equals.

And who are you? Someone who stumbles over your words if she so much as glances your way for too long. Someone whose idea of ambition is stringing together part-time jobs to pay the bills. 

It isn’t just that she is out of your league, it’s like she is playing a completely different game.

But that didn’t stop your mind from wandering. 

You knew it was ridiculous to even entertain the idea of her seeing you as anything more than a babysitter. And yet, in the quiet moments, when her voice lingered in your head or her laugh replayed itself unbidden, the thought of her crept in, no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

It didn’t help that most of the nights you were working at her house were predictable, almost comforting in their routine: dinner, homework, reading or watching a movie with Nicholas. A lovely rhythm, easy and unassuming. 

Except for Fridays.

Fridays were different. Fridays were harder. Fridays were the nights when Agatha didn’t stay holed up in her study, immersed in work or late-night calls. No, she would step out in one of her perfectly tailored outfits, leaving behind a quiet hum in the air, like the house itself was holding its breath in her absence.

And like clockwork, every Friday night, when she walked out the door, you’d find yourself wondering. Where was she going? Who was she meeting? What would it be like to occupy even a fraction of her time? Did she let others see pieces of herself you’d only glimpsed in passing? Did she laugh with them the way she sometimes laughed with Nicholas? 

The questions gnawed at you in ways you hated to admit, piling up in your mind uninvited and unrelenting, until all you could do was let them sit there, unanswered and far beyond your reach.

“Get a grip.” you mutter to yourself as you approach the house, tugging your hoodie tighter against the evening chill. But you can’t shake the feeling that this Friday, like all the others, will leave you tangled in questions you have no right to ask, about a life that’s so close yet impossibly far away.

When you reach the door, you pause, taking a breath to steady yourself. You knock and when Agatha opens the door, you momentarily forget how to breathe.

She stands before you in a deep navy suit, the tailored jacket hugging her form perfectly, the sharp lines of her trousers elongating her already commanding presence. A delicate gold chain rests against her collarbone, catching the light every time she moves, and her fingers gleam with matching gold rings. Her hair is swept back, leaving a few strands to frame her face, and her pointy black heels click faintly as she steps aside to let you in.

“Evening, hon.” she greets, her voice a smooth hum that settles in the space between you like a low melody. Her gaze sweeps over you, unreadable as always, but you catch it - a flicker of something in the corner of her mouth, an almost-smile that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Hi.” The word slips out, and you pray she doesn’t notice the slight quiver in your voice. You grip the strap of your backpack a little tighter, as if that will steady you.

Stepping inside and closing the door, you let the familiar warmth of the house wash over you, the faint sound of Nicholas’ laughter from the living room grounding you just enough. You focus on it, using the noise as a lifeline to ignore the way your pulse quickens in her presence.

Agatha moves toward the hall mirror, tilting her head as she checks her lipstick. The movement is casual, something you’ve seen her do countless times in the past months, and yet your eyes are drawn to her like a magnet.

“You know the drill.” she says suddenly, her voice breaking the silence and startling you just enough to snap your attention away. She doesn’t turn, her focus still on her reflection, but her tone commands yours. “Dinner’s already set out for Nicky, and he’s got homework to finish before he’s allowed any TV. I should be back around midnight, but call if you need anything.”

“Got it.” you nod quickly, keeping your response as short as possibile, not fully trusting your voice.

As she turns to reach for her bag, your ��Friday thoughts’ spill out right on time, tumbling over themselves in a chaotic rush you can’t seem to contain. Your weekly ritual of overthinking, courtesy of one Agatha Harkness.

Where is she going tonight? Another date? She has to be dating. It would explain the Friday nights routine, the flawless outfits, the faint whiff of perfume that lingers long after she leaves. Nobody has ever come home with her or even close to the house in the past months. Does that mean the dates go poorly? Does she cut them short, brushing the other person off with the same composed finality she seems to apply to everything else? Would she even bring someone back here? 

Probably not. No, if anything, she’d go to their place. Some immaculate apartment, probably, with clean lines and expensive furniture. Somewhere she could walk in, take control, and leave just as effortlessly when she wanted to.

You shake your head, trying to banish the images from your mind. They always feel so intrusive, like you’re stepping into corners of her life you have no right to imagine.

Agatha’s voice breaks the silence once again, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Don’t let him con you into staying up late.” she says, a playful lilt in her tone as she heads toward the door.

Your lips curve in a faint smile as you manage a reply, your voice steadier than you expect. “I’m not so easily corrupted, you know.”

She pauses in the doorway and turns back slightly, her gaze fixated on yours not long enough to offer answers, but just enough to stir more questions.

And then, she’s gone. The front door clicking shut and the soft echo of her heels fading into the night feeling so anticlimactic compared to the storm she leaves behind in your head. You stand there for a moment, staring at the door. 

What is it about her that makes you care so much? Why does she take up so much space in your mind when you know, deep down, that you’re nothing more than the babysitter?

But even that thought doesn’t hold. If you’re just the babysitter, then why does her gaze linger more now than it did in the beginning, like a challenge, like she’s daring you to figure her out? Why does it feel like the tension between you has been building over the weeks, simmering beneath the surface, a game you don’t fully understand but can’t help wanting to play?

And why, in those moments, does it feel like she’s not just looking at you, but through you, as if she’s started seeing pieces of you that even you aren’t ready to admit?

It wasn’t always like this. At first, her attention felt brief, almost incidental - a fleeting glance here, a curt smile there. But now, there’s something deliberate about it, something that leaves you questioning everything every time you’re near her. 

But that’s all it is: questions. Never answers. And it’s maddening.

The hours pass quietly after Agatha leaves. Nicholas breezes through his homework with minimal resistance, though not without a few dramatic groans and exaggerated complaints. Dinner is uneventful, save for a minor debate over whether carrots are better raw or roasted.

By the time the clock strikes nine, Nicholas is sprawled on the couch beside you, his favorite blanket draped haphazardly across both of you. He’s already halfway to sleep, eyelids fluttering as he fights the inevitable.

“One more movie.” he murmurs, his voice soft and drowsy. “I promise I’ll go to bed right after.”

You tilt your head, arching an eyebrow as you shoot him a skeptical look, the kind of look you’ve perfected over the months, the one that makes him squirm just enough to admit he’s pushing his luck.

He flashes a sheepish grin, clutching the blanket tighter.

You shake your head but don’t press the matter, reaching for the remote to start the movie. He inches closer as it plays on, the way he always does when he’s tired but too stubborn to admit it. You feel the weight of his trust in the quiet way he settles, his breathing growing slower, his eyes fluttering closed more often than they stay open.

As minutes pass, Nicholas’ resolve doesn’t hold. Not even halfway through, his head tips against your arm, his breathing evening out into the quiet rhythm of sleep.

You glance down at him, his small frame curled against your side, and a wave of warmth washes over you at the sight. With a quiet sigh, you adjust slightly, sliding an arm around him. He leans into you instinctively, his trust so natural it tugs at something deep within you. A faint smile touches your lips as you shift your gaze back to the screen.

But your attention falters. The soft hum of the house, the rhythmic flicker of light from the TV, and the quiet cadence of Nicholas’ steady breathing create a cocoon of calm. The atmosphere wraps around you, soothing and lulling, until your eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment.

You try to resist, telling yourself you’ll move in just a minute, maybe two. But before you know it, sleep creeps in.

The soft click of the front door opening stirs you awake a couple of hours later.

For a moment, you lie frozen, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. Then, the faint sound of heels clicking on the floor reaches your ears, steady and unhurried, until Agatha steps into view.

Her suit only slightly rumpled and her hair just a little out of place, as the tired look in her eyes shifts to something softer when she takes in the scene before her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” she mutters, though her voice carries more amusement than irritation.

You blink, sitting up carefully to avoid jostling Nicholas. “I, uh… he insisted on watching the movie, and I guess…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at the blanket.

Her lips twitch, hovering on the edge of a smile. “So much for not being so easily corrupted.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a hand over the blanket. “I’d say I wasn’t corrupted, I was just… strategically outplayed.”

Agatha lets out a playful scoff before her gaze flicks back to Nicholas, and for a moment, something in her demeanor shifts. The dim light of the living room catches her profile, tracing the delicate lines of her features, fleeting but unmistakably tender.

She crosses the room and kneels beside the couch. With a soft touch, she brushes a hand over Nicholas’ shoulder, murmuring his name in a low, soothing tone until his eyes flutter open. Groggy but obedient, he reaches for her hand, and she helps him to his feet.

You hover awkwardly by the couch, unsure whether to follow or retreat. But when Agatha rises and leads Nicholas toward the stairs, you find yourself trailing behind them instinctively. Agatha walks beside her son, her hand lightly resting on his back, steadying him as he shuffles up the steps rubbing his sleepy eyes.

At the top of the stairs, she pauses in front of his bedroom, guiding him inside. You standing awkwardly by the doorway, caught between the pull of the moment and the nagging sense that you’re intruding on something sacred, watching as she tucks him in. 

When Agatha finally steps back, she lets out a quiet sigh, brushing her hand across her son’s hair one last time. She moves toward you without looking, gently nudging the door closed behind her with the faintest click. 

For a moment, the two of you remain in the hallway, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable. It gives you just enough time to glance down at yourself. 

Comfy sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and the faintest smudge of Nicholas’ dinner on your sleeve - a smudge you hadn’t noticed until now. It’s not awful, not disheveled, but standing next to her, you feel like a rough pencil sketch beside a masterpiece.

There’s no denying it, the gap between you. She’s poised in a way that seems effortless, innate. There’s this weight to her sophistication, not showy but intrinsic, as if it’s simply woven into the fabric of who she is.

It makes you feel impossibly small. A painful reminder that she’s untouchable, a fantasy so far out of reach it feels foolish to even consider.

Agatha leans lightly against the wall, her arms crossing in a way that feels unhurried, almost lazy, a stark contrast to the usual precision she carries herself with. Yet even in this quiet repose, she doesn’t lose an ounce of her commanding presence.

She exhales softly, a subtle sound that fully draws your attention. It’s like she’s letting go of the weight of the night piece by piece, and it feels oddly grounding, a rare glimpse into something unspoken.

“Long day?” you ask breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you intend, almost hesitant.

At the sound, her eyes snap up to meet yours, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as if she’d forgotten you were there. It’s fleeting, quickly masked by a practiced neutrality, but for that brief moment, she looks almost caught off guard, as though your presence is something she hadn’t actually accounted for.

“Longer than it was worth.” she replies, her tone low and even.

You hesitate as the air between you grows thick, pressing down on your chest until, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. 

“Bad date?” they tumble from your lips unbidden, and the moment they’re out, your heart lodges itself firmly in your throat.

For a moment, the hallway feels suspended in time, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that has your pulse pounding in your ears. Agatha tilts her head slightly, her eyebrow arching as she studies you, the corner of her lips curving upward - not quite a smile, more a deliberate flicker of amusement.

“Bold of you to assume it was a date.” she says, her voice low and tinged with intrigue, as if daring you to explain yourself.

Your cheeks burn, but you can’t backpedal now. “I mean—it’s Friday, and you looked so—uh, dressed up…”

“Careful, hon.” she interrupts smoothly, her tone laced with teasing. “Flattery will only get you so far.”

You swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of how her perfume lingers faintly in the air between you. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

Agatha cuts you off with a low, rich laugh, the sound curling around you like smoke, warm and unshakable. It’s the kind of laugh that feels like a statement, as though she knows exactly how flustered she’s made you and isn’t above enjoying it.

She doesn’t say a word, but her gaze stays on you for just a beat longer than necessary, her eyes catching yours in a way that feels way too deliberate. Then, with a grace so effortless it almost feels unfair, she pushes off the wall, brushing past you as she moves downstairs.

You linger for a moment in the hallway, trying to steady your breath after the quiet intensity of the exchange. But when you finally descend the stairs, the soft clink of glass pulls your attention to the kitchen.

That’s exactly where you find Agatha, illuminated by the soft glow of the light above the sink. She’s holding a glass of red wine in one hand, her other arm braced casually on the countertop.

Once again, you find yourself hesitatingly watching her from the doorway. Your gaze settles on her hand, on the way the graceful tilt of her wrist makes the wine swirl in the glass.

“Done sneaking around?” she teases without turning to look at you, her tone low and laced with  amusement.

Your cheeks flush, and you step into the kitchen, fumbling for an excuse. “I wasn’t sneaking. I just- wanted to say goodnight before I left.”

She finally turns upon hearing your voice, her eyes catching yours with unsettling ease as she leans lazily against the counter, the glass cradled in her hand. “Isn’t that sweet.” she murmurs, her tone softer, thoughtful. “Almost as sweet as falling asleep on the couch with Nicky.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“It—it wasn’t—” you stammer, trying desperately to find your footing. “He was tired, and I guess I was too. It just… happened.”

Her lips curl into the faintest smile, and she takes a slow sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours. “No need to be so defensive.” she says, her voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “It’s a good thing. You’re great with him. Not everyone would be.”

The compliment strikes you square in the chest, and for a second, your brain struggles to process it. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re certain she must hear it. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but your words dissolve under the weight of her gaze. It’s calm and far too knowing for your liking, like she’s pulling apart every layer of you with ease.

And then, just as you think the moment can’t possibly get any more overwhelming, she does something that makes your thoughts screech to a halt.

Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, unhurried and purposeful, as if savoring the last lingering taste of the wine. It’s a fleeting gesture, but one that feels maddeningly intentional, and the way her eyes darken as they hold yours sends a jolt of electricity straight through you.

As if perfectly aware of the effect she’s having on you, her expression shifts. Mischief crosses her features, the corner of her mouth tilting upward in a way that feels more dangerous than playful.

“Maybe” she says, her tone low, teasing, and just a touch too intimate “I should ask you out next Friday.”

The words land like a thunderclap. Your jaw slackens, your brain completely short-circuits, and you’re sure you’ve just imagined it. There’s no way she just said that.

“I—what?” you manage to stammer, your voice barely a whisper, your pulse now hammering in your ears to the point you fear you’ll grow deaf because of it.

Agatha tilts her head, her expression the picture of innocence, though the gleam in her eyes betrays her. “What?” she echoes, as though she has no idea why you’re reacting this way, casually swirling the wine in her glass like she hasn’t just flipped your entire world upside down.

You blink at her, your thoughts spiraling in every possible direction. There’s no way she means it. It’s a joke. It has to be a joke. But the way her eyes hold yours, the subtle curve of her lips, the raw energy she’s exuding - it all feels so charged, that you can’t help but question everything.

Your breath catches again as her smile deepens, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something else, something that’ll either clarify or completely unravel you. 

But instead, she leans back against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts amusement and intrigue, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You can’t move. You can’t think. All you can do is stand there, your thoughts looping in an endless cycle of ‘What just happened? Did I imagine that? What does she mean?’.

“I should, uh… go.” you finally mumble, retreating toward the door as your brain struggles to keep up with your body.

“Of course.” she says smoothly, her tone as composed as ever. And then, as you reach the door, she adds, “Early shift tomorrow, right? Seven, if I’m not mistaken.”

You freeze, your hand on the doorknob, and glance back at her. “How did you—?”

“You mentioned it once, a couple of months ago.” she replies casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I tend to remember things like that.”

Her gaze lingers just long enough to make your pulse spike up once again before she finally looks away, taking another sip of her wine. “Goodnight, hon.”

You barely even register the door clicking shut behind you. The night air greets you like a slap, cool against your flushed cheeks, but it does absolutely nothing to steady the whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside you. Your feet carry you forward on instinct, each step heavier than the last as her words loop endlessly in your head.

Maybe I should ask you out next Friday.

The sentence hits like a gong, reverberating through your entire body. She remembered your schedule. Not just vaguely, she knew the exact time your shift starts. And then she said… that. 

Was it a joke? A casual tease? A test? A mistake? Was she - no, she didn’t seem drunk.

Your steps quicken, as if you can somehow outrun the storm in your mind, but it’s a losing battle. The echoes of her voice, the deliberate flicker in her gaze, the way she’d licked her lip like she knew exactly what it would do to you. It’s all still there, clinging to you like a second skin.

You stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk, pressing both hands to your head like you can physically stop the spiral. “Nope. Nope. Nope. That did not just happen.” you mutter, your voice growing louder with every word as if volume alone will make it less real. “She’s messing with me. She has to be messing with me.”

But even as you say it, doubt creeps in. You’d thought that before, but it couldn’t all be in your head, could it?

Your hands drop, and you stare blankly at the street ahead, your mind flitting through every possible explanation like a detective unraveling a conspiracy. 

‘Ok, so she’s teasing me. No, she’s testing me. No—oh God, what if she’s just bored? What if I’m like, some kind of entertainment for her?’

And then, the most dangerous thought of all slinks into view, unbidden and relentless. 

‘What if she wasn’t joking?’

Your knees nearly buckle at the thought, and you force yourself to keep walking, shaking your head like you can physically dislodge the idea. 

By the time you reach your door, your heart is still pounding, your face still burning, and your thoughts are definitely still stuck in an endless loop of ‘what the actual fuck just happened?’.

You step inside, kicking the door shut behind you with a quiet thud. The thought of changing or even turning on the lights feels like too much effort, so you head straight to your room. Dropping your bag by the door, you collapse onto the bed face-first, muffling a groan into your pillow.

You let out a long sigh, turning your head just enough to breathe as the pillow muffles the rest of your thoughts. Your body sinks into the mattress, heavy with exhaustion, but your mind refuses to quiet down.

You close your eyes, willing the tension to drain from your shoulders. The weight of her words, of her gaze, of all of the questions. You just want sleep to come quickly and take it all away.

And somehow, after a few restless minutes, it does.

[evanchantingpeters]

Evan wearing his baseball cap backwards gives me a smack-my-ass-like-a-drum reaction 🥵 Anyone?