the-fandom-abyss - Tumblr blog

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

Teacher’s Pet — I Can Be Good

Summary: In the aftermath of a lesson, you see something you’re not supposed to see. Will it bring you and Agatha closer, or will she push you away?

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, aftercare, subspace, dom-drop if ya squint, Evanora is and always will be the worst

“Ya know,” you said, pushing yourself off the floor with a grimace. “You move pretty fast for a 300-year-old.”

Agatha didn’t laugh. She was standing across the room, arm still outstretched and shimmering with the afterglow of magic, expression unreadable. Her eyes lingered on your hand, watching the way it drifted to your midsection, massaging some tender spot hidden beneath your clothing.

“That’s enough for today.”

You opened your mouth to argue. “But—“

“No back talk,” she said sharply. “Upstairs, now.”

You decided not to press your luck.

Agatha was still getting used to the idea of teaching you combat magic. She remained overly cautious, afraid of pushing too far, of losing control.

“Yes, mistress.”

It had been several weeks since your admittedly disastrous first attempt at dueling. Agatha had been caught off guard by your style of attack, provoked and baited into a demonstration of dark magic that got out of hand. You pushed the envelope that day, stirring something dangerous to life—the covenless witch herself, coming out to play—and you nearly paid the ultimate price.

Instead of being scared, you hungered for more. It awed you, seeing such immense power in action. Agatha was a force to be reckoned with—elemental, ancient, sublime. The risk of the day’s events took a backseat to the rewards, and your fear quickly faded, becoming flat and defanged.

Agatha knew better. It was only by sheer dumb luck that you managed to regain the upper hand. She had barely slept through the night since then, awaking with her sleep-shirt drenched in sweat, blinking away the memory of you kneeling on the floor, your pretty face upturned, totally at her mercy. The things she could have done to you…

She had vowed that day never to put you in danger again. But inside a week, you were hounding her about more practical training sessions.

“Do you have a death wish?”

She affected a bored tone the first time you broached the subject, drawling the words, but her eyes contained something haunted and hollow.

“This would be different,” you insisted. “It would be teaching, not fighting. We could make it safe.”

And she was horrified to find herself softening, coming around to the idea. You could be very persuasive, making even the most reckless endeavors sound reasonable. Through a strategic mix of bargaining and begging and batting your eyelashes, you eventually wore her down. But Agatha was adamant about installing a few new protocols.

Which is how you found yourself here, hovering in the doorway while Agatha took her usual seat in the corner of the sofa, feet reclined on an ottoman.

“Come.”

You padded across the room and joined her.

“You did well today,” she murmured, threading her long fingers through your hair, scanning for injuries. “Your reflexes are improving. I see you anticipating, rather than just reacting.”

You knew these cooldown sessions were more than just a medical check-in. They helped you both decompress, reconnect, find one another again.

You nodded, encouraged by the praise. “It’s like I can feel your magic in the air before it strikes.”

“Very perceptive, pet.” Agatha dipped her head approvingly. “You’re developing nonverbal acuity, a way to access your magic without incantations or spoken spell-craft.”

You grinned, lolling against the arm of the sofa. Your mind was pleasantly foggy, your muscles tired and heavy. You couldn’t think of anything to say, except: “Cool.”

Agatha laughed, head tipping back from the force of it. The sound was deep and rich and real, and you had a sudden punch-drunk greed for that smile, for being the cause of it.

“Very cool,” she agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It was pointless trying to teach you anything after a session. Your eyes had this giddy, glazed-over look.

She allowed you to drift, passing her magic over your neck and chest, making her way methodically down your body. It vibrated gently, like a cat’s purr. The bruising on your ribs ached, but you waited patiently for Agatha to finish her scan before requesting some pain relief.

“Can’t quite get the hang of hexes,” you mumbled offhand, remembering a poorly executed cast from the session.

Agatha hummed thoughtfully, playing with one of your curls as she continued her work. “You may always find them difficult. Pretty little witches like you aren’t exactly suited to dark magic.”

She moved her other hand down and splayed it across your sternum, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat, the rush of blood and magic in your veins.

“What’s with all this light and dark?” You grumbled the question sleepily, catching her eye. “Seems very puritanical if you ask me.”

Agatha smiled softly. Not for the first time, she was impressed by this capacity for insight, compassion, wisdom beyond your years. She paused and leaned back again, resting her head on the cushion as she considered a more nuanced way to explain her point.

“Your magic is empathic, intuitive. You have a healer’s touch. Because of that, hexing may feel…unnatural.”

You nodded, half-listening, distracted suddenly by the pale column of Agatha’s throat. Without thinking, you reached up, brushing your fingers along her exposed jawline. For a moment you thought she might shrug you off. But then her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed softly, abandoning the lesson altogether. It was rare to see the other woman like this, defenses totally down, sharp edges softened.

You extended your arm, delighted by the idea that you might be able to reciprocate some of the comfort you were receiving. After all, you reasoned, these sessions were just as much for Agatha’s benefit as yours.

You skated your fingers along her cheek, tracing simple patterns. You wondered what she was thinking about as you touched her temple with your fingertips, the delicate skin there so soft and beckoning...

There was a flash of purple. You felt a strange pull at the base of your skull, a heaviness in your eye sockets as the world tilted sideways.

Suddenly you were no longer sprawled on the sofa. You turned, finding yourself in a clearing full of women with torches. A chill wind whipped through your hair, and a dark ominous pressure gathered in your chest.

The crowd faced a pyre. A slender figure was restrained there, her face a picture of anguish.

“Please, mother,” she cried, and your heart stuttered because you recognized that voice. “I can be good.”

Agatha. But not quite as you knew her. She was younger…and all alone.

You broke into an icy sweat and began shouldering your way ahead, shoving onlookers aside, driven by a singular need to close the distance between you. It was like trying to run through quicksand, your limbs aching with resistance. You shouted her name.

A few faces turned, twisted by suspicion and hate. You ignored them, crying out for her again. Louder this time. She didn’t seem to hear you. The entire scene was dreamlike, surreal. But you fought like your life depended on it, like Agatha’s did.

With tremendous effort, you broke free of the crowd, stumbling up onto the platform where she was being held.

“I’m here,” you panted, reaching for her. “I’m right here.”

Finally, she lifted her head, blue eyes finding yours. For a moment there was a spark of recognition in young Agatha’s eyes. Her lips quirked up in a bemused smile as your fingertips brushed her cheek. Then a shadow fell over the platform and a hand closed firmly on your bicep.

Turning, you came face-to-face with present-day Agatha. Relief surged through you at the sight of her, alive and unharmed. The familiar worry lines in her forehead, the disapproving frown playing around her mouth.

“Get out of my head.”

Her voice was like thunder, echoing strangely. Just as quickly as the vision had descended, it evaporated. You felt yourself being roughly evicted from the scene, and you tumbled out of Agatha’s mind, out of her lap, landing with a grunt on the hard floor of the house.

All the sleepy warmth in your muscles disappeared. You shivered violently. The dull ache in your midsection seemed to double, and your head was pounding. You blinked several times, fighting a horrible wave of dizziness.

“What the hell?” You rasped.

Slowly, the living room came back into focus. Agatha had leapt up from the sofa and now she towered over you, all traces of softness gone.

“What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered.

“I - wait, what?” You were confused, disoriented. “Agatha, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“You expect me to believe that?” She exhaled sharply, a sound of doubt and fury mingled with something wounded, something like betrayal. “You’ve just been biding your time, waiting to get me back.”

“No,” you growled, trying to push yourself upright. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But Agatha placed her boot squarely in the center of your chest, pinning you to the ground.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she sneered, digging her heel against you roughly so that you hissed in pain. “Not many people have seen Evanora Harkness in action and lived to tell the tale.”

You looked up at her, comprehension dawning. So that had been a memory.

“Agatha,” you grunted, struggling beneath the pressure on your chest. “I can’t - just let me up so we can talk about this -“

Her eyes were flinty, uncaring in a way you weren’t accustomed to.

“We’re done here.”

“Wait!” And you didn’t care how pathetic you sounded in that moment. “I’m sorry-“

But she waved her hands and disappeared in a cloud of smoke before you could finish your sentence. You listened, straining to hear movement in the basement or upstairs in her bedroom. But there was only silence. Wherever she had gone, she wasn’t in the house.

You collapsed back against the floor and stared at the ceiling, trying to sort through the events that had just taken place.

All your life, you’d been able to read energy. The more time you spent with someone, the more perceptive you became. But diving into full-on memories? That had never happened before.

You felt a flicker of disgust with yourself. It had been an accident, yes. But you knew firsthand how invasive it was, having someone else in your head. Especially for a person as guarded as Agatha.

Across the room, a window shutter caught in a sudden breeze and banged against the house. You jumped, wincing at the sudden movement.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pain lancing through chest. You wrapped an arm around your midsection, trying to calm your jittery nerves. With Agatha gone and your magic depleted from sparring, you felt a sudden wave of vulnerability.

On top of that, your emotions were running haywire. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You clambered up onto the sofa, reaching for a blanket, and trying to forget the look on Agatha’s face, the words she had said: we’re done. She would come back soon. Then you’d sort it out together, like you always did…

——————

You woke with a gasp, realizing you must have drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Night had fallen. The moon was fat and bright in the sky. You pushed yourself upright, pain ricocheting through your head and midsection.

“Agatha?” Your voice sounded small and wobbly. There was no response.

You made your way toward the kitchen on unsteady legs. Your magic still felt too weak to rely on for any healing spells, so you retrieved some ingredients from the pantry and got to work. The process was soothing, and your mind wandered.

You were standing at the counter, grinding a few flowers into a fragrant paste when you heard the front door snick open.

You paused, listening. Her footsteps were soft, slow, achingly familiar. She finally appeared in the hallway, lingering in the shadows as if she might bypass you altogether. When she finally entered the room, her arms were crossed over her chest. She reminded you of a sullen teenager.

She looked down at the cutting board, the mortar and pestle, the fresh-cut stems from the garden. “What’s all this?”

“Nothing important,” you said. “I was just finishing up.”

You turned to the sink. Agatha watched you, hawkish and mistrusting. Her eyes narrowed. Your movements were stilted, stiff. She raised the mixing bowl to her nose and gave it a cursory sniff.

“Camphor,” she said. “Mint, dandelion, aloe.”

A simple anti-inflammatory lotion. She realized with a sharp pang of guilt that she had never finished scanning you for injuries.

“You’re in pain.”

You paused, lowering a few dishes into the sink.

“A little sore,” you admitted, and Agatha could tell you were lying by the way you refused to meet her eyes. She watched you tidying up for a few more moments, deliberating. When she spoke again, her tone had softened at the edges.

“Why not just heal yourself?”

You exhaled slowly.

“Tired,” you said, and for the first time she noticed the shadows under your eyes. “Wasn’t sure I could…manage it.”

You leaned against the counter, watching the other woman. She didn’t look angry. You felt a little bolstered by that, emboldened to ask the one question that had been banging around in your head for the last few hours.

“Are you alright?”

And you saw how it caught her off guard. Her eyes widened slightly, lips parting in surprise. You wondered suddenly how long it had been since someone asked her that, had truly cared about the answer.

“I’m always alright,” she sniffed, regaining some composure.

“You don’t have to be,” you said, holding her gaze for a moment. “I crossed a line, got in your head.”

Agatha swallowed. “It was an accident.”

You nodded. “Doesn’t make it right.”

Agatha wasn’t sure how to respond to such bare-faced compassion and accountability. She looked away, blinking a few times. You wanted to say more, but you kept your mouth shut. It seemed important to let Agatha draw the boundary on this conversation, to follow her lead.

The silence stretched. You reached for the small ceramic bowl, intending to take your leave. Agatha caught your arm. You flinched, startled, and she felt her heart twist.

“Let me?”

She slipped her hand into yours. You allowed the other woman to guide you forward, through the hall and into the living room. You leaned against her, instinctively seeking her warmth.

“You’re freezing,” she murmured.

With a wave of her hand, a fire sprang up in the hearth. Then she pulled you down into her lap, arranging you carefully against her body. You winced as your ribs brushed against her knee. Agatha stilled immediately.

“What hurts? Let me see.”

Her hands were gentle as she lifted the hem of your shirt up and over your head, trying not to admire the soft plane of your stomach, or the way your sports bra accentuated your broad shoulders...

Then Agatha saw the bruising along your ribs, the small purplish mark in the center of your chest, and she froze.

“It’s alright -“ you started to say, worrying this was a bad idea.

“Don’t,” she said, cutting you off. “Please.”

Agatha hovered her hands over your skin, scanning for broken bones. Finding none, she dipped her fingertips into the lotion and began massaging the edge of the purplish skin. You sighed at the almost-instant relief, cool and soothing. Agatha glanced up and saw the tension in your face disappear, your muscles relaxing.

“Better?”

The corners of your mouth quirked upward and you hummed in affirmation. Rather than feeling relief, Agatha’s thoughts darkened. She had left you like this for hours and hours, injured and unable to heal yourself. She had broken the very promise she had made just a few weeks ago.

You cracked one eye open, noticing that Agatha’s mouth was set in a firm little line of self-recrimination.

“Hey,” you said. “Talk to me.”

She regarded you with something like exasperation.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said. “It’s not worth it.”

“Agatha,” you sighed, trying to be patient. But you were so tired, and you barely suppressed a shiver at the feeling of her hand brushing against your tender skin. “We’ve been over this. You’re teaching me to protect myself.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened. “What kind of teacher hurts her students?”

Maybe it was a rhetorical question. And yet her tone was loaded with so much self-loathing, you couldn’t help but answer.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you said firmly. “It’s my choice, remember? I asked for this. I want to learn.”

Agatha didn’t say anything. Then:

“Have you considered what I want?”

The question was quiet, almost a whisper. And it gutted you. Because, in all honesty, you hadn’t. You all but demanded that Agatha teach you to fight, unwilling to take no for an answer. Sure, she seemed reluctant. But you chalked that up to her being overprotective. You hadn’t considered there might be some other reason.

“No,” you said, guilt flooding your chest. “I- I didn’t.”

She dabbed more ointment onto your ribs, then turned her attention to your chest. And here her eyes clouded over again. She stared and stared, seemingly lost in thought.

“People close to me always get hurt,” she said finally, voice hitching on the words. “Always.”

And the memory flashed through your mind again, of Agatha bound and helpless and condemned by people who believed the worst about her…and somewhere along the line, Agatha herself had started to agree with them.

That ends today, you decided. Right here, right now.

“Agatha.” You spoke her name with nothing but warmth, trust, certainty. “Look at me.”

She did. Her eyes were glassy, lost. She seemed so much like that girl in the memory, all alone, abandoned by the people who should have loved her. Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. Then the words came.

“You are good.”

You half-expected to end up on the floor again, tossed aside by a woman who had survived hundreds of years by protecting her soft underbelly, never being vulnerable. But she didn’t withdraw, didn’t laugh or sneer or argue. Instead, she went entirely still, looking at you with those big eyes. Almost imperceptibly, her grip tightened, fingertips kneading into the soft flesh of your hip.

“In the memory,” she said, broaching the subject for the first time. “You tried to…get to me.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, as if even the thought of someone helping her was foreign. “Why?”

“Because you looked like you needed a friend,” you said.

“Friends?” Agatha’s lips quirked up. “Is that what we are?”

You considered the other woman for a moment, trying to decide how much you wanted to share. How much you trusted her.

“I know what it’s like to stand on your own,” you said evenly. “To be cast out by the people who are supposed to love you.”

It was a story for another day. But at Agatha’s curious glance, you added: “Let’s just say, my mother would have given your mother a run for her money.”

You exchanged a dark look of understanding, and she clutched you a little tighter. The fire crackled in the hearth, popping and hissing as she regarded the bruise in the center of your chest. Very carefully, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against it.

“Tell me again, pet.”

The request was soft yet urgent, full of unspoken longing. You obliged.

“You are good.”

You said it like an incantation, like a spell that could begin reversing centuries of malignant rumor and half-truth and harm.

“You are so good.”

Agatha smiled, shy and sweet. Outside the sun was rising, the first rays of pre-dawn light cresting the horizon. She settled back against the sofa, still holding you close. Her eyes fluttered shut, and when she spoke her voice was so soft that you nearly missed what she said next.

“You make me feel like I can be.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you

198 notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

Clingy Bleeder

Regina George x Reader

———————————————

You’ve followed her around the apartment three times now.

To the kitchen.

To the bathroom.

To the closet.

Every time Regina moves, you trail behind her like a sick little duckling, blanket dragging on the floor, eyes puffy, heat pack glued to your stomach, clutching her arm like she’s your emotional support water bottle.

“You’re so annoying,” Regina mutters, trying to grab a new hoodie from the closet while you’re basically hanging off her shoulder. “Like actually—you need therapy. Or a dog. Something that isn’t me.”

You just whimper.

“Reginaaaaa… don’t leeeeeave meeeeee…”

She freezes. Slowly turns.

“Babe. I’m literally just trying to put on a bra. I’m not going to war.”

You blink at her. Eyes watery. Lip trembling like you might burst into tears again.

And she fucking cracks.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, tossing the bra and pulling you in instead, arms tight around your shoulders. “Come here. You little koala freak.”

You climb her like a vine. Legs wrapped around her waist. Arms locked around her neck. Face buried in her collarbone like you’ve been abandoned in the cold, harsh woods.

“I love you,” you mumble into her skin.

“Of course you do,” she deadpans. “I’m literally your hot water bottle with tits right now.”

She carries you to the couch—carries you—because God forbid you walk, apparently. Plops down with you still wrapped around her and grabs the remote.

“Okay. What hormone-safe garbage are we watching today? Gilmore Girls? Twilight? Something that’ll make you cry and blame it on your uterus?”

You nuzzle in deeper and sniff dramatically.

“…Bridget Jones’s Diary.”

She groans.

“Fine. But I get to make fun of everyone in it.”

Still, her hand finds your lower back. Her fingers find your scalp. She rubs slow, perfect circles like she knows the exact way to make the pain less loud.

“You’re clingy. You’re exhausting. You’re emotionally volatile,” she mutters. Then, quieter:

“And you’re mine.”

---

She's laying on the bed. Innocently. Scrolling. Vibing.

And you? You’re already climbing on top of her like a spider monkey in slow motion.

“What the hell are you doing,” Regina deadpans, not looking up.

“I’m starfishing.”

“You’re suffocating me.”

You collapse fully—arms splayed, legs hooked over hers, cheek pressed to her collarbone, boobs squished to her ribcage. A full-body cling.

“I’m in pain,” you mumble.

“You’re in need of professional help.”

She tries to shift. You go limp. Boneless. Impossible to move.

“You’re like a hundred pounds of dead weight and hormones,” she groans. “I’m dying. I hope you’re happy.”

You hum sleepily. She adjusts the phone above her face and keeps scrolling, like having a bleeding, weepy girlfriend starfish-flopped across her chest is just another Tuesday.

She doesn’t push you off. She doesn’t even try. Her hand ends up resting on your lower back, warm and grounding.

“Your body temperature is disturbing,” she mutters. “You’re like a heating pad with abandonment issues.”

“And you’re my cold, bitchy cradle,” you mumble against her neck.

“Don’t make this weird.”

You kiss her jaw. Just once. Just soft.

“Thank you for letting me cling.”

She sighs like you’ve wounded her emotionally.

“I literally let you crawl on top of me like a fucking blood-soaked barnacle and you’re thanking me?”

You nod. Don't move. Not even an inch.

“You love it.”

“I’ll deny it in court.”

She kisses your forehead like it’s instinct. Like it betrays her. And she doesn’t stop scrolling, but she does curl her free leg around yours.

You are now fully latched.

And you fall asleep that way. Heavy. Warm. Sore. Safe. Your whole world compressed into the rise and fall of her chest and the bitchy little kiss she plants on your hairline before you drift off.

---

It starts with a whimper. Not loud. Not purposeful. Not even meant for anyone to hear.

But Regina hears it.

She’s across the apartment, attempting to make a smoothie (read: bribing herself to ingest something green), when your soft, pained noise cuts through the quiet like a fire alarm built for her ears.

“Oh my God,” she groans, slamming the blender lid back on. “Are you dying again?”

You don't answer. Which, to be clear, is worse than whining. It means you’re trying to be brave. And Regina hates when you try to be brave.

So she drops the blender and storms into the bedroom.

You’re curled into yourself like a cinnamon roll, a heat pad haphazardly tucked under your hoodie, face crumpled in a mix of pain, exhaustion, and maybe one or two near-tears.

Regina crosses her arms.

“You’re pathetic.”

You make a little noise. Somewhere between a groan and a sob. She softens. Only slightly.

“What is it now? Cramps? Fatigue? Hormonal meltdown number seventy-two?”

You whisper something that sounds like,

“I just want you.”

And that’s it. She’s gone. Out the window. Fully melted into your stupid little palm.

“God, you’re so clingy,” she mutters, already climbing into bed behind you, adjusting the heat pad like an expert nurse. “It’s honestly tragic.”

You twist toward her. She lets you. You latch onto her like a magnet.

She doesn’t stop you.

---

Ten minutes later, she’s scrolling her phone with one hand and massaging your lower belly with the other like she was born to be a mean girl on-call nurse.

You’re tucked against her chest, legs tangled, cheeks still blotchy.

“You know you’re disgusting right now, right?” she says, running her fingers through your hair.

You nod pitifully.

“You smell like sleep and sadness.”

Another nod.

“You’re still my favorite person, though. Somehow.”

That one earns a blink. You look up. She’s pretending to read Twitter, but the hand on your back hasn’t stopped moving for thirty-seven minutes.

By noon, you’ve followed her everywhere.

To the kitchen. To the bathroom. To the closet. To the hallway when she took a phone call. To the front door, where you clung to the hem of her hoodie like she was leaving forever just to get the mail.

“You’re going to die when I’m out of town,” she says flatly.

You frown. Your eyes go glassy.

“Oh my God,” she groans. “I was joking. Don’t start crying again. I swear I’ll walk into traffic.”

You blink at her with full Bambi eyes. The tears don’t fall, but they threaten.

She huffs.

“Get over here, you clingy little marshmallow,” she mutters, opening her arms with the world’s most dramatic eye roll.

You crawl into her lap like it’s your first language. She pulls you close. Kisses the crown of your head like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“This is so toxic,” she says. “You’re literally conditioning me to associate affection with your suffering.”

You mumble, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just get better at manipulating me so I don’t notice it next time.”

You try to be normal once. For exactly twenty-five minutes.

You tell her, “I’m good. You don’t have to stay.”

You even sit up. Grab a bottle of water. Stand on your own two feet like you’re not three seconds from collapsing in hormonal pain.

Regina watches all of this silently. Seething.

You shuffle toward the living room, trying to do what? Watch Netflix like a solo human? Fold a blanket? Eat soup?

Wrong. You’re failing at all of it. Miserably. But you keep going. Keep trying. Keep not asking for her.

She lasts ten minutes before slamming her phone down and marching into the living room like a soldier returning to the battlefield.

“Are you actively trying to piss me off?” she asks.

You look up, startled.

“You told me not to cling—”

“No, I said you were clingy. That doesn’t mean I want you to stop, it means I want to bitch about it while you do it anyway. What part of our relationship has ever been healthy?”

You go quiet. Small. Insecure.

“I just didn’t wanna annoy you,” you say, voice trembling.

That shuts her up.

Regina George, high priestess of bitchcraft, crosses the room and grabs you by the waist like you’re light as air. She lifts you—lifts you—and deposits you onto the couch, then climbs in next to you, wrapping herself around you like armor.

“You are annoying,” she whispers into your hair. “But you’re mine to be annoyed by.”

You crumble instantly. Back into her. Into the space you belong.

The day ends with your face in her lap. She’s painting your nails because you said you felt “gross and non-human,” and this is her weird way of grounding you.

She paints carefully. Delicately. Like your fingers are tiny glass sculptures.

“I could date someone normal, you know,” she says casually, blowing on your pinky nail.

You hum.

“Someone independent. Quiet. Less weepy.”

You nod.

“But I’d be so fucking bored.”

You grin. Her fingers curl around yours.

“You make me insane,” she says. “And I love every second of it.”

And even though you're bloated and crampy and emotionally fried, you can’t help but feel like maybe—just maybe—Regina George has never been more in love with anything in her entire life than she is with your clingy, period-addled self.

------------------------------

i needed comfort like this cause yk

#regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina George imagine

122 notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

victory. charlotte flair. alexa bliss.

poly!charlotte flair x reader x alexa bliss

synopsis: summerslam was supposed to be a big night for them, and it was. you spent the day with your girlfriends, from arriving at the arena to watching them dominate in the ring and walk away with the women’s tag titles. but the real victory came after the cameras stopped rolling. In the privacy of your hotel room, where you found yourself caught in the intoxicating pull of their power and affection. this was more than a celebration, it was a reminder that in their arms, you were exactly where you belonged.

warnings: 18+. smut. dom!charlotte. switch!alexa. sub!reader. oral. praise kink.

the car ride to the arena had been a strange mix of quiet focus and playful distraction. charlotte sat in the driver’s seat, sunglasses hiding her sharp eyes, her posture perfect even in a simple black tank top and joggers. one hand rested on the wheel, the other occasionally drumming against her thigh in time with the low hum of the air conditioning. she didn’t say much, she never did before a big match but every so often, she glanced at you in the rearview mirror, as if silently reminding you that she knew you were there, and that was enough.

alexa, on the other hand, was glued to your side in the back seat. she’d slid in close the moment you got in, her bare arm pressed against yours, her hand sneaking into yours under the pretense of "keeping you warm." she kept leaning over to whisper ridiculous commentary about the passing scenery or poke fun at charlotte’s "serious face" earning herself a warning look from the driver that only made her grin wider.

the arena loomed ahead, its massive digital screens flashing summerslam graphics, the kind that always made your stomach flip. fans already clustered near the barricades outside, holding signs and wearing merch. some caught sight of the suv and waved, cameras already flashing.

charlotte pulled into the private lot, her queenly aura somehow even stronger in such a mundane setting. as soon as the engine cut, she reached back and squeezed your knee, firm, reassuring, grounding. "stay close once we’re inside" she said, her tone more protective than strict.

the three of you stepped out together, alexa looping her arm through yours like she owned you, which, in some ways, she did. she leaned in so her lips brushed your ear. "just wait ‘til you see us out there tonight" she murmured, voice dripping with confidence.

backstage was buzzing, production crew rushing around with headsets, wrestlers greeting each other in passing, the smell of coffee and hairspray heavy in the air. charlotte immediately split off to check in with production, giving you one last look that made you straighten instinctively.

alexa tugged you toward catering without missing a beat, her voice sing-song as she announced, "come on, baby, let’s see if they have those cookies i like before someone else eats them."

even in the chaos of summerslam day, with the biggest match of their modern careers only hours away, they still made you feel like the centre of their world.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you found yourself lingering by catering longer than you expected, mostly because alexa refused to leave without at least sampling every cookie on the table. she broke a chocolate chip in half and popped a piece into your mouth before grinning like she’d just given you the most precious gift in the world.

"you’ll need energy to cheer for us later" she said, licking a smudge of chocolate from her thumb before nudging you toward the hallway.

charlotte found you there, tall and composed, her gear bag slung over one shoulder. she’d already changed into her training sweats, hair brushed back into a sleek ponytail that made her look even more in control. her gaze moved between you and alexa with that mix of affection and command only she could pull off.

"walk with me" she said to you, and it wasn’t a request.

you followed her a few paces down the hall, away from the bustle. she stopped near a quiet corner, close enough that you could still hear the faint thrum of the crowd building outside.

her eyes locked on yours. "i want you watching tonight. every second. i want you to see us take those titles." her voice was low, deliberate, not just a pep talk, but a promise. "be proud of us. be proud of me."

before you could answer, alexa skipped up beside you both, a sparkle in her eye as she looped an arm around charlotte’s waist. "and me" she added, her tone deliberately lighter than the moment called for. she leaned in close to you, her nose brushing yours. "we’re winning those belts for you, you know."

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, torn between laughing at her cheeky delivery and being overwhelmed by the sincerity hidden underneath.

a stagehand poked his head around the corner and called, "five minutes ‘til call time, ladies."

charlotte’s focus sharpened instantly. she pressed her palm to the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a rare public show of tenderness. "stay where we can find you afterward" she murmured.

alexa reached down and gave your hand a quick squeeze before letting go, winking as she turned to follow charlotte toward gorilla position.

and just like that, you were left standing in the hallway, your heart pounding, ready to watch them make history.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you stood just behind the curtain at gorilla position, the low rumble of the crowd swelling every time the screen flashed. the monitor mounted on the wall gave you the best seat in the house, even if it wasn’t the same as being out there with them. you could hear the ring announcer introducing raquel and roxanne, the champions, their energy big and confident.

then the opening chords of charlotte’s theme hit, that royal brass fanfare, and even though you’d heard it a hundred times, the sound still made your chest swell. she emerged in full gear, robe glittering under the arena lights, every inch the queen. alexa was next. her music echoing through the stadium before she appeared right beside her, a playful smirk painted across her face as she blew a kiss toward the crowd. together, they looked unstoppable.

the bell rang, and the pace was fast from the start. charlotte squared off with raquel first, meeting her strength with precision. she moved with that sharp, controlled power that always drew gasps from the crowd, every chop echoing through the arena like a gunshot.

alexa tagged in, immediately shifting the energy. she ducked under roxanne’s arm, hit the ropes, and came back with a dropkick that sent the younger woman sprawling. she taunted her on the mat, only to narrowly dodge a retaliatory strike, grinning the whole time.

from your spot backstage, you could barely keep still. every near-fall made your breath hitch; every counter and reversal felt personal. you could see the moment charlotte’s focus sharpened, she ducked a lariat from raquel, hit the ropes, and landed natural selection with brutal precision. the crowd erupted.

alexa tagged back in, capitalizing instantly. her movements quick and fluid, as she grabbed roxanne perez forcing her body back. hitting a perfect sister abigail.

the ref’s hand slapped the mat. one two three.

the bell rang, and the arena exploded in cheers.

charlotte and alexa clutched the women’s tag titles, adrenaline pouring off them in waves. charlotte raised her belt high with one arm, alexa holding hers close to her chest before hugging charlotte hard. they grinned at each other, then out toward the crowd, soaking in the moment.

backstage, you felt your own grin stretch wide. they’d done it. just like they promised you they would.

and you couldn’t wait to see them after.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the second they stepped through the curtain, you were already there. charlotte still had her chest heaving from the match, a fine sheen of sweat catching the overhead lights. she was grinning, not the polite, camera-ready smile she gave interviewers, but something rawer, freer.

alexa was practically bouncing on her toes, clutching her new title like it was the most precious thing in the world. the second her eyes found yours, she broke into a run, launching herself into your arms.

"we did it!" she squealed, looping her arms around your neck so tightly you had to laugh. you could feel the heat of her body against you, the soft press of her damp hair against your cheek.

charlotte caught up a moment later, her long strides eating the distance. she didn’t rush, she didn’t have to. when she reached you, she placed one large, steadying hand on the small of your back, the weight of it grounding you instantly. her other hand held her championship high for a moment before she finally lowered it.

"see?" she said, voice low but carrying that same commanding edge she’d used earlier. "i told you we’d make you proud."

alexa stepped back just enough to press her belt into your hands. "here. hold it. just for a second." the gold was heavier than you expected, cool against your palms, but the weight felt right. you caught alexa watching you with an almost smug satisfaction.

charlotte leaned down, her lips close to your ear. "don’t get too comfortable with that" she murmured, her tone dark velvet. "it’s ours. but you’ll get something else tonight." the promise in her voice sent a shiver down your spine.

alexa caught the look on your face and smirked. "yeah, we’ve got some celebrating to do. private celebrating."

before you could answer, charlotte gently took the belt back from you, slinging it over her shoulder. she slid her free hand to your hip, guiding you away from the crowd of congratulatory wrestlers and crew.

"come on" she said, not even glancing back. "we’re going to the hotel."

and just like that, you were following them, your champions, your girlfriends, knowing exactly how the night would end.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the champagne bottle sat half‑empty on the low table, condensation beading down the glass. you were still standing near it when charlotte’s voice came from behind you, smooth but unyielding.

"over here."

it wasn’t loud, but it pulled at you all the same. you turned to find her leaning against the arm of the couch, arms folded, her eyes fixed solely on you. she didn’t move toward you, she didn’t have to.

alexa was already perched on the bed, one leg tucked under her, her title belt tossed lazily beside her like she’d already claimed the whole room as hers. her eyes raked over you with exaggerated slowness, a smirk curving her lips.

"you’re stalling" she teased.

"she’s building anticipation" charlotte corrected softly, though her gaze never wavered.

alexa’s grin widened. "well, come on, anticipation only works if you use it." she patted the mattress in front of her. "come here, baby."

you crossed the room, each step feeling heavier than it should. charlotte followed, not touching, but close enough that you could feel her presence like a shadow.

as you reached the bed, alexa leaned forward, her hands finding your hips with feather‑light pressure. "we’ve been thinking about this since the second that bell rang" she murmured, her voice softer now, threaded with something warmer than just mischief.

charlotte’s hands came to rest on your shoulders. her grip was firm, steadying. "you were good for us tonight" she said, every word deliberate. "cheering for us. waiting for us. you’re going to stay good for us for the rest of the night."

alexa tilted her head, studying your face like she was reading a story there. "and if you don’t..." she let the words trail off, glancing up at charlotte with playful challenge.

charlotte’s tone sharpened just enough to cut the air. "she will."

your breath caught, and you nodded without hesitation. "yes."

"good girl" charlotte said, and the praise wrapped around you like a warm, heavy blanket.

alexa’s fingers curled in the hem of your shirt. "then we start now."

Charlotte guided you forward with gentle but undeniable pressure, placing you exactly where she wanted you, between alexa’s touch and her own steady control. the room felt smaller, quieter, as if the three of you existed in your own sealed‑off world.

alexa’s smirk softened into something more intimate as she brushed a hand down your arm. "you’re ours tonight" she said simply.

charlotte’s agreement was silent. just a slow, satisfied smile and a firmer hold on your shoulders.

"go on babygirl take her shirt off", charlotte commanded voice cool. dominant, leaving no room for argument.

alexa let a smirk bloom on her face as her fingers peeled your shirt off your body, "i have seen you dressed in lace for us a hundred times but every time feels like the first"

charlotte's fingers fiddled with the clasp of your bra unbuckling it and you let it fall off your body. exposing you to both of your lovers.

"this is better than any championship belt", charlotte hummed. the greatest compliment she could have given you.

charlotte moved her hands to your breasts giving a gentle squeeze that made your mouth fall open. "such a pretty girl"

alexa looked at charlotte a playful glint behind her eyes, "can i taste her first?"

"what do you think baby, do you want lexi to taste you", charlotte whispered despite knowing the answer. your head nodded up and down instantly.

charlotte tweaked you nipples sharply but not painful, "words babygirl"

you whined, "please, i want your mouth lexi" charlotte kissed your neck in approval giving a nod to alexa.

that was all the prompting that alexa needed, "lift your hips", and when you did her fingers hooked under your panties.

you were suddenly reminded that you were fully naked while your lovers while still fully clothed. it was obvious that tonight was all about you. their reward. to share. to use.

alexa pressed a kiss just below your belly button as charlotte met your lips in a deep, rough kiss, all tongue. easily asserting her dominance over you.

alexa finally broke the tension in the room as her mouth landed where you craved it most, a moan leaving your lips only to be silenced by charlotte's mouth on you.

alexa ate you like you were her last meal, her tongue moving around you in skilled practiced motions. she knew your body better than you knew it yourself. your hips arched into her mouth, legs threatening to close.

but charlotte sensed this and her hands wrapped around your thighs prying them open. "you don't get to hide from your pleasure", she whispered in your ear. "i want you to come for us babygirl and then i will use you"

alexa heard this and made it her mission to make you come her hand moving to rub tight circles on your clit as charlotte bit at your neck, leaving marks that were sure to tell everyone who you belonged to.

you came undone with a cry chest heaving as alexa did not stop. she kept going letting you ride the wave of your climax, sweat beading on your forehead but a fucked out smile on your lips.

when alexa finally pulled away charlotte smirked, "come here lexi", she beckoned and alexa did as she was told crawling up the bed her lips meeting charlotte's letting charlotte taste you on her tongue, making the queen let out a moan of her own.

you watched as charlotte made quick work of alexa's clothes. leaving herself as the only fully dressed one in the room, a full assertion of her dominance.

"you are going to sit on her face while i fuck her with the strap and she can only come when she makes you come", charlotte spoke a glint in her eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

and charlotte made clear on her promise.

the three of you kept going until the early hours of the morning. the hotel room filled with moans, begging pleas, the sound of three women showing each other how much they loved each other.

it was clear that the tag team champions were going to make the most out of their reward.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the gentle rhythm of your breathing. the adrenaline from earlier had faded, replaced by a cocoon‑like calm that wrapped itself around the three of you.

you were tucked against charlotte’s side, her arm a solid, reassuring weight around your shoulders. she absently traced slow patterns on your arm, her touch steady and grounding. you could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest under your cheek, each breath unhurried.

alexa was curled against your other side, her smaller frame pressed warmly to you. her hair tickled your jaw as she shifted closer, her head resting lightly against your collarbone. one of her hands was loosely clasped around yours, her thumb brushing lazy arcs against your knuckles.

"you were perfect tonight" charlotte murmured, her voice low and velvety. there was no edge to it now, only pride. "you made us feel like we couldn’t lose."

alexa let out a quiet hum of agreement. "told you we’d win it for you" she said sleepily, squeezing your hand. "guess we’re just that good."

you let out a soft laugh, the sound muffled by charlotte’s shoulder. "you’re both incredible. i’m so proud of you."

charlotte’s fingers paused their slow tracing to give your arm a gentle squeeze. "good" she said, her tone carrying that same quiet authority you’d heard all night, but now it was wrapped in warmth. "you’re ours. always."

alexa smiled against your skin, her voice a whisper. "and you’re stuck with us now."

none of you spoke for a while after that. you simply lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing. outside, the city carried on as usual, but in that hotel room, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the three of you.

when your eyes finally grew heavy, you drifted off still cocooned in their arms, safe, claimed, and loved.

#charlotte flair x reader #alexa bliss x reader #Charlotte flair imagine #alexa bliss imagine

71 notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

✨

#lisa ann walter #she’s so beautiful #inside and out

39 notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Note

CEO!wanda (from your story) and her wife making love in her office? Love your fics!!

. . . 𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁𝚂, 𝙻𝙾𝙾𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚂

(not proofread + i wrote this in such a rush in the middle of the night but hereee)

Wanda barely looked up when you entered her office. Her pen danced across a contract, eyes sharp behind those thin designer frames.

But then she smelled you.

That familiar warmth of vanilla and jasmine. Her wife.

She looked up.

You stood there in that teasing little black dress—the one she liked because it clung to you like it knew who you belonged to. You gave her a soft, knowing smile and leaned back against the locked door, arms crossed.

“You’re early,” she murmured, her voice dipping slightly, betraying how much she liked surprises—when they were you.

“I could say the same,” you teased. “You said you’d be home by seven.”

Her eyes flicked to the clock. 6:42 p.m.

You stepped closer. The sound of your heels on the marble was slow. Deliberate. Like you wanted to be heard.

Wanda let out a slow exhale, leaned back in her chair as you rounded the desk. “You missed me that much?”

“No,” you said playfully, slipping into her lap and tugging at her burgundy silk tie. “I needed you.”

She blinked.

Her hands immediately found your waist, gripping tightly like she couldn’t believe you were real. Her lips parted as you leaned in, your mouth ghosting over hers—but not kissing. Not yet.

“You’re playing with fire, baby,” she warned, breath hot.

“You like fire,” you whispered, rolling your hips slowly in her lap.

A growl rumbled low in her throat.

She kissed you then—rough and sudden, fingers digging into your thighs as she spun her chair to face the window, your back to the skyline. The city could wait.

The kiss turned messy, hungry. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling. You moaned into her mouth and she swallowed it whole.

She yanked your dress up, bunching it around your waist, fingers slipping under the band of your underwear—your favorite lace pair. You barely had time to gasp before she tore them off in one strong pull. No ceremony.

“You wore these just to ruin them,” she growled.

“Maybe,” you panted. “Are you gonna punish me for it?”

Her smirk could’ve set you on fire. “Later. Right now, I’m just going to take you.”

Her fingers slid through your slick folds, groaning softly at how wet you already were.

“Fuck, you’re dripping, baby.”

“Because of you,” you whined. “Always you.”

Wanda worked her fingers with practiced, devastating ease. Two inside you, curling just right, her palm grinding against your clit as her mouth sucked a mark into your neck. You clutched her shoulders, your moans growing louder as your thighs shook.

“Wanda—”

“Come for me,” she ordered, voice like silk over steel. “Come on my fingers, sweetheart.”

And you did. Hard. Shaking in her lap, legs trembling, your hands fisting her blouse.

Wanda watched you unravel like it was her favorite show—eyes glazed over, biting her lip, obsessed with how beautiful you looked falling apart just for her.

But she wasn’t done.

She stood up with you still clinging to her, your legs wrapping instinctively around her waist as she laid you out on the leather couch against the wall.

She didn’t even take her heels off.

She undid her belt slowly, teasingly, while keeping her eyes locked on you. You watched as she unzipped her pants and pulled out the strap you hadn’t even noticed was already strapped to her.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “You wore that to your meeting?”

Wanda chuckled darkly. “I had a feeling you’d stop by.”

She sank to her knees between your legs, brushing her lips along your inner thigh before standing again, slipping the toy through your folds to coat it.

“Please, Wanda. I need you.”

“You have me,” she murmured—and slid in.

You cried out, arching up off the couch, Wanda gripping your hips tightly as she filled you in one long, slow thrust. Her pace was brutal but controlled. She was always like that. All poise—until you made her lose it.

You choked out her name, nails raking down her back as her thrusts deepened.

“You take me so well,” she moaned into your ear. “God, you were made for me.”

Your second orgasm built fast—too fast—and she knew it. She reached down between you, her fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles until your body went rigid.

You shattered beneath her with a scream, body jerking, tears prickling your eyes from the intensity.

Wanda cursed, kissed your cheeks, your temple, your lips—holding you through every wave of pleasure.

“Breathe, baby,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And she did. She always did.

Aftercare followed like a ritual: Wanda gently cleaning you up with warm towels from her private drawer, easing your dress back down over your thighs, helping you sit on her lap while she held you close. You played with the ends of her tie, now wrinkled and crooked.

She looked down at you.

“Next time, just wait for me at home,” she whispered, amused.

“Why?” you smiled lazily. “When I can make you ruin me right here?”

She kissed your forehead.

“Because at home,” she murmured, “I can take my time with you.”

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader

521 notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

requested by anonymous

#abbott elementary #tariq temple

8K notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

Evanescence: These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real, There’s just too much that time cannot erase

12 year old me:

#this is me #the song just unlocks something #music #evanescence #emo kid at heart

153K notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

I keep giving characters I like guitars and I don’t know why

#yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #this is amazing #I love your art style!

1K notes · View notes

the-fandom-abyss · 12 days ago

Text

Meeting His Mother

Reader is in denial about being gay, and her boyfriend's mom sees right through it.

I both and hate this, enjoy! - 2.3k words

Nicky came into your life when you needed him, following a recent loss in your family that made the world feel dull. His sweet smile and gentle hugs grounded you in the fact that good still existed in this twisted world.

The longer you were together, the darker your worldview became. Something deep inside you felt a tug away from Nicky. It started the night he asked you to meet his mom. The words falling from his lips before he placed them to your neck, your shoulders tensing, "You can say no." It wasn't that you didn't want to; it's the implications that come with it.

That meant you were really committed to him, which meant crossing the line you hadn't yet crossed with him. You swore patience ran through him because he never pushed for more than what you gave. Always stopping him when his hand wandered too low, or his hips brushed too deeply.

Your only other experience with sex was not fun or enjoyable. You told yourself it was because he was bad at it, but he wasn't. You wish he were because that would make it so much easier for you to keep the lingering truth in your mind quiet. The truth you're reminded of every time Nicky slides his hand over your side, "Okay, I'll do it." The smile on his face made your rattling brain worth it.

The next weekend, you found yourself in his passenger seat, dressed in your best 'meet his mom' outfit you could power. He reminded you to look like yourself, too, and it made your heart rate slow a tad. That was until his car slowed to a stop outside the most beautiful house you've ever seen.

The wood is old but perfectly cared for, native vines wrapping around the porch, roof, and sides in the most picturesque way. You got out of the car, admiring the details of the garden, and Nicky chuckled, "I knew you would love her taste, come on." His hand slipped into yours, and you let him tug you to the door, adjusting your top as he opened the door.

The house smelled like incense and bergamot, something you recognized from when he visited home, and he shouted, "Mom! We're here!" Your eyes scanned the spaces he pulled you through: the entryway welcoming but moody, the living room with deep maroon walls, the kitchen with plants hanging from the ceiling. The small details in the hall caught your attention when he came to a stop at the study doorway, "Hi, darling." As you looked into the room, Nicky let go, stepping towards her, your mind halting as you saw her.

Wildly beautiful dark hair, wavy and gorgeous, framed her face perfectly. Cheekbones arching as she smiled at her son, ocean blue eyes shiny with affection for him. I pulled my eyes to Nicky and smiled at the interaction, her purple slacks swooped just above the floor as she leaned back, hands on his arms, "Is this her?"

Nicky pulled away and came to stand beside you, hand on your lower back. Her eyes follow him to you, a small smile on her face as she takes a step closer. You extended a hand to her, "Hi, I'm y/n, it's lovely to meet you." She shook yours with a firm grasp, nothing insane but enough to prove who was in charge of the conversation. Your skin was hot when she let go, "Agatha dear, Nicky's told me a lot about you. All good, which is surprising because he usually makes awful choices." Nicky chuckled in a way that told you this was normal and welcomed teasing, but it didn't stop his cheeks from flushing. You looked at him and smiled, "No, I agree, I've seen it myself." Agatha chuckled once, "Oh, I like her."

Agatha took an interest in you; you had more depth than anyone Nicky had been with before. Not only were you incredibly smart, on the brink of finishing a prestigious degree, but you carried yourself with a perfect amount of confidence. During dinner that night, she couldn't help but ask you question after question. Nicky eventually took the dishes and left you two to talk. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple on his way to the kitchen, and Agatha saw it. Her eyes softened for a moment before returning to her usual slightly guarded gaze.

Before you left that night, she gave you her number and said, "If you need anything, you can always call me, anything y/n." Sliding your phone back into your hand before she hugged you. Closing the car door behind you while Nicky carried the leftovers out. Her perfume haunted you until you fell asleep that night, Nicky's arm thrown over you. The twin XL in your dorm never felt so small, and you felt nauseous the next morning.

After that, Agatha invited you two over more often, for dinners, lunches, any excuse she could find, really. Her eyes were watching you every time, when he hugged you, grazed your arm without warning, whispered to you. She saw how you pulled from him when he was intimate in even the most basic ways. Obviously, she was concerned for a moment that he was hurting you, but the longer she watched, the more she knew it was something else.

The more you were around her, the louder that truth became; you no longer felt drawn to Nicky's touch, but hers. Her gentle hugs felt like his, but better, warmer, magnetic. She would always tuck her head over hers when you said goodbye. Nicky just threw his arms around you to say he did it, craving more from you. Still, he never pushed you to have sex, just gave you that same patient smile.

Nicky convinced you to stay the night with him at his mom's, and you nearly shot from the bed when his hand slipped under your PJs. Agatha slipped out of her room to come say goodnight and check on you one more time when she heard the rigidity in his voice. She stood frozen, silently outside the door.

The walls of his childhood room felt too small for the tension in the conversation. He could feel you pulling from him; despite your actions, you still felt so sad. There was no way to tell him you couldn't let him fuck you because you were gay. After all, you weren't. You refused, but why else did the idea repulse you so much if you love him?

"Is it me? Do you think I'm gross?" He pleaded, curls pouring over his forehead, hiding his stress line. You looked at him, defeated, and spoke before you could think, "Sex doesn't appeal to me like it does you. I don't know Nicky. I'll go to therapy or something, but I'm not scared of you, I just-" He sighed, "It's okay y/n, we'll figure it out." You were grateful he dropped it, and he was grateful you let him hold you against his chest to sleep.

Agatha padded back to her room with a weight on her mind, "Is my son dating a lesbian in denial?" Anger never came over like she expected. If you weren't so fucking perfect, she would assume you were dating him to cover your ass, but Agatha saw a deep sadness in you. You didn't want to hide this part of you, but deny its existence, damn.

One day before the winter semester ended, she had you guys over, claiming she had to see you before you went home for the holidays. The snow made her house look almost magical, and you could smell the herbs she had burning inside from the driveway.

She greeted you both at the door and hugged you first, arms tight around your waist as your heart hammered in your ribs. After slipping off your boots and coat, she asked you for help upstairs, "I want your thoughts on this one's Christmas gift." She jabbed her elbow into Nicky's side, and you all laughed.

You followed her upstairs, and she led you into her room, the space feeling foreign and forbidden. Your light mood fleeting quickly when she closed the door behind her and looked at you like that. Like she was pitying you for something you didn't know. The same look she gave you when you saw you almost recoil when Nicky kissed you beside his car as you left two weeks ago. You looked at her as she leaned against the door, confused, "What?"

Her eyes were soft with care and concern. "I have a question, and I want you to know you are allowed to answer honestly without causing me to be angry." Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed. There was no way she knew about how she followed you into bed, the shower, in class.

You gave her a small nod and wrapped your arms around yourself. She gave you a small, encouraging smile. Agatha knew the question could severe the rapport she built with you, ruin her sons relationship, but she couldn't watch you ignore a part of you.

She chewed at her bottom lip for a moment, a rare sighting of her nervousness, the question pouring out, "Do you like women, honey?" Your heart caught in your chest, and you swallowed a gasp, shaking your head as casually as you could.

"No, I love Nicky." She saw right through you, she saw how your hands tightened on your arms, and stepped closer. Eyes going completely soft on you, "You don't need to lie y/n, it's okay." Her voice was uncharacteristically sweet. You had heard her talk to Nicky like this over the phone after he failed a test or had a bad day. It being directed at you made your head spin, pulse quickening even more. The denial of this part of you battled with the need to stop running from it. Every second in this room alone with her is further confirmation of your worst fear, and you looked at the floor.

She broke the silence, "Look at me, darling." You nearly winced and looked back up at her; it felt like every nerve in your body was raw. This felt like some sick and twisted torture, to admit something like this to yourself for the first time under the watch of your boyfriend's mother. Worse, your boyfriend's mother that you wanted.

When your eyes met hers she murmured, "Good girl." Voice sounding of velvet and honey dripping from her tongue. Your breath caught, and your eyes pleaded with her to both stop and keep pushing. Her eyes conveyed her message, "I see what you are. I know what you want."

She took another step towards you, her hand slowly reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. Her eyes are watching your reaction, your eyes following her hand. A graze of her thumb against your cheek made your eyes screw shut, and she frowned slightly, "Oh honey."

You took a step back, eyes still shut, "No, I'm not-" "Y/n, take a deep breath, there is nothing wrong with you." When you opened your eyes, they betrayed you. Taking in her deep red silk blouse, the waist on her slacks, and the column of skin above her chest exposed by the silk. She hummed; you didn't know if it was approval or disappointment.

The tension in the room grew, and your chest rose and fell once more before she stepped to you, hands cupping your cheeks. Her thumb stroked your cheeks as her nose nudged yours. Your hands froze above her waist, your body stiffening for a moment. Her eyes found yours, "Relax, sweet girl." Your pupils blew, eyes going dark, and she couldn't stop herself. Your parted lips, the dazed need building in your guarded expression. Her lips gently pressed against yours, your hands finally landing on her hips in shock.

Your mind raced. Why did this feel so different from Nicky? God why was it so much better? Her hands tugged you closer, and you gasped, her tongue taking advantage of the opening. You nearly whimpered when it found yours, hands gripping at her hips.

The sound pulled you to reality, and you pulled away. With damp lips and wide eyes, you stared into hers. She brushed her thumb over your bottom lip gently and smiled at you, "You're okay." Her tone was sure and protective in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

You pulled from her completely, wiping your hands on your skirt, "I'm gonna go find Nicky." Feet carrying you out the door before she could stop you. Agatha wiped her face and groaned softly. What the fuck does she do now?

Your stomach churned as you took the stairs down two at a time. Breathing fast, chest tight, and fingers cramping in guilt and regret. You found Nicky at the back door watching the snow fall, not giving him a chance to speak before you pressed your lips to his. His words dying on your lips as he grabbed your waist to keep you upright. His heart warmed at the show of affection; yours died in your chest.

You pulled from him suddenly and shook your head gently, "I'm so sorry, Nicky." He looked at you, confused, following you to the front door, "Baby, what's wrong?" Your boots and coat were on before Agatha came down the stairs. "Everything okay?" She asked as you opened the front door.

You stopped and looked at Nicky, "I'll call you later."

He grabbed the door, concerned, "I can drive you back, it's freezing."

Agatha joined you at the door. "You can't walk to the campus from here in this weather."

There was no stopping you; you were on the porch before you could think logically. You looked at them both as you went down the stairs, "I'll let you know when I get home. I need to go, I'm so sorry."

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine

304 notes · View notes