dandelions4us

[dandelions4us]

tell a friend to tell a friend RIO VIDAL'S HEEEEREEEEEE (im scared)

CHECKMATE (17/21)

I don't know what say about this chapter lmao 🤣 I'm sorry

Enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: +18, punishment, slut treatment, sex and angst.

Pairing: Governador!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: you pay for your sins, but after a revelation, you can't wait to sin again.

Time

noun

1. relative duration of things that creates in human beings the idea of present, past and future; continuous period in which events follow one another.

2. a certain period considered in relation to the events that occurred in it; era.

You arrived at the Harkness estate with your heart caught in your throat. In all your encounters with the woman, you had never stepped foot here. Never in the place Agatha chose to hide from the eyes of the world.

And now, every step felt like a march to the gallows.

The neighborhood was small and luxurious. The houses were set far apart, walled, heavily guarded. The nearest one was at least five hundred meters away.

Far enough to hide anything.

The garden was pristine. Flowers bloomed stubbornly against the late autumn chill. It was proof—if you needed any—that Agatha Harkness was truly and deeply wealthy. Because for flowers to survive this long took time, expensive soil, skilled professionals.

That is, money. 

Old and real money. The kind that made you wonder just how long Agatha and Stark had been entangled.

Both families have been keeping treasures for generations—true American aristocracy.

Your chest rose and fell erratically. Your palms were sweating, and there was a knot tightening deep in your stomach. You knew you had to be here—to comfort her, to take care of her. But some ancient instinct whispered otherwise.

Maybe it was just the shame. The weight of the lie, the fear of losing her. That was totally normal. Agatha would understand.

She had to.

Summoning every shred of courage you didn’t know you had, you pressed the doorbell and a melodic chime rang out.

It was time to face her.

The door opened, and your heart skipped a beat. There had been a growing tightness in your chest since you pulled up the driveway.

Something felt off.

A housekeeper answered.

You straightened your posture, cleared your throat. “Hi, I—”

She cut you off.

“You must be the one Mrs. Harkness was waiting for, yes?” She offered a polite smile and you nodded. “Come in, chica.”

You followed her into the living room.

Everything here was different from her Oregon home—brighter, cleaner... not a style Agatha would choose freely. No, this place was curated and shaped by expectation, not preference.

And then, you saw her.

Standing by the unlit fireplace, her silhouette outlined by the warm glow of the corner lamps. A glass of whiskey swirled slowly between her fingers. She wore a black dress, tailored to perfection—haute couture. Her hair, once pinned up in structured elegance, now fell loose and full around her shoulders.

It was almost as if she had prepared for your arrival.

The housekeeper touched your shoulders, startling you, but then smiled and reached for your coat.

“Your guest has arrived, señora.” She announced softly, folding the coat with care.

Agatha turned to look at you, scanning you from head to toe, then shifted her weight to the other leg.

“You may go, Linda.” She said calmly.

The woman obeyed without question.

Something was wrong.

Deeply wrong.

You tried to remember the woman you’d seen in tears earlier. The agony in her voice, the trembling lips.

But that version of Agatha? Didn’t exist now.

This Agatha wasn’t devastated.

She was dangerously... composed.

“Agatha?” Your voice cracked. Nervous and desperate.

She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she turned back to the fireplace. Then slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

Her expression was ice.

“How long have you known?”

You froze.

“K-Known what?” Your wide eyes and clenched jaw gave you away instantly.

She let out a bitter laugh and spun to face you completely.

“Don’t lie to me. Not you.”

Her presence was suffocating, commanding. And, if you dared say it, almost murderous.

“How long have you known about Thanos?”

Oh god.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

It hit like a blade to the chest.

How did she know?

“I… I—” you tried, but the fear choked you.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock,” she stepped forward, “Time’s running out, honey. You’d better speak. You won’t like what I do to little liars like you.”

“I…” your voice broke. Tears streamed uncontrollably down your face. “I’m sorry.”

She moved closer. Close enough to touch you, but she didn’t.

She just… smiled.

“You had time to come to me. Time to tell me, but you didn’t.”

“I—I wasn’t sure. I was scared. It was just a theory, Agatha, it came from Natasha—I didn’t want to hurt you with something that might not even be true—”

You stumbled through the words, your voice raw, your mind spinning in chaos.

Agatha let out a low, amused hum, then took another slow sip of her drink, never taking her eyes off you.

“Natasha?”

She stepped closer with her fingers reaching out and touching your hair—slow and disturbingly gentle.

“Who…” she murmured, lifting a lock as if examining it under a lens. “…is Natasha?”

You shivered.

This wasn’t the Agatha who took you to secret forest cabins, nor the woman who bought you tuna balls when she got jealous.

This Agatha was something else.

“She… she works in law enforcement, I think the FBI. She’s close to Billy’s family. She told me accidentally. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t know what to do, Agatha.”

“You didn’t know what to do,” she repeated softly, as if savoring the words. “But you knew how to hide it. You knew how to look me in the eye. You knew how to sleep next to me while I was being played from every angle… even by you.”

“I never meant to manipulate you!” You finally snapped, pain shattering the fear. “I just wanted to protect you…”

Your voice softened, barely audible now.

Her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t name.

“Protect me?” She let out a bitter, incredulous laugh.“And how, exactly, were you doing that? Trusting strangers? Keeping truths from my life?” Now she was shaking too, you could see it in her tight shoulders, in the red flush spreading across her chest.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Nothing guaranteed me that you wouldn’t have turned me in… if you thought it was me.”

Christ. That hurt!

Especially after how hard you’d fought to earn her trust, to tear down the fortress she’d built around herself.

But now, it was all gone.

Your knees gave out, collapsing to the floor.

“No,” you sobbed. “No, no, no…”

Your hands clutched the fabric of her dress, begging.

“Please! Forgive me. I just wanted to protect you…I didn’t want him to hurt you. I didn’t want anyone to hurt you ever again.”

The tears were endless. You couldn’t even breathe.

She stared at your broken, kneeling and vulnerable body at the floor. Agatha took a deep breath, like she was restraining herself.

Her hand moved to your hair and stroked it, gentle… almost kind. The fingers tightened—suddenly and furiously—twisting the strands in her fist.

“Look at me.”

You obeyed.

“You don’t protect me. Do you understand?”

Your scalp screamed in protest, but she didn’t release you.

“Get up.” Her voice was steel.

You barely made it to your feet before Agatha dragged you down the hallway.

To her bedroom.

The door slammed behind you with a force that made you flinch.

She didn’t let go of your hair, pulling you to the center of the room.

“Take off your clothes and lie down. Face down.” Her tone was glacial, as cold as the wind drifting in from the open window.

You obeyed, hands trembling. Each piece that fell to the floor felt like another part of you being stripped away.

When you were completely naked, you lay on the large, soft bed where the sheets seemed to embrace her. You felt Agatha circling like a predator, her eyes burning over every inch of your exposed body.

"Arch." She commanded.

You swallowed hard and offered up more of your ass, the chill of the room raising goosebumps on your skin. Agatha disappeared for a moment, and when she returned, you heard the sound of metal and leather being adjusted.

Your heart raced.

She took her time—too much time.

Your anxiety was through the roof, your body already trembling from fear or anticipation, you couldn’t really tell.

Then you felt long, firm hands caress your skin.

"You lied to me," she said, tracing her fingertips over you. "You betrayed me."

"I didn’t—"

The slap came fast, her palm cracking against one of your cheeks hard enough to make you arch.

"Quiet," she snarled. "You don’t speak. You listen."

She slid between your folds, and you shuddered, burying your face in the pillows.

"Shhh," she kissed your spine. A simple kiss, but warm. "Are you scared, sweetheart?"

You nodded.

"Scared Mommy will hurt you?" She asked, and it sounded genuine.

But you shook your head.

"Then tell me. What are you afraid of?" Her touch returned, firmer now, almost concerned.

She wanted to hear you.

You turned your face just enough for her to see the tears of despair streaking your cheeks.

"Afraid Mommy will never forgive me." You sobbed like a child, desperate and needy for love.

You didn’t see it, but something inside her broke.

"Just obey, understand? Mommy’s too angry to deal with her little brat right now, huh?"

You nodded, desperately nodded.

You’d do anything if it meant restoring the trust you’d lost.

"You can stop this whenever you want, sweetheart. Just say red."

Agatha kissed behind your ear, encouraging you.

"How long did you hide this from me?"

You tried to swallow your sobs long enough to think. "T-two weeks." You admitted, voice thick with shame.

"Christ," she exhaled sharply. "And how many days is that in total?"

"F-fourteen." You squeezed your eyes shut, already dreading what was coming.

"Good," she murmured, sounding marginally satisfied. "You’d better count, darling. Or we’ll start over from zero. Undertood?"

You gave a faint nod, still trembling.

"Understood?" Agatha repeated louder, gripping your ass hard enough to make you whimper.

"Yes, Mommy."

"Good."

The first strike of the belt landed with a sharp crack that echoed through the room. You cried out, fingers clawing into the sheets, but Agatha only tightened her grip on your waist, holding you in place.

"One." You choked out, voice already shaking with tears.

The second came harder, leaving a fiery stripe across your skin. You moaned, tears streaming, but didn’t try to escape.

"Two."

Agatha paused, her fingers tracing the reddening marks.

"Why are you being punished?" She asked, as if she already knew the answer.

You forced down the lump in your throat.

"Because I… I lied to Mommy."

"Good," she whispered, leaning down to lick the burning skin. "Good girl." She exhaled, pleased with your obedience.

Her hand soothed the sore flesh one last time, then readied it again.

"Keep going."

The third strike was searing, forcing your back to bow.

"Three."

The next blows came quick but no less painful. Yet, a small part of you was relieved because Agatha cared enough not to let you suffer beyond what you could bear.

"E-eleven! Mommy, please!"

Another.

"T-twelve! Please! Have mercy!"

Genuine tears spilled down your face. You were exhausted, unsure if your body could take much more and maybe you should safeword.

Another strike, harder.

"Mercy?" She laughed, sharp and mocking. "Did you show me any mercy?!"

"Mommy…" you whimpered. "Please."

"Why aren’t I hearing the count?" Her fingers stroked your hot, reddened skin, making you arch into the touch despite yourself. "Want to start over, darling?" Her voice was condescending, sadistic.

Her long, skilled fingers slid lower, finding you—unsurprisingly—wet and slick.

"Mmm… this was supposed to be a punishment," she mused, gripping your inner thigh. "But my little kitten’s enjoying it more than I expected, isn’t she?" Her whisper in your ear sent a shiver down your spine.

You moaned, face buried in the pillows.

"Thirteen, Mommy."

She laughed, dark and disbelieving.

One more.

The last.

"F-fourteen." You collapsed onto the bed, spent.

The belt hit the floor with a thud. Her hands trembled as she turned you onto your back, her dark eyes devouring your tear-streaked face.

"Fourteen days," she repeated, pinning your wrists above your head. "Fourteen days lying to me. Fourteen days hiding."

Her hips slammed into yours with a force that stole your breath.

Then you saw it.

The strap, snug against her flawless skin, leaving you speechless. You swallowed hard, unsure if you could take it.

"W-what… what is that?" You whispered, heart in your throat.

"Oh, this?" She flexed the rubber against you, suggestive. "This is where your real punishment begins."

Agatha’s smile was cruel. Almost enough to make you miss the steel-hearted woman who never showed emotion.

You’d created a monster.

"But…" you sobbed, trying. "It won’t fit."

She dragged the head of the toy over your clit, making you whimper.

"Oh, but you’ll take every inch, won’t you?" She slid it through your slickness, coating the shaft. "You’ll let Mommy stretch you open."

You were so wet that she slid in easily, the length spreading you wide, letting a ragged moan tore from your throat.

"You knew," she accused, teeth sinking into your shoulder as she began to move. "Knew I’d find out. Knew I’d punish you."

Every word was punctuated by a harsh thrust, every syllable timed with the wet slap of skin.

Agatha showed no mercy.

The toy stretched you in ways that made your nails dig into the sheets. You screamed—a raw, animal sound—but she swallowed it with a kiss that felt more like a bite.

You couldn’t tell which was wetter: your cunt or your joined mouths.

"Mmm, look at you," she purred against your lips, hips pulling back only to slam home again. "Look how you open for me… how this greedy little pussy takes every inch..."

Her grip on your wrists tightened, leaving bruises as she fucked you at a merciless pace. Pain twisted with pleasure, your lips caught between your teeth. Each thrust went deeper, crueler, until you felt your very core burning.

"Gonna lie to me again?" She growled, watching your face twist in torment and ecstasy.

When she curved the toy inside you, hitting that spot, your body convulsed.

"N-no—" you begged, legs shaking violently. "I’ll be… I’ll be good for you, Mommy. Fuck, I’ll be sooo good!"

"Yes," she ordered, pace turning brutal, the strap smacking against you with every thrust. "Good for me. Only for me."

Only hers.

Only Agatha’s.

The thought looped in your mind, white-hot, until your vision blurred.

A hurricane of spasms gripped the toy as if trying to keep it inside you forever.

Agatha laughed—triumphant and wild—as she kept moving, dragging out every wave of pleasure until you sobbed.

"Gonna come, little girl?" She rumbled in your ear. "Do it. Come on Mommy’s cock."

She quickened her movements. The sound of skin slapping against skin, the mingling scents… all of it clouded her most primal senses, leaving her dazed.

Then she stopped, leaving the swollen strap inside you as she leaned down to lick away your tears.

"Beautiful," she murmured, fingers tracing your ruined face. "You’re so beautiful."

When she finally pulled out, it was too wet, too much, and it made you shudder. Agatha watched, mesmerized, as your body tried—and failed—to close around the absence.

She decided to push two fingers inside instead, just to feel the damage.

"If you lie to me again, we’ll do this with something bigger. Understood?"

And by the possessive gleam in her eyes, you knew: this wasn’t punishment. It was a brand, and she would never let you forget.

"But don’t worry… Mommy will always make it hurt less…" she kissed your forehead tenderly, watching your trembling, oversensitive body beneath hers.

Yet Agatha still looked… hungry.

"Mommy’s still very worked up, sweetheart…" she said, unbuckling the strap, and you saw the glistening wetness between her thighs.

Your insides clenched again.

Fuck.

"Would you mind—"

"Use me."

You answered too quickly.

But in that moment, by the way her ocean eyes burned with something between devastation and hunger, you could’ve said anything.

You were everything to her.

Agatha let out something between a laugh and a moan at your eagerness.

The mattress dipped under her weight as she crawled toward you, predatory and slow. She dragged the slick strap to your mouth.

"Suck. Taste how good you are."

You obeyed, the salt and musk of yourself flooding your tongue.

"Slowly… Save some for me."

And then Agatha joined you.

Your tongues tangled, and you couldn’t look away from her.

Agatha didn’t care about titles, about expectations, about the world outside this room.

She just wanted to feel good.

And you had to admit: nothing was sexier than that.

"Enough," she ordered, pulling the toy away, her lips still wet with you. "I want your finish on me."

She pushed you back, forcing you onto the mattress. As she strapped you in, you still couldn’t believe it.

You were about to fuck Agatha Harkness.

Watching her finger herself in front of you stole your breath. The weight of the strap between your legs felt like an extension of your own desire.

"You’ll make me come if you want forgiveness. Understood?" She demanded, pressing her breasts against your chest, her lips grazing your ear. "Understood?"

A shameful moan escaped you at the command. "Yes, Mommy. Anything you want."

"Mmm, yes… That’s a good girl."

The head of the strap pressed against her swollen, needy entrance, already pulsing with pent-up lust. The first push was slow, agonizing, making her arch and gasp.

You still couldn’t believe it.

She was beautiful like this. Wild, sadistic and completely unhinged.

The harness gripped your hips like armor, and you felt the silicone throb against you like a second heartbeat, like it belonged there.

Agatha rode your thighs, her shadow swallowing you whole as she aligned the thick tip with her entrance.

"Wait—" she whispered, fingers trembling as she guided you. "Let Mommy feel… every… inch."

The silicone stretched her open with sweet, aching pressure. You watched her eyes roll back, her lips parting in a perfect O.

She sank down millimeter by millimeter, tendons in her neck straining as she took you. "F-Fuck… so thick…"

God, you were so hopelessly in love with this woman.

When your hips finally met, a primal moan tore through the room. Agatha gasped, hands clawing at her own breasts. "Shit… Mommy’s so… so full of you…"

You whined, gripping her ass hard. "Mommy—"

Your hips snapped up, driving into her with a rhythm that felt feral.

"Slower," she commanded, nails digging into your thighs. "You must make Mommy feel good."

You obeyed, every thrust a promise.

"Mmm… Delicious!" She sobbed, head thrown back.

She looked down at you, grinning wickedly.

"You’re gonna come from this, aren’t you?" She laughed. "You’re so filthy, huh?." A sharp slap stung your cheek, making your vision blur.

Your eyes rolled back, tongue lolling from pleasure.

"More. More, Mommy, please."

You begged.

And Agatha gave. Hard, merciless slaps, each one sending you higher.

"My perfect slut," she rode you harder. "Darling, I… I love—"

God, this couldn’t be real.

You sat up to hear her better, angling the strap deeper—right against her G-spot—and the governor shattered.

"FUCK! FUCK, RIGHT—THERE!" Her body convulsed, wetness gushing around the base of the strap. "Baby, I—FUCK!"

You fucked her through it, wild, possessive, until your own climax ripped the air from your lungs.

Agatha collapsed onto your chest, breathless, her flushed skin still glowing. Every exhale was heavy, satisfied. Her muscles, once taut, now lay pliant and trembling.

"Fuck," she laughed, voice wrecked. "That was… so fucking good."

You smiled against her forehead. Gently, you rolled her onto her back and pulled her close, arms wrapping around her. Carefully, you unbuckled the strap, tossing it aside before nipping at her ear.

"Am I forgiven?" You whispered, voice small, needy.

Agatha gave a tired, sweaty and almost grateful smile.

"Definitly, babygirl," she murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "You were more than good."

You carded your fingers through her hair, slow and tender.

There was something fragile about her now. Something you’d only seen a handful of times—in the nights when she didn’t know how to handle you, when desire bled through the cracks of her control.

Her ocean eyes were different. Full. Aching. Almost… ashamed?

"You okay?" You asked, lips brushing her hairline.

Agatha took too long to answer.

"Stark knows about us."

You pulled back, heart seizing.

"What?" The word came out like a gasp.

What the fuck??

She sat up slowly, the sheet slipping to her waist, revealing the marks your mouth had left, proving you’d claimed her. But now, naked, she looked stripped of everything but pain.

"He invited me to dinner on Friday. Said he wanted to talk… and showed me—" she hesitated, fingers trembling on her knee. "Pictures. Pictures of us. That day outside the dorm, when you got into my car."

The punch to your gut was real.

"He blackmailed me." She finished, voice breaking as her eyes finally met yours.

Your stomach twisted, tears burning. Not just from rage, but from the way it shattered your heart. Because there was something broken in her now, something she never let anyone see. The woman who threatened you with ice in her voice and undressed you with ocean eyes now looked painfully, devastatingly human.

"I just wanted you to know. If I have to do anything... it’s because of that."

You reached for her face, brushing your fingers softly across her cheek. It felt almost like a vow.

"You won’t have to do anything." Your voice was calm but firm.

Because something inside you had already begun to shift. Something fierce, lethal and protective.

Now that you knew something was wrong with Stark, you might actually be able to do something about it. Because you weren’t going to let that bastard lay a hand on her.

You pulled Agatha into your arms, wrapping your body around hers like a shield.

Like a promise.

"I’ll handle it." You whispered, your voice barely audible.

Agatha looked at you strangely, as if she could see through your words into something deeper. Her brow furrowed, like she was trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite make sense.

And then… she smiled. Agatha smiled. With her lips, yes, but also with her eyes. She shone and your heart roared in your chest.

She kissed you, softly and honestly, making you sighed.

The next morning, golden light filtered lazily through the thick curtains. You’d been awake for hours but hadn’t moved. You just lay there, motionless, watching the woman beside you.

Agatha.

She slept soundly, her body wrapped only in linen sheets. Her brown hair was loose, tangled across the pillow. Her face—so stern and unyielding in public—now held a peace almost childlike. Lines softened by sleep. Lips slightly parted, long lashes resting against pale skin.

And you couldn’t stop looking at her.

She was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen, and you were in love with her.

Yes.

Utterly in love.

It wasn’t just sex or some warped emotional dependency.

It was visceral, burning, absurd love. The kind that made you want to protect every broken piece of her, even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

She was powerful, terrifying and so brilliant.

But here… asleep, with the weight of the world still clinging to her shoulders… Agatha was just human.

And she was only yours.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to act, you needed to. 

Because love wasn’t just feeling, it was action, and you were tired of feeling without doing.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, dressed in silence, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving the room like a silent oath.

Agatha wouldn’t know it yet, but you were about to do something for her that would change everything.

[...]

At the state government headquarters, the halls were cold and concrete. A brutal contrast to the warmth of the morning you’d left behind, but you walked with purpose and no one dared stop you.

You asked to see the Speaker of the Chamber. No appointment. No explanation. Just two magic words: Agatha Harkness.

That was all it took.

Within minutes, you were being escorted to an office at the top of the building.

Rio Vidal sat in a wide burgundy leather chair, legs crossed, reading from an Ipad. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose. She didn’t look up when the door opened, just raised a brow, like she already knew who it was.

"Good morning," she said, voice deep and slow. "You’re more punctual than most of my staff."

You said nothing, just stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

Rio finally looked up.

"What are you here for, little girl?" 

The tone was playful, but there was steel behind it. Rio didn’t seem like the type to underestimate anyone.

You lifted your chin, puffed your chest, courage surged through your veins.

It was now or never.

"I’m here to make a report."

~*~

Well... I told you so. Not unharmed at all. And what do you think R will say to Rio? Lol

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[dandelions4us]

and the plot thickens again, seriously- how am i still breathing during this series is a total mystery to me

CHECKMATE (16/21)

We are so back! Taking these weeks off made me so emotional, I really wrote from the bottom of my heart. I hope you enjoy it, despite the complexity 💜

Enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst, jealous and sex

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: your rage makes you walk for a new path.

En passant

adverb

1. in the chess context, it describes a special pawn capture.

You’re angry.

A burning kind of angry. Deep, hot anger that sits beneath your ribs and has nowhere to go.

Angry at Agatha and for the way she left, for how she pretends she doesn’t feel a thing. Angry at Stark and the way he looks at her like she’s some kind of prize.

Angry at everyone.

At the campaign.

At the theater of lies.

And, most of all, angry at yourself. Because even though you want to say screw it, you still want her—more than ever.

That’s why you were wide awake at 4 a.m., sitting in your chair with four tabs open on your laptop and an empty energy drink bottle next to you.

You were obsessed.

Again.

But this time, it was different.

This time, you were digging.

Thanos Odinson Harkness. Banker, investor, late husband of former Senator Agatha Harkness. Died of a heart attack three years ago.

You found a 2020 article about banking crises—he was mentioned briefly. Something about his company pulling major investments from Stark Industries two months before Americorp Bank collapsed, citing “conflict of interest.”

Conflict of interest?

Right.

You took a note.

You moved to a public financial records database. It took a bit, but you found the company ID.

Odinson Capital.

Three major shareholders: Thanos Odinson, Hela Odin, and… Anthony Stark.

You froze.

Stark and Thanos.

Together.

 “Shit…”

Three months before Thanos died, Odinson Capital bought 27% of the shares in LuxTech, a quantum tech company based in New York.

Of course in New York.

Always New York.

Two months later, LuxTech is under investigation for money laundering, and the company files for bankruptcy within weeks. Four days after that, Thanos dies of a heart attack.

Fuck…

Does Natasha know any of this? Should you reach out?

You go backed to square one.

His death.

You tried to access the medical records, but most are classified because you’d need a medical license to get in. Still, an anonymous user on a legal forum shared some old PDFs from private case files.

One of them is a 7-page document with the watermark of St. Agnes Memorial.

You frowned, something feels off, but you kept reading.

Page 2:

Cause of death: acute myocardial infarction. No toxic substances found in the bloodstream.

Page 4:

Report signed by Dr. C. Bernstein.

The curve of the “B” looks smudged, like it’s been tampered with.

You tried digging deeper, but suddenly, everything’s locked down.

Shit.

You thought for a while, trying to figure out your next move and only one name comes to mind.

Darcy Lewis.

From your tech and public safety class.

She was funny, smart, and there were rumors—something about hacking the university system, or taking on shady side jobs.

Maybe you should talk to her tomorrow.

And that’s exactly what you did. The next morning, you walked into the classroom and found Darcy with her feet up on the desk, eating Ruffles, scrolling through TikTok.

You closed the door behind you, checking the hallway, and went straight to the point.

“I need access to the Washington Department of Medicine’s database.”

She paused her video.

Blinks.

Chew another chip.

Then narrowed her eyes at you.

“Okay… that was officially the sexiest request I’ve heard all day.”

“Darcy!”

“No, I’m serious! People usually ask me to unlock Instagram accounts or spy on their boyfriend’s iMessages. But you? You want to hack federal files. I feel a connection here.”

You crossed your arms and took a breath to stay calm.

“I need to find out if an autopsy report was forged. A man named Thanos Odinson.”

Darcy choked on her Ruffles.

“Wait. Did you say... Thanos? Like, THA-NOS? The businessman? The senator’s husband?”

You rolled your eyes.

You hated how people always linked his name to Agatha, because simply he didn’t deserve it!

“Darcy…” your voice now carried a warning.

“Okay, okay. I can do it. But what’s in it for me?” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her fists, giving you her best puppy eyes.

You hummed, pretending to think.

“I don’t know… maybe help with your immigration law assignment?”

Immigrant rights, promoted by the UN in various countries, are a core part of human rights class. However in the U.S., the system is so bureaucratic and fragmented that it’s a nightmare to understand—especially for students who struggle with anything not STEM.

Darcy was one of them.

“Deal,” she said, just like that. “But if the FBI shows up, I’m turning you in five seconds.”

“Fair enough,” you muttered, exhaling with relief. Just as the bell rang, you turned to ask. “But can you actu—”

“I can,” she interrupted, already standing and grabbing her things. “But not in five minutes, okay? This isn’t a movie. I’ll need to dig around. Give me a few hours.” She zipped her backpack and pulled her red beanie over her ears. “I’ll text you whatever I find.”

You nodded, watching her walk out, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach, like maybe the door you just opened should’ve stayed closed.

[...]

You couldn’t focus.

Your professor was talking about multiparty democratic systems and ideological polarization, but the words just slid off your brain like water on hot glass.

You were there, but you weren’t. Your head was pounding with all the possibilities. Stark and Thanos. Agatha. A possible murder. The lies. Her quiet glances. The shadows in her eyes whenever she talked about the past.

Should you message Natasha? And Agatha? Did she miss you?

You weren’t sure what your next move was. So you just bit down on your pen cap, pretending to take notes.

After your two classes, you were already back at your internship desk, working on a voter graph for Agatha’s campaign.

“You’re doing that wrong.” Said a sharp voice behind you.

It was Sharon.

You blinked, pulled back to the present. The graph was a mess, you really should’ve reviewed it or at least paid attention, but your head was light-years away.

“Sorry. I…” you tried, but couldn’t finish the sentence.

Sharon crossed her arms, not smugly, just… seriously.

“You okay?”

You nodded, lying.

Then your phone buzzed.

A message.

You rushed to check, thinking it was Darcy. But it was Carol saying you’d forgotten your lunch, and she was bringing it to you.

You closed your eyes.You were so tired you hadn’t even noticed you forgot to eat. Too tired to realize how weird that gesture was.

“Carol’s coming here.” You mumbled mostly to yourself.

Sharon raised an eyebrow.

“Carol Danvers? The Carol Danvers?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean Carol, your hot-as-hell best friend slash roommate?”

You blushed, letting out a small laugh. Sharon had always had a thing for Carol. You had to give her credit: she was bold.

“Yep.” You shrugged.

She leaned hard on the back of your chair, trapping you between her arms.

“How do I look? Is my hair okay?!”

You shook your head, stifling a laugh, trying to push her away.

“You look great, Sharon. Magazine-cover hair.”

Sharon smoothed her hair nervously with both hands.

“Seriously? Is that a compliment or are you calling me old? Because you know… no one reads this stuff anymore. ” She teased, pretending to be offended, though her eyes still shimmered with a flicker of hope. “Wait—should I take off the blazer? Or maybe leave the shirt half unbuttoned... What do you think?”

But before you could answer, the office door swung open and Danvers stepped in, holding a small brown paper bag that was presumably your lunch.

She was casual, but effortlessly perfect as always. Dark jeans, a simple white blouse, and a messy ponytail that somehow looked intentionally flawless.

Just enough to make Sharon lose it completely. She sat up straighter at once, forcing a too-bright smile onto her face.

“Carol!” She said a little too loudly. “What a wonderful surprise!”

Carol paused, raising an eyebrow as she glanced from Sharon to you.

“Is it, though? I texted you over an hour ago to say I was dropping off lunch for my forgetful best friend right here.” She placed the bag on your desk, ignoring the way Sharon was practically buzzing for attention.

“So thoughtful,” Sharon said, trying to keep her tone casual, but her nervous energy was obvious. “I mean, of course you’d do that… being the amazing, gorgeous person you are.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing—letting go of that weird, heavy feeling had made everything feel lighter for you.

But clearly, not for poor Sharon.

Carol seemed to catch the awkward attempt at flirting, and decided to have some fun.

“Good to know my reputation precedes me.” She replied with a playful grin, folding her arms.

Sharon was panicking internally. She gestured toward an empty chair.

“Why don’t you join us? I was just telling her we should grab lunch,” a total lie, “but I’m sure it would be much more pleasant with you around.”

Carol smiled, tilting her head just slightly.

“I appreciate the invite, but I’m just here to drop off the food. Gotta head back,” she added with a mock pout before turning to you. “Let’s go, Bear. I need you to buzz me out.”

As Carol slipped out the door to wait for you, Sharon let out a dramatic sigh and dropped her head onto the desk.

“She destroyed me. Absolutely wrecked me.” She whispered.

You chuckled softly. Carol was such a monster indeed.

“Relax, Sharon. She likes messing with people. But hey! You’re actually a pretty cool girl.”

Your friend lifted her head, eyes hopeful.

“Cool enough for coffee?”

You leaned in, mimicking her move from earlier, giving her shoulder a gentle pat.

“One step at a time, cover girl. One step at a time.”

You laughed out loud at Sharon’s horrified face. It was kind of funny when it wasn’t you in that situation.

On your way out, you spotted Carol leaning against the hallway wall, scrolling through her phone.

“Hey. I’ve gotta get back to class in like, fifteen minutes,” she said, locking the screen and stepping toward you. “So? How’s the experience been? Pretty intimidating in here…”

She glanced around—the serious faces, expensive suits, the air of power.

“I’m loving it! I feel like I’m really going to grow here...” you smiled brightly.

“Miss?”

That voice. The one that haunted your thoughts, it hit your ears before anything else.

You turned in slow motion.

“Mrs. Harkness?” You breathed, voice faltering as your eyes landed on the woman now staring straight past you, right at Carol.

Agatha approached slowly, posture as impeccable as ever. But her gaze… it was locked on Carol, sizing her up with a kind of intensity that made your skin prickle.

“I wasn’t aware we had… visitors.” She said, her voice calm but carrying a sharp edge that wasn’t lost on anyone.

Carol didn’t flinch.

She met Agatha’s eyes, brow arched, arms crossed in something between confidence and defense.

“I’m Carol. Just dropping off lunch for Bear here,” she said smoothly, her smile subtle, but just daring enough to get under skin.

“Bear?” Agatha repeated the nickname with clear discomfort, something churning in her stomach she didn’t quite name.

The tension was so thick, making you jump in quickly.

“Carol was just leaving. She only stopped by to bring my lunch.” You said, voice too fast, as if willing the tension to dissolve.

Agatha spared you a brief glance before turning her attention back to Carol.

“How thoughtful.” She murmured, lips curved into something that resembled a smile, but her eyes were knives.

Carol tilted her head slightly, her own smile sharpening.

“Bear’s like a sister to me. I’d do anything for her.”

She emphasized the nickname again. Marking territory, it seemed.

You frowned at her knowing that wasn’t true.

Carol never really cared about the things that mattered to you, only when they benefited her.

Agatha stayed composed, head tilting ever so slightly as if filing the phrase away like an interesting fact.

“I see.” She said kindly, but the subtext beneath her voice was loud.

Sensing things getting heavier, you stepped in again.

“Carol, didn’t you have class like, in fifteen minutes?” You asked with a bright smile aimed at your friend, though your voice was tight.

Carol checked her phone, still calm.

“I do,” she said, her smile softening as she looked at you, then, flicking one last glance at Agatha. “It was a pleasure finally meeting you, Senator Harkness.”

Senator.

Everyone called her Governor now—given how inevitable her win seemed.

But not Carol.

It was almost like she didn’t want Agatha to win.

The older woman gave a slight nod, her poise unshaken as Carol walked away and when the sound of her steps faded down the hall, Agatha finally let out a quiet, barely-there sigh.

“Such a devoted friend you have.” She said.

Those ocean eyes felt like a tidal wave crashing over you.

You sighed, already knowing where her mind was going.

“She’s my best friend.” You replied, meeting Agatha’s gaze with a calm but steady expression.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her tone cool.

“Of course she is. But pay attention, intern. Visitors here must be cleared in advance, and I don’t recall authorizing yours.”

Her voice stayed even, but there was a hard edge to every word.

You swallowed.

“I just forgot my lunch and she brought it over,” you mumbled.

“Next time, eat outside.”

And with that, she turned and headed for the elevator, leaving you stunned.

Eat outside???

What the hell was that?

That was not going to fly.

Because dammit, you were jealous too, but you didn’t act like this. 

Agatha needed to understand some things too.

You stormed down the hallway, heels clicking like gunshots, each step fired with purpose. You caught up to her just as the elevator dinged.

“Jealousy isn’t going to help either of us.” You said, a little too loud.

Agatha stopped and turned slowly. She looked around, then locked eyes with you.

Her expression was sharp, unreadable. But you already knew the signs: the tension in her jaw, the crease between her brows.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Carol. You’re jealous of her, aren’t you?”

“Oh! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Oh, so I’m ridiculous now?” You planted yourself in front of her, arms crossed. “Then what the hell was that back there, huh?”

The elevator chimed behind her, doors open.

But Agatha didn’t step inside. She just stared at you, unmoving, silent and unflinching.

“You used me to fill something inside yourself. You don’t give me the slightest bit of attention, and now you show up here in the middle of the day as if you have any right over who sees me, who brings me lunch, who calls me—”

“She lied.”

Agatha’s voice was low but hard.

You frowned.

“What?”

“She lied,” she repeated. “She’s not like a sister to you. You don’t look at a sister that way.”

You felt your face grow hot.

“And what do you know about how she looks at me?”

“I know exactly how she looks at you because… because I look at you the same way.”

Silence.

One second, two.

The words seemed to have slipped from Agatha’s mouth without permission. She took a deep breath, her eyes flickering away for a moment, as if she wanted to swallow back what she’d said, but it was too late.

“Great,” you shot back. “You look, and then you leave me on the corner of campus like I’m just another employee.”

Agatha lifted her chin, her eyes locking onto yours.

“You work for me.”

“Yeah, I work for you. But I also fucked you, kissed you, touched you. I heard you moan my name, Agatha or… have you forgotten that too?”

Her face tensed, and she took half a step forward.

“No, I haven’t forgotten that,” her whisper came out rough, scraping her throat. “I also haven’t forgotten the words you said. I used you because you’re mine.”

Agatha’s expression was damn near sinful, just like the tone of her voice.

Yes, you’d asked for this. Asked her to control you without demanding anything in return and maybe… this was the price to pay.

You didn’t argue, you couldn’t.

So Agatha stepped into the elevator, and you stood there, rethinking your entire life.

[...]

The workday seemed endless. Your brain had switched to autopilot, your eyes burning with exhaustion, your body begging for your bed.

All you wanted was to drag yourself to your room, burrow under the covers, and forget the day—the week—had ever existed.

You were already organizing papers on your desk when the phone rang.

You froze.

No one called your desk directly anymore.

With one hand still on your bag, you answered.

“Come to my office.” The voice was unmistakable. Low and calm. But weighted in a way only she could manage.

Agatha.

You hesitated for a second, then huffed and stormed across the floor like a contained tempest, your heels clicking sharply against the tiles. You stepped into the elevator with a closed off expression, your patience thinning with each passing floor.

When you arrived, the door to her office was already slightly ajar.

You stepped inside slowly.

Agatha was there, as always, poised, impeccable, her blazer hugging her delicious curves, wearing those square-framed glasses that were so her.

The lamplight cast the room in an intimacy too warm for the hour.

The two of you stared at each other for a long moment.

You crossed your arms.

“If this is about Carol again, I—”

She pushed a small package across the desk, cutting off your protest.

Without a word.

You rolled your eyes.

“Look, Agatha, if this is another attempt to buy me off, I swear—”

“Open it.”

The command was calm but firm.

You sighed. 

You were too exhausted to fight. You reached out, carelessly grabbed the package, and undid the ribbon.

Then froze.

Your brows slowly drew together. You looked inside the little paper box… and there they were.

Tuna balls.

An involuntary smile bloomed on your face.

You remembered the day you’d spent at her house in Oregon. How something so stupid had made you laugh like a child.

It had been a perfect, unforgettable moment.

“Why did you…?” You gave her a confused, emotional look, and her jaw tightened when she saw the tired tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

“I was curious about them,” she cleared her throat, trying to brush off the fragility of the moment, but not entirely. “You talked about them a lot.”

With a small smile, you reached for one of the crispy balls, but she stopped you.

“Agatha…?”

You frowned in confusion.

“Stand up.”

Her tone was harsh, but you’d spent enough time with her to know that wasn’t her intention.

And, as always, you obeyed.

She slid her hand into yours, squeezing, feeling your warmth.

“Sit here,” she pointed to her lap. “Let me feed you.”

Your eyes widened, your heart pounding faster in your chest.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Her tone was the same as always. Serious, authoritative and dry. But there was something in her eyes. A silent desire to take care of you, to have you there, small and hers.

You hesitated for a second, then gave in. With a shaky breath, you slowly lowered yourself onto her lap, your legs crossing over hers, your face suddenly too close.

The heat of her body against yours was almost too much to bear.

Agatha adjusted your position, her arms wrapping around your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

One hand slid slowly up your back, settling between your shoulder blades. With the other, she picked up a tuna ball, lifting it to your lips.

“Open.”

The order came out as barely a whisper, and you obeyed.

When you bit down, a low moan escaped your throat. It was your favorite and warm, flavorful, just the way you liked it.

Agatha smiled. A restrained, satisfied smile.

“You keep forgetting to eat.” She murmured.

You swallowed slowly, your throat tight—this wasn’t about food, it never had been.

“You like this, don’t you?” You whispered back, almost accusing. “Taking care of me.”

“No,” she answered firmly. But her eyes said yes. “But I’ve needed to.”

You shifted slightly in her lap, surprised by the sudden confession, and she held you tighter.

“Is that why you got mad about Carol?” Her silence was as loud as a shout. “Agatha—”

“She’s not your sister.”

You lowered your eyes, almost ashamed.

“She’s not.” You admitted.

“And you have a complicated relationship.” It wasn’t a question.

“How would you know that?”

“Because I know everything about you. Because I find out even when I don’t want to.”

You smiled, touching her face.

“You were jealous.”

“She calls you Bear.” She said with the word dropping poison.

“You call me worse.” You leaned in dangerously close.

“Only when you deserve it.” She gripped your thighs.

“Oh yeah?” You gave her a suggestive smirk. “And today?”

“Today?” Her jaw tightened as she stared into your eyes. “Today you deserve it. For making me jealous.”

You inhaled sharply, letting your head fall back.

“Agatha…”

“I’m a very busy woman, you know?” She clicked her tongue, her voice low. “I should be dealing with Stark, the press, Barkley, my son…”

Her hand cupped your chin, tilting it up gently.

“But all I do is think about what you’re doing. Who you’re with. If you’re eating well or sleeping. If you’re with someone.”

Instinctively, you parted your legs and instinctively, Agatha’s hand slid between them.

Your body arched as her fingers found the damp heat through the fabric of your panties.

The office disappeared, and suddenly, all that existed was the weight of jealousy in her gaze and the possessive pressure of her hand between your thighs.

“Has she ever touched you here?” Her index finger rubbed slow, cruel circles over your clit. “Felt how warm you get when you want it?”

You choked back a moan. “N-not like this… only you—”

"Liar," she hissed, her teeth grazing your jugular. "I saw how she looked at you. How she coveted what’s mine." Her hand slipped into you without warning, two fingers teasing you with precision.

"This? Mine. These pretty little moans? Mine. This desperate little body?" Her fingers tapped your clit, making you jolt in her lap. "All mine."

Your hips moved on their own, seeking more, but Agatha stopped, leaving you suspended in emptiness.

Her breath was fire against your neck.

"Who makes you feel like this?"

"Y-you… only you, Mommy—"

"What?" Her free hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze. "Say it again. I want her to hear."

You whimpered, feeling your body tremble involuntarily. "Only… only Mommy can make me feel like this."

You hated yourself for crumbling like this. For letting your hatred and pride dissolve beneath her touch.

A growl rumbled in her throat—part triumph, part fury. Agatha pushed two fingers inside you, sliding in easily.

"That’s it," her fingers moved again, fast and deep, her palm grinding against your clit in tight circles. "I’ll fuck you until you scream that you’re mine. Until Carol, until that bitch Jenniffer, until the whole world hears."

The orgasm hit you. Violent and uncontrollable. You screamed, drool escaping the corner of your mouth, your fingers clawing at her expensive blazer as your body convulsed in her lap.

Agatha held you with iron hands, dragging out every wave with long, relentless strokes until tears spilled from your eyes.

"Cry," she ordered, licking the salt from your eyelids. "Cry because you’re mine. Because no one else will give you this. No one else will break you like this."

When your tremors finally subsided, she slowly pulled her fingers out, bringing them to her own mouth with a filthy smirk.

"Mmm… tastes like victory." Her other hand slid down to your inner thigh, squeezing the sensitive flesh until you shuddered.

"Say you’re mine," she whispered in your ear, her wet hand slipping under your blouse to grope your breast possessively.

And goddamn it. No matter how much you still hated her—for making you jealous, for reducing you to this submissive mess—you couldn’t deny it.

"I’m yours," you said with your whole heart, tears streaking your face. "Yours. Only yours. Whenever you want me."

The leather chair creaked as she leaned back, satisfied, and you could finally breathe again.

Twisting in her lap to face her, you met her ocean-deep eyes—hooded, heated with arousal.

And you decided to take the risk.

"Do you want exclusivity?" Your voice was still hoarse from your climax.

Her body reacted before her mind did. You felt the muscles in her thighs tense beneath yours, the fingers gripping your waist tightening.

Agatha didn’t answer right away. In fact, she looked at you like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, deciding whether to jump or step back.

"I want you to be only mine."

Your chest caved in.

It felt like every last defense inside you collapsed. It unraveled you, like a house built on sand.

But it still wasn’t enough.

The doubt still ached.

"But what about you?" Your voice came out thin, trembling. "Will you be mine too?"

The question hung heavy in the air.

This wasn’t rhetorical, it was a plea.

You needed to know, your chest was aching with it.

Agatha took a deep breath.

Her eyes never left yours.

"I—" she began, hesitant.

But sharp knocks at the door sliced through the moment like a blade.

You instinctively leapt from her lap, straightening your skirt with shaky fingers.

Sonya entered the room, seemingly oblivious to the thick tension and the scent of you both in the air.

Agatha didn’t even glance at you, her attention fully on whatever her secretary was saying. You silently waved goodbye and slipped out of the room, your answer already clear.

She would never be yours.

[...]

When you got home, the glow of the TV illuminated the dim living room.

Carol was sprawled on the couch, a pillow between her legs, eating cereal straight from the box like it was dinner. Her eyes were glued to some old sitcom—something with canned laughter and way too many white people.

"Look who’s back," she announced, not looking away from the screen. "Washington’s favorite little pet."

You scoffed, tossing your bag into the corner.

"Good evening to you too, Carol."

She finally glanced at you, arching an amused brow.

"Was lunch good? Still waiting on that 'thank you' for going all the way to your workplace, by the way," she wiggled her feet in your direction. "Though it was pretty interesting to see how the Democrats’ golden girl is so… sensitive."

Carol seemed to deliberate over her word choice.

You walked past her, carrying grocery bags.

"Don’t start, Carol."

"Just saying," she defended with a lazy wave. "She looked at me like I was trying to steal her toy. Thought she’d kick me out right then and there."

You let out a nervous laugh. You had to deflect—fast.

"Alfredo or marinara?" you asked, setting a pot of water to boil for pasta.

"Surprise me." Carol replied, turning her attention back to the TV.

You’d barely opened the sauce jar when your phone buzzed on the counter.

A notification.

Darcy.

You snatched it up instantly, your pulse quickening.

Sent you the file via email just now. Check it ASAP because… bingo, girl. Found some shit.

With trembling hands, you opened the email.

—

Hey sexy,

Found inconsistencies in the death certificate. Well-hidden, but not well enough for me ;)

So…

The issuance date and digital stamp don’t match.

The official report says it was issued at 6:48 AM on January 14th; but the system’s issuance log shows 8:12 AM.

It means the document was modified and reuploaded to the database. Probably to alter the time of death.

The doctor’s signature.

The name listed is Dr. Calvin Bernstein; except… he’s a pediatrician! (lmao, seriously??) And he was on medical leave two weeks before the death; the signature was digitally inserted.

It was a good job, but I spotted duplicate vector patterns in the signature (happens when someone copy-pastes the same digital stroke repeatedly).

Hospital name.

The report says "St. Agnes Memorial."; except that hospital isn’t affiliated with Washington’s Medical Examiner’s Office for this kind of procedure, because St. Agnes Memorial is in California.

TL;DR: Your dear boss’s husband’s death certificate is a total fraud. Someone messed with it big time.

You better help me with my paper!

xoxo,

Darcy

—

You stood there, frozen, staring at your phone as your stomach twisted into knots.

Thanos Harkness didn’t have a clean death or a clean death certificate.

And now, you had no choice but to tell her.

"Hey! Bear… look at this."

Carol had gotten up from the couch, remote still in hand, her eyes fixed on the TV—now blaring with a red BREAKING NEWS banner.

They were live.

You frowned, stepping closer. When your eyes focused on the screen, your stomach dropped.

"...candidates Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers have been taken into custody under suspicion of involvement in the death of businessman Thanos Odinson Harkness, husband of Washington gubernatorial candidate Agatha Harkness..."

The screen cut to rapid footage of Bruce being arrested—his face hard, jaw clenched, hands cuffed, swarmed by reporters. Then, a flash of Steve, being shoved into the back of a squad car, while his lawyer shouted something about abuse of power and tampered evidence.

"What the hell is this?" You whispered, eyes glued to the screen.

Carol shook her head, stunned.

"I thought it was just another media circus… but this? This is a bombshell."

The image changed again.

Agatha.

She stood in front of the police station, surrounded by cameras and journalists. Dressed casually, she looked so vulnerable. Sunglasses covered her eyes, but you knew her too well to be fooled.

Her expression was a study in restrained devastation. From her tense mouth to her locked jaw.

And yet, something didn’t sit right.

Because you knew Agatha. She never let the world see her break. 

Never.

But here she was, clutching the microphone like the ground was giving way beneath her feet.

“...I trust in the Department of Justice, and in the institutions of this state. I trust the truth will come out. I… I only learned about the investigation recently. I lost someone I once shared a life with… and that will always haunt me.”

Tears welled in your eyes with guilt twisting inside your chest like a knife.

Damn it. If you’d just told her. If you hadn’t been so caught up in your own pride—

This is your fault!

She was breaking. And you knew—you knew—how much Agatha hated showing weakness, especially in public.

Your phone was in your hand before you even realized.

Your fingers flew, trembling.

Are you okay?

Nothing.

Agatha, please answer me.

Silence.

I saw the news.

You called her, not caring what Carol would think.

Still nothing.

You stood abruptly, ignoring Carol’s confused stare.

"I’m going over there," you said, mostly to yourself. "I have to—"

And then your special phone buzzed.

One notification.

You unlocked it with a racing heart.

Come.

~*~

I can't promise you'll come out unharmed...

Tag List <3

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[dandelions4us]

I love going to bed early

[dandelions4us]

if you ever find me in such a situation, DO NOT SAVE ME, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to

empty 'til she fills (alive until she kills)

a continuation of please don't go (i'll eat you whole). recommended that you read that installment first.

ship: dark therapist agatha harkness x reader

summary/request: after agatha gives you an assignment to help pinpoint your needs, she's forced to face her own feelings about you.

word count: 5653

general & dark content warnings: agatha pov, reader referred to with gender neutral pronouns (but is called "good girl" a few times), agatha angst, lowkey a bit of an agatha character study, allusions to child abuse, discussions of divorce and child loss, mention of car accidents, unbalanced power dynamics (therapist/patient relationship), agatha is a bad therapist, manipulation, codependency, obsessive/possessive behaviors

smut warnings: dom!agatha, sub!reader, dubcon, no kink negotiation orgasm control, allusions to subspace/subdrop, praise kink, cunnilingus, fingering (reader receiving)

masterlist | ao3 link

The condensation on Agatha’s cup of iced coffee drips down as she swirls it thoughtfully. It cools her skin, and she brings her hand to her mouth to lick the moisture away. She doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to her mouth as she does this. Agatha doesn’t miss anything.

“Continue what you were saying, dear,” Agatha says.

“Sorry, I lost my train of thought.”

“No apologies,” Agatha smiles. “You were saying that you’ve been worried about habits developing into unhealthy compulsions.”

“Oh, right.”

The fidget toy that you’re playing with clicks softly as you mindlessly, anxiously move your fingers along it. You hesitate, trying to piece together your thoughts. The furrow in your brow and the way you can’t meet her eyes gives you away easily.

It’s Agatha’s favorite type of confession she gets to pull from you. The ones that you’re embarrassed to admit, the ones that make you fluster with shame.

“I don’t really know when I noticed that it had gotten out of hand,” you finally start explaining. “But when I have a lot of work on my plate, I tend to…masturbate a lot to get some stress out.”

Oh, this is going to be good.

Agatha sets her drink down on her desk and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Fate isn’t something that Agatha regards much, but sometimes she does truly believe that you were destined to fall into her hands. Destined to be molded by her, like clay awaiting its true purpose.

“It’s become a coping mechanism for like, every stressful thing now though. I don’t know if it’s healthy.”

“Well, as with most things, it depends on if it's affecting your daily life. Do you feel the urge when you’re just going about your day?”

“Sometimes,” you admit. “I guess it’s not always the full urge though. A lot of times it's just my mind wandering. Fantasizing.”

“You said you don’t know when you noticed it had gotten out of hand. Do you remember what kickstarted you into even turning to touching yourself in reaction to stress?” Agatha asks. She’s pretty sure she already knows the answer, though.

The memory sits in the back of her mind. The way you first gave yourself over to her, having been so desperate to shut off the racing thoughts in your mind that you allowed Agatha to take control. Kneeling for her in this very office, letting her bring you to a state of hazy bliss.

After that day, Agatha had shifted back to a more professional state, curious to see your reaction. To see if you would beg for more. But you never brought it up yourself. It was clear to her that you thought that she was trying to pretend it didn’t happen. Perhaps trying to regain some semblance of morality.

But Agatha was too far gone for that. She just wanted to see how long it would take you to break. And if she got to torture you along the way? Even better.

“I started after…after you touched me. During that session a couple of months ago. I thought maybe it would help quiet the noise in my head like it did that day. It kind of works for a bit, but it’s…”

“Fleeting?”

“Yeah.”

Sometimes you were so predictable it was almost boring. But Agatha thrived on the vindication of seeing straight through you time and time again. Part of it was just a simple ego boost, confirmation that she was dangerously good at what she did. The other part was less easy for her to grasp. She felt a deep, magnetic pull to you that she couldn’t fully comprehend.

You weren’t the only one she had blurred boundaries with. Dear Wanda had come before you, and after Agatha had grown bored with her, she told herself that nothing like that would happen again.

Until Wanda unknowingly dropped you right into the palm of her hand.

Back then, with her, it had been about power. The rush of knowing that she could. But with you? There was more. Layers and layers that Agatha kept peeling back.

Guidance. Dependency. Possession.

“Do you think there’s something else to this?” Agatha asks, resting her chin on her hand thoughtfully. You don’t respond, waiting for Agatha to explain her suspicions. “Maybe it’s not just about distracting from the noise. Maybe you’re trying to fill a void.”

“Is the void a euphemism?”

“Clever,” Agatha smiles, amused both at your joke and the way you’re not denying what she said. She waits, watching your face shift almost imperceptibly as you process her suggestion.

“Maybe,” you shrug.

“Do the fantasies you latch onto have similar themes, or are they different every time?”

You swallow the trepidation, the fear that Agatha knows exactly what you fantasize about.

It’s her.

It’s always her.

“Similar.”

Agatha sits back in her chair, the worn leather material creaking as she shifts. Her eyes narrow slightly as she regards you. You take her expression as negative, and your eyes drop to the floor, unable to hold her scrutinizing eye contact.

Really, she’s just planning how she wants to strike, watching you like a predator hidden in the tall grass. Will she attack now? Or wait until your defenses have fallen?

“Are you comfortable sharing more about them?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright,” Agatha smiles at you softly. Your body relaxes slightly. She folds her hands in her lap, pursing her lips as she chooses her next words carefully. “There’s something you’re lacking. Something you’re reaching for. That’s the void that you’re filling. Whatever your mind is attached to might give some indication of what exactly your subconscious is trying to tell you that you need.”

“Maybe it’s just telling me I need to get laid.”

Agatha’s fingers twitch in her lap, resisting clenching into a fist to hide her reaction to your flippant idea. She knows you’re not ready to ask for her again. But if you foolishly think that this is just about your body’s needs, you might go running to someone else for temporary relief. The thought makes her blood boil.

“Maybe. But there’s more, isn’t there? It’s not just about the sexual release. The desire goes deeper.” Agatha glances at the clock. Only a few minutes left with you. She has to make this convincing. The chair creaks again as she stands, tucking her hands in the pockets of her slacks as she paces a bit. Her fingers toy with stray threads in the lining. “I want you to try something. Until our next session, I want you to resist touching yourself.”

“What?” Your face scrunches up in confusion. It’s adorable. She wants to ruin that adorable face.

“If you’re worried it’s become a compulsion, let’s see how you manage without it. It might give you time to actually sit with the feelings you’re trying to push away. And you can concentrate on trying to pinpoint what it is that you actually need,” Agatha says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The alarm goes off. Your time with Agatha is over for now, leaving you no room to disapprove of her instructions. You stand, grabbing your tote bag. Agatha opens the door for you, her hand resting on the small of your back as she leads you out.

“Try your best for me. Next week, we’ll see how you feel.”

“Okay. Thank you, Agatha.”

To Agatha’s surprise, she doesn’t hear from you through the week. She checks her phone more often than usual, expecting that you’d come to her with some sort of revelation. Or just to complain about your frustrations.

She hates it. She’s not supposed to be the one waiting around for you to talk to her. What if you had ignored her? What if you were off kissing someone else, trying to extinguish the wildfire that Agatha had started?

It would be foolish if you did. She’d make sure everyone involved burned until nothing remained. You were hers.

But what if she hadn’t made that clear enough?

The glow of embers illuminates softly in the dusk as Agatha takes a drag from her cigarette. She’s sitting on her porch, hoping the night air will help her recenter.

The smell of the smoke brings her back to when she was young. The stale scent hovering in her childhood home like a fog threatening to choke her. She would’ve much rather have taken the fog over her mother.

Evanora Harkness. Even just the thought of her name makes Agatha want to drive to Salem just to spit on her grave. Her mother probably would’ve just told Agatha she could’ve thought of a better ‘fuck you.’ Nothing ever good enough for her.

Agatha’s mind wanders to you again, thinking about all the times she’d lured you in with praise. The walls you had put up around you crumbling at the notion of being good for her. Maybe this was part of the reason Agatha felt such a draw to you. Parts of you reflected her own psyche like a broken mirror.

So much for distracting herself from thinking about you.

Agatha lets the cigarette dangle loosely between her lips as she goes back inside, her hands stuffed in her pockets as she walks upstairs. She walks past her bedroom door and stops at the end of the hallway in front of a closed door.

The name that was etched lovingly into the wood still remains, but she can’t bring herself to read it. She freezes, hand hovered over the knob. She doesn’t quite understand why she’s doing this, why now is the time for staring at her shattered past.

It’s either this or being forced to sit with the fact that you could be in some dive bar with your soft lips pressed against someone. Someone that wasn’t her.

The door groans as Agatha pushes it open. Even though her stomach turns as she enters the room, she refuses to let that stop her.

The small bed has collected dust. So have all the toys, untouched for years. Agatha shakes her head. She stubs the last of her cigarette out on her skin, not even flinching as it burns her wrist, making sure it’s faded completely before tossing it in the small trash can in the corner. There’s still balled up receipts and an empty bag of fruit gummies resting at the bottom.

She picks up a stuffed rabbit and runs her thumbs over the seams. As she’s putting it back on the bed, she accidentally kicks a box under the duster. She reaches down and opens it, a sad smile spreading across her face.

A collection of photographs fill the box. She sifts through them. Every one that she looks at makes that empty feeling in the pit of her stomach lurch. Rio, her ex-wife, had taken a lot of them, so many were Agatha’s own smiling face staring back up at her. There were a bunch of the couple together, blissfully unaware that they wouldn’t make it.

The photos of their son hurt the most. Agatha should’ve walked out of the room, gone and rinsed away her pain in a scalding hot shower. But she needs to feel something other than the longing for you that has settled in her chest.

There’s a photo for each of Nicky’s birthday parties. Six total. No more.

There’s one framed photo in the box. A picture of Agatha and Rio on their wedding day. The frame is dusty and there’s a crack running through the glass. The day that Agatha broke this still rings fresh in her mind.

It was a week after Nicky died, the day that Agatha told Rio that she didn’t want to see her again. She knew that the car accident wasn’t Rio’s fault. But the constant reminder that Rio somehow survived when their son didn’t was too much for her to bear. They screamed and fought for what felt like hours. It was honestly a miracle that the frame only suffered a small fracture.

It wasn’t fair to Rio, Agatha knew this. But her life had already taken such a massive blow, what was one more? It was selfish and self-destructive, but Agatha needed to feel in control of something. Anything.

All of this, the life she’d built, the life she’d fought so hard for, was just a brief blip at this point. It broke her. She had to rebuild herself from the pieces.

Agatha runs her finger over the crack and nicks her skin. She flinches and brings her finger to her lips, licking the small bead of blood away.

The hollow feeling in her threatens to swallow her. Agatha checks her phone. Nothing. Momentarily, she shows a hint of the desperation for you that she’s been trying to keep under wraps. She pulls up her conversation with you, and her fingers fly over the keyboard, like her body is trying to get the words out before her mind can stop her.

[Agatha Harkness 11:27 P.M.]: Just checking in on your progress. Be good for me.

[Agatha Harkness 11:27 P.M.]: Good girls get rewarded.

“Delivered” stares back up at her mockingly. Maybe you were already asleep. Or maybe you were under some slut who could never make you feel even half as good as she could.

Agatha slams the box of photographs closed and shoves it into the back of her closet. She stomps down the hallway into her bathroom. She loses her grip on her phone, and it clatters into the sink. With an aggravated sigh, she picks it up and throws it into her bedroom like it's offended her.

Water splashes up against the mirror as she turns the sink on full blast. Agatha cups her hands under the flow, the temperature almost too cold to bear. She splashes her face with it, rubs it into her skin roughly, until her cheeks are tinged red.

The reflection that stares back at her when she looks in the mirror startles her briefly. Her face is flushed, and the tension in her body is visible. The look in her eyes borders on manic. She grips the edges of the sink, pressing her forehead against the cool glass as she tries to steady her breathing.

Agatha leaves the bathroom, before having to double back when she realizes she left the sink running. She paces her bedroom, debating lighting another cigarette when she registers that she’s biting one of her nails.

How dare you make her feel this way? How fucking dare you make her feel this…out of control?

Control.

So much of her life was spent under the iron grip of someone else or at the cruel mercy of fate. She’d clawed her way free and rebuilt the walls around her.

Agatha deserved something good. She deserved to be able to have one fucking thing in her life that she could hold onto, where she could have the power to dictate what happened.

If she had to force it, so be it.

You were supposed to be that. You were supposed to be easy. Just a pliant creature that Agatha could toy with and move on from when she got bored. From her position, she was supposed to have total control.

To you, it probably did seem that way still. Agatha always knew exactly what it was that you needed, because she was the one who planted those needs in your mind. You preened under her influence, any hesitation always washed away with gentle words and warm smiles, just happy that someone cared enough to steer you in the right direction.

But you were blissfully unaware of the way you were unraveling Agatha. She had to make sure it stayed that way.

Agatha doesn’t sleep that night, so she’s awake when she finally sees that you’ve read her texts and receives a response from you.

[7:02 A.M.]: i’m being good, agatha

She lets the message sit for a moment, deciding if she wants to ask the question that’s been clawing at her for hours. Would you assume that she was just keeping you honest? Or would it give her own feelings away?

The need to know outweighs her fear.

[Agatha Harkness 7:10 A.M.]: No touching? With your own hands or someone else's?

[7:11 A.M.]: none

No hesitation in your answer. She lets out a relieved sigh.

[Agatha Harkness 7:12 A.M.]: That’s my good girl.

The day before your next session, Agatha reschedules.

She tells herself that it’s meant to punish you. A punishment for sending her spiraling. You haven’t lost control yet, haven’t come running to her saying that it’s too hard to resist your desires.

Agatha desperately wants to see you break. She needs to.

“I’m so sorry to have to do this, honey.” Agatha switches her phone to her other hand while she stirs her coffee. “There was a mix up with appointments, so I’m going to move our next session to this Friday. Does that work for you?”

“Oh, okay,” you sound disappointed. Agatha smiles to herself. “Friday works. Should I…keep doing what you said? Or, not doing, rather.”

“That depends,” Agatha hums. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.”

“Just ‘alright’?” Agatha pauses and gives you a chance to elaborate, but you don’t. No matter, she was going to prolong your needs anyway. “Well, since you’re handling it well, a few more days shouldn’t be any trouble, right?”

“Right. Yeah. I can do it.”

“Good. You can call me if you need me, darling. Behave.”

Agatha hangs up the call, satisfied. The ball is back in her court. Not that you even knew that you had it.

Thankfully, she’s too busy to keep her mind on you for long. She buries herself in whatever work she can find in between appointments. When the next day rolls through and the usual time slot for your session rolls around, Agatha imagines how you must be doing. Not only thrown off your routine, but left desperate and needy from being denied.

She’s not a bit surprised when you call her that night.

“Fancy hearing from you,” Agatha says as she picks up your call on the fourth ring. “You okay, hon?”

“Sorry to call you so late,” your voice sounds meek.

“It’s only eight.”

“Three hours after your office hours.”

“I suppose so. Did you need help with something, sweetheart?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to help,” you explain.

Agatha closes the book she was reading and sets it aside. She leans back against the headboard of her bed. “Well, you have to tell me what the problem is first.”

You hesitate. Agatha waits patiently, drumming her fingers against her thigh.

“I don’t know if I can make it ‘til our session to touch myself,” you finally admit, voice so soft that Agatha almost misses it. She’s grateful that you can’t see her, so she doesn’t have to hide the grin that crosses her face. “I’m so pent up, Agatha.”

“Poor thing,” Agatha coos. She hears your breath hitch at her honeyed tone. “But you’ve been so good, showed such self-control. You can hold off just a couple more days, can’t you?”

“Agatha-”

“I’d be so proud of you if you did, honey.”

“I don’t even feel like I’m solving anything,” you groan. “I haven’t figured out what the void or whatever I’m filling is. I just feel needy.”

“I see,” Agatha hums. “Have you tried focusing on the feelings, or are you trying to distract yourself from it?”

“Distract, mainly.”

Agatha could work with that.

“How about we try something?”

“Like what?”

“A sort of meditative exercise. Maybe if we get you focused fully on that feeling of desire, it will help you open your mind to all the feelings under it.”

“But what if there isn’t anything?”

“There is,” Agatha says, leaving no room for argument. She puts on her professional voice. “Trust me, I’ve seen this before. There’s always something more. Now, are you somewhere comfortable?”

“I’m on my couch.”

“Good. Lay back and close your eyes. Put your phone on speaker and set it next to your head, if that’s easier.” Agatha hears you shifting, the rustling of fabric and pillows clear as you set your phone down.

“Okay.”

“Remember, keep your eyes closed. I want you to be able to focus fully on the sound of my voice.” A soft sigh slips through your lips as you try to force your body to relax. Agatha imagines you laying on your couch, fingers twitching as they rest against your stomach like they always do when you’re anxious. She lowers her voice to a soothing, almost hypnotic tone. “Take a deep breath in for me.”

You obey, inhaling deep.

“Now, exhale.”

You do.

“Good. Again. In through your nose…and out through your mouth. You’re doing so well, honey. Now, tell me. How did you feel when you called me? Did you feel that needy pull, deep in your core?”

“Yes.” Your voice is quiet again, as if you weren’t the one who called Agatha because you were desperate.

“And you wanted to touch yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Agatha.”

“But you didn’t. Because you’re such a good girl, following my instructions. Deep breath again. In…and out. Focus on that feeling. The one you were trying to avoid. Tell me about it. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels,” you pause, your voice sounding breathy. Dreamy. “Like an ache.”

“Does the ache hurt?”

“No…but it feels like it's almost always there. Sometimes it's just lingering in the background.”

“Where do you feel it? The ache?”

“You know.”

“Is that the only place?”

Agatha can hear you shift a little. No doubt squirming under her scrutiny. It makes her own body yearn for your skin against hers. She wants to feel your body tremble under her hands, needs to feel every single reaction that she pulls from you.

“It’s not the exact same, but sometimes when I fantasize, I can feel it through my body. In my stomach. In my chest.”

“You mentioned the fantasies before. You said you’re drawn to them when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Are you ready to tell me about them?”

“I…can’t.”

Agatha shakes her head. She’s so close. A confession is right within her reach.

“Why can’t you? What are you running from?” Agatha asks, her voice gentle, as if she’s trying to tempt a wounded animal.

“What aren’t I running from?”

“Non-answer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is the ache still there?” You tell her it is. “Let’s refocus on it. Put your hand over where you feel it. Right between your thighs. Stay still. Just feel the weight of your hand against your arousal. Do you feel the heat?”

“Yes, Agatha,” your voice wavers.

Agatha licks her lips. Her own hand dips down under the waistband of her lounge shorts. The fabric of her underwear is slightly damp just from teasing you. It clings to her folds, and she presses her fingers against the wetness, biting her lip to stifle a groan.

“Good girl,” Agatha breathes out. “Think about those fantasies. I want you to let yourself be immersed in it. Take in the way that your body reacts to them.”

“Agatha--”

“Tell me,” Agatha commands. “Tell me about them. Tell me how they make you feel. I need - I want to help you, baby. Let me in.”

“They make me feel warm. All over. Through my whole body.” Agatha knows you’re not touching yourself, that you’re obeying her. But your breath is coming out uneven. Your voice is unsteady. Agatha wants to move her fingers, but there’s something that feels right about making herself wait. Forcing herself to linger with the same feelings you are. “My head feels fuzzy when I think about them.”

“Yeah? And when you get that fuzzy feeling, I bet it feels so good when you touch yourself.”

“Please, Agatha. Can’t I just touch?”

“Shh, honey. It’s good for you. Now, answer my question.”

“It feels good. Everything goes away. It’s just me and my body, like my brain is able to take a break and I can just feel.” Agatha hums softly, encouraging you to continue. “It feels right. And then when I’m done, it all goes away. It’s like I get yanked back to reality. It feels cold. Empty.”

“Don’t think about that right now. Don’t think about the emptiness. Think about the good parts. The floaty feeling. Do you feel that now?”

“Yes, Agatha. Really floaty,” you say. Agatha closes her eyes, sighing softly.

“Good. Good girl. I want you to try to hold onto that feeling, okay? Hold onto it nice and tight. If you’re sleepy, go get in bed and try to stay in that fuzzy space until you fall asleep. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

Agatha listens as you slowly get up from your spot on the couch, slipping her hand out of her shorts since you’re now up and moving. She stays on the call with you as you go through your nightly routine. It feels almost domestic, being present for such a mundane thing even over the phone.

The rustling of sheets signals that you’re getting tucked in. Agatha starts to say her goodbye, but your voice interrupts her.

“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep? You don’t have to talk.”

Agatha smiles wide. Finally, you’re asking for what you need.

Her.

“Of course, honey. I’ll stay with you. Just close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”

Friday can’t come soon enough.

Agatha’s thoughts are consumed with you. The way you submitted to her without even realizing that’s what you were doing has her mind racing constantly until she can see you again. Once a day, she sends you a text reminding you to be good. You always say you will. For her.

The clock in her office ticks rhythmically as Agatha drums her fingers impatiently against her desk. Her door is open, so she hears your voice talking to the receptionist and perks up. You’re ten minutes early.

“I’m not sure Dr. Harkness is ready for you yet.” Agatha hears the receptionist tell you. She steps out of her office and calls out.

“They can come in, I’m ready.”

It’s only been a week and a half since she saw you face to face, but the tension that’s been simmering has made it feel far too long. Your face lights up when you see her. Agatha stands outside her door and watches you walk into her office, two coffees in hand.

“Always thinking of me,” Agatha says as she closes the door behind her.

“Of course.” You hand her the coffee and sit down on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Agatha asks. She sets the cup down and leans back against her desk, analyzing your expression, your body language. You chew on your bottom lip. Your fingers fidget in your lap. Despite your nervousness though, you meet her heavy gaze.

“I feel good.”

“Is that so?” Agatha hums. “Did someone break before today?”

“No, Agatha,” your eyes are shiny as you stare up at her expectantly. “I did what you said. I didn’t touch myself.”

“Then why ‘good’? The other day you were complaining that you were pent up.” Agatha tilts her head. She steps forward, bringing her hand to your jaw and tilting your head up. “What changed, darling?”

“When I called you the other day, and you helped me focus on the floaty feeling…I don’t know. Something clicked.” Agatha rubs her thumb lightly over your cheek. “You said you’d be proud of me if I followed your instructions. I wanted to be good for you.”

The words have barely finished leaving your mouth before Agatha’s lips are crashing into yours. She can’t hold back anymore, pushing you down against the couch. You squeak at the sudden contact, but immediately melt into her embrace, wrapping your arms around her and tugging her down on top of you.

“You were so good for me,” Agatha pants out against your lips. “So fucking good, baby.”

Agatha’s movements are frenzied and desperate, but she can’t bring herself to care anymore. All that matters in this moment is that she has you, and she’s not going to let you get away from her. Her hands glide under your shirt, and a groan leaves her as she feels your skin against hers.

“Perfect,” Agatha hums as she tugs your shirt up and kisses down your stomach. She hooks her fingers in the waistband of your pants and starts tugging them down. The smell of your arousal hits her immediately, and she practically rips your pants the rest of the way off.

She did this to you. She brought you to this state. The feeling of control she has over you to be able to guide your needs exactly how she wants to is intoxicating.

It’s exactly what she needed.

“Agatha,” you moan. When Agatha looks up at you, she sees the glazed over look in your eyes. Pupils blown out, lips parted, panting softly.

“Do you feel it? Does your pretty little head feel all fuzzy, baby?”

“Yes.”

Agatha settles between your legs, breathing you in. Her fingers part your folds, and she moans as she sees just how soaked you are. Your clit is so swollen, begging for her attention.

“You really are pent up, huh?” Agatha smirks, rubbing through your folds slowly but with purpose.

“Agatha, please fuck me.”

“Not yet.” Agatha watches as you squirm. “Now, tell me. What were you running from? All those fantasies you refused to tell me, what were they, honey?”

You hesitate still, but Agatha knows she’s winning this battle. She pulls away from your cunt, and you whine, “Wait.”

You turn your head so you’re not looking at her before you answer. “They were you, Agatha. I was running from my feelings for you. I didn’t think you wanted me. I thought that one time between us was just a heat of the moment thing because you never made another move.”

Agatha pushes her fingers inside of you, and both of you moan as your wet heat surrounds her.

“I kept you waiting for so long, didn’t I? That was so mean of me,” Agatha gives you a condescending pout. “So, so cruel of me.”

Your walls clench around her at the tone of her teasing. She chuckles and presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Keep talking, honey.”

“The fantasies I wouldn’t talk about,” you start, hips bucking as Agatha curls her fingers. You’re not going to last long, but Agatha’s determined to get as much out of you as she can. “They were always you. You haven’t left my mind since…since I started seeing you.”

“Even before I fucked you?”

“Yes. I wanted you from the moment I met you, but I thought it was stupid. Just a hopeless crush.”

“What did you imagine me doing to you?” Agatha asks, eyes blazing with an intensity that almost scares you.

“I imagined you taking full control of me. Making me your perfect girl. I would fuck myself with my toys and imagine it was you. I’d imagine your hand around my throat while you called me yours.”

It’s almost too much for Agatha to handle. The hours she’s spent obsessing over you, trying to get you out of her fucking head, they weren’t in vain. You’re hers. There’s no denying that. She could tell you to jump and you would. The rush that hits makes her entire body tremble with almost manic desire.

Agatha leans in and drags her tongue through your folds, sucking your aching clit between her lips. Your body arches off the bed, you have to cover your mouth with your hand to keep quiet as your orgasm hits you with no warning. Your thighs tremble as Agatha wraps her arms around them, gripping you hard like she’s afraid you’ll disappear at any moment. The wet noises of her mouth on your dripping pussy fill the office. If you were more present you’d be a little embarrassed.

Agatha’s movements slow. She presses a gentle kiss to your mound and works her way up your torso, leaving wet kisses in her wake.

“Do you still feel it?” Agatha whispers against your cheek. “Floaty?”

“Yes, Agatha. Feels good.”

“Mmm, I think I’ve solved it. You just needed someone to hold on to you so you wouldn’t drift away, didn’t you, sweet thing?” Agatha smiles down at you.

You give her a dopey smile, brain muddled by the intense climax you just experienced. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right. You should be like, a therapist or something.”

“You think so?” Agatha laughs, cupping your face and kissing you gently. “I’ll have to consider that.”

The room falls silent for a few moments as Agatha just admires you in your post-orgasm glow. You bring your hands to her face and trace the lines of her skin with reverence that makes her heart ache.

Agatha didn’t even realize how much she’d been resisting. She hadn’t just been denying you, she was denying herself. The way you looked at her like she hung the stars makes her so sure that this is right. No matter what anyone else thinks, you were meant to be hers. She wasn’t going to give you up. She’d do everything in her power to keep you safe in her arms.

“What does this mean for us?” You whisper. “One time was already crossing the line, but this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Agatha assures you, thumb brushing over your lower lip. Her eyes darken as you kiss the pad of her finger. “Just know that now that I have you, I’m never letting you go.”

[dandelions4us]

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

grow !!! (inspired by totoro)

dress vers ⬇️

[dandelions4us]

Atlas of Care: Omega Directive

Pairing: Agatha x Rio x Reader. TW: Talk of Chronic Pain/Illness.

AN: I wrote this recovering from a procedure & on pain medication. AKA high as fuck. Also, that is a photo of my map blanket.

Grab me a coffee 💰if you like my work and want to support me :)

You had every intention of being fine. Normal. Functional.

But it had been hours since Agatha helped you into bed—procedure done, meds taken, water sipped, blankets tucked around you with quiet, relentless care. She’d smoothed your hair back, kissed your forehead, and told you to rest.

And you did for a while.

The thing about pain meds was they didn’t just take the edge off—they made everything feel doable. Even standing. Even unlocking your phone. Even ordering food, you were absolutely not cleared to eat yet.

You sat up with purpose, limbs still a little slow but determined. You could do this. Your fingers fumbled the phone like it was a foreign object. You stared at the Notes app—somehow open instead of DoorDash—and typed in what you thought was your order. Extra spring rolls. No spice. Heart emoji.

And then you cried. Because no matter how many times you pressed your screen, the app wouldn’t take your Apple Pay. Because it wasn’t Apple Pay. It was the goddamn Notes app. “Ri tell Aggie…I’m not high at all,” you slurred into a voice note for Rio, “I tried to order Thai, but baby, it wouldn’t take my Apple Pay.” You’d just managed to tug the blanket off your legs, gearing up for some ill-advised attempt at independence, when the bedroom door creaked open again.

Agatha appeared like a storm cloud wrapped in silk. Hair swept back, sleeves pushed to her elbows, magic gently humming at her fingertips—just in case she needed to levitate you back into bed. Her eyes softened the second they met yours. “Darling…” she sighed, crossing the room in three long strides. “What did we say about staying put?”

“I was staying put,” you insisted, blinking far too slowly. “I was just… re-putting. Re-putting myself in bed… I like that work… You know... Re-putting myself in a different angle.”

Agatha sat beside you with a faint chuckle and curled an arm around your shoulders, gently guiding you to lean into her. You sighed against her, cheek smushed into her shoulder. She kissed your temple, then your hair, and held you there for a moment before gently shifting. “Alright, love. Let’s get you horizontal again.”

You whined faintly as she helped ease you down, one hand warm behind your back, the other lifting your legs and guiding them back under the blanket with magic-soft precision. A faint shimmer passed through the air as the bedsheets smoothed themselves, the comforter fluffing just so.

Agatha adjusted the room with a flick of her fingers—lights dimming to a soft amber glow, the temperature lowering by just a few degrees to cradle your body in cool air and warm blankets. Her magic settled in the corners like lavender and honey, easing the static that still hummed behind your eyes. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” she murmured once you were tucked in again, brushing your hair from your face. “Let the meds do their job.”

���But I feel great,” you said, though your limbs betrayed you, already melting into the mattress.

“That’s the medication talking, sweet girl,” she said gently, smoothing the covers over your chest. “You’re floppy as a wet sock.”

“Wet socks are brave,” you replied solemnly. “They go into the cold world and still keep trying.”

Agatha laughed under her breath and reached for the remote. “Movie?” she asked, indulging you.

You nodded, already drifting. “Something… with lasers. Or space lesbians.”

Agatha tilted her head. “Space lesbians?”

“Star Trek,” you clarified. “Like... Voyager. Or Strange New Worlds. Or Lower Decks. I need comfort-level warp factor nine.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling. A flick of her fingers, and the TV flickered on. “Computer, engage.”

The familiar melody of the intro began to play—bold and bright and full of hope. Agatha lay down beside you, one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, her magic settling around the room like lavender and honey. As you drifted, you mumbled, “You’re gonna stay, right?”

“Of course,” she whispered, tucking the blanket up higher. “Now hush, little wet sock.”

You smiled into her shoulder and let the stars carry you.

******

The door creaked open a little while later, followed by the soft thud of boots being toed off and the rustle of a jacket hitting the back of a chair. Agatha didn’t move, didn’t even glance up from where she lay curled beside you, fingers gently tracing your arm. “Hi, my love. She’s okay,” she murmured to the room. “Went rogue about thirty minutes in. Tried to unlock her phone upside down. Ordered Thai from the Notes app. Got weepy when it wouldn’t take her Apple Pay.”

Rio’s laugh was quiet but deeply amused. “Jesus. You weren’t kidding.” She stepped further into the room, pulling her hair free from its tie. “She also sent me a voice memo. Said it was urgent.”

“She insisted wet socks were brave,” Agatha added with a smirk.

That earned a low whistle from Rio. “Wow. That’s level seven high.”

You stirred then, your lashes fluttering as your brain half registered her voice. You didn’t even open your eyes—just turned toward the sound like a flower reaching for the sun. “Ri’?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “You came home early.”

Rio crossed the room in three strides and leaned in, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “Course I did, baby. You call—I run. Even if your call’s a three-minute TED Talk on emotional betrayal by the Notes app.”

You gave a sleepy, fragile hum of amusement. “Still mad about the spring rolls.”

“I brought actual food,” she said, tugging the blanket back gently as she slid in beside you on the other side. “There’s everything you could crave. You’ve got both your wives, carbs, and Janeway. Nothing can hurt you now.”

Agatha snorted softly, pulling you back into her arms while Rio tucked herself against your other side. You were warm, protected, sandwiched between the two people who loved you most. “I could do jumping jacks,” you mumbled into Rio’s shoulder. “Conceptually.”

“You are not conceptually doing anything,” Agatha whispered, kissing your temple.

Rio laughed and kissed the other side of your head. “You’re not doing shit but being adorable. Sleep.”

You sighed, letting the sound of the Voyager theme and their heartbeats lull you under again. Wrapped in love, noodles pending.

******

You didn’t last long after that. Cocooned between them, your body finally gave in—limbs heavy, breath slow and even, your face pressed somewhere between Rio’s shoulder and Agatha’s chest. The soft flicker of the screen played shadows across your sleeping features as the Voyager theme played low in the background.

Agatha’s fingers brushed lightly over your temple. “She’s out.”

Rio shifted just slightly, careful not to disturb you. “Finally. I thought for sure she was gonna try to argue her way into doing the laundry.”

Agatha smirked. “She did try. Said it was her ‘moral duty as a functioning human.”

They both looked at you, tangled in blankets, mouth parted in sleep, arms limply draped around both their waists. Rio let out a soft, fond breath. “She’s a mess.”

“She’s ours,” Agatha murmured and leaned over you to kiss the top of Rio’s head.

There was a beat of silence. Then Agatha carefully began to untangle herself from you, magic already at her fingertips. “She due for another dose? Rio asked, voice low.

Agatha nodded, rising with practiced grace. “Yeah. Oxy, Gabapentin, and Baclofen. I’ll float it over.”

“Need help?”

“No. Just keep holding her.”

Rio adjusted slightly, curling herself more fully around you. “Wasn’t planning on letting go.”

Agatha’s fingers traced the edge of the medicine bottle. With a flick of her wrist, the water glass refilled, the pills hovered above her palm, and her voice softened again—no longer for Rio, but for you. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Time for your meds.”

You stirred with a faint sound—half sigh, half protest—and tried to bury yourself deeper into the warmth between them. “I just fell asleep…”

“I know, it’s been a few hours though,” Agatha said gently, settling back beside you. “But your body’s going to need help getting through the night.”

You groaned softly, already turning your face into Rio’s chest. “I hate this,” you whispered, voice thick with sleep and frustration.  As you shifted again, your back pulled tight with a sharp jolt of pain—unexpected, hot, and cruel. You gasped, muscles seizing, and Rio instantly tightened her hold on you.

“I’ve got you, cariño,” she breathed, one hand firm at your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. “Just breathe through it.”

Agatha leaned in, her magic already shimmering faintly beneath her fingertips as she pressed a hand to your lower back. Warmth followed—a slow unfurling of tension. “Chronic pain sucks,” you said hoarsely. “It just… never stops. It’s always there.”

“I know,” Agatha murmured, eyes soft with something far too deep to name. “And I hate that it’s yours to carry.”

“But you’re not carrying it alone,” Rio added, kissing the top of your head. “Not ever.”

You blinked hard, tears threatening despite the exhaustion. “I never get to be the easy version of myself.”

Agatha shook her head, voice low and fierce. “We didn’t fall in love with some hypothetical ‘easy’ version of you. We love you. This version. The brave you. The tired you. The hurting you. All of you.”

Rio brought the glass to your lips, and Agatha pressed a few small pills into your hand—carefully counted, familiar in shape and weight. You took them—slowly, hands trembling just a little, and chased them with a long sip of water. “There,” Rio whispered, brushing your damp cheek with her thumb. “That’s my girl.”

Agatha watched you closely, her eyes scanning your features like she could soothe pain just by knowing where it settled. She pulled the blanket back up around you, tucking it high beneath your chin. “You’re perfect. Exactly like this.”

“Even when I’m crying into your collarbone and cussing out a generic muscle relaxer?” you asked, voice raw and threadbare.

“Especially then,” Rio said, nuzzling your temple with a tired smile. “That’s peak wife behavior.”

You tried to smile, tried to melt into the comfort, but your body wouldn’t let go. You shifted once, then again, and again. No position felt right. Too much pressure. Too much air. Your chest tightened. “I can’t…” You whispered, eyes burning. “I can’t get comfy. It’s like the world’s pressing down too hard. I can’t find where I stop and everything else starts.”

Agatha immediately sat up a little straighter. Rio tightened her hold around your waist. “What do you need, baby?” Rio asked softly.

You sniffed, voice cracking. “My map blanket. The one with the smooth side and the bumpy corners. The one I use when the world’s too big.”

Agatha was already halfway out of bed. “The antiqued map with the green patches?”

You nodded quickly, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.  “I’ve got it,” she said softly, disappearing from the room with the quiet urgency of someone retrieving something sacred.

Rio didn’t move except to hold you tighter, her chin resting gently against your hair, her hands rubbing long, careful strokes down your arm. “You’re not too much,” she murmured. “You’re hurting. You’re overwhelmed. That’s allowed. I’m right here with you.”

You didn’t answer—just tucked yourself tighter into her side and waited, every nerve buzzing with need. Moments later, the door opened again and Agatha returned, holding the blanket like something sacred, the warm weight of it bundled in her arms, still smelling faintly of clean cotton and home.

“I warmed it for you,” she said gently as she came to your side and unfolded it slowly, reverently. “Right side down?”

You nodded, tears slipping silently across your cheeks. “Textured side. Please.”

Agatha spread the blanket over you with careful hands, making sure the corners hit where they needed to—your chest, your shoulders, your legs. She smoothed it flat, then layered her palm over your heart. “There, my love,” she whispered. “Your map is back.”

Rio kissed your temple, voice low and unwavering. “Wherever you need to go, we’re here to help you find your way.”

Agatha curled around your other side, slipping her arm beneath the blanket to cradle your waist. “Always,” she murmured. “No matter what.”

The soft murmur of Voyager played in the background—The Omega Directive, your favorite. Your comfort episode. The one you always reached for when the world felt too sharp to touch. Captain Janeway’s voice filtered through the room, calm and commanding, unwavering in the face of chaos.

It reminded you of both of them. Agatha’s quiet authority. Rio’s unshakable steadiness. Different timbres, same gravity. The kind of voice you could follow out of any storm. You exhaled slowly. Your body still ached—deep in the joints, low in your spine, that familiar pressure that never quite let go. The meds had begun to dull the edges, but it was still there.

And beneath the warmth of your blanket, you whispered: “I hate that even with magic… this doesn’t go away.” Agatha stilled, just for a second. Rio didn’t let go of your hand.

“I hate that my body fights me no matter what I do. That, even with all the power in this room, it hurts. And it keeps hurting.”

Rio’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and grounding.  Agatha leaned in, her voice soft but resolute. “If we could take it from you, we would.”

“I know,” you said. “I know you both would. But you can’t. And that’s—so fucking unfair.”

Rio’s free hand moved in a slow circle over your arm, her magic rising—not bright or burning, but low and warm. Comfort, not cure. Her magic didn’t fix it. But it softened the static beneath your skin. Took the edge off. Let you breathe. She brought your hand to her lips. “We love you”

You blinked hard, fighting tears as the hum of Agatha’s presence wrapped around your back, her hand slipping beneath the edge of your map blanket to press steady over your belly. “I just… want to rest without fighting my own body,” you whispered.

“And tonight, you will,” Rio promised. “You’ve got both your wives, your map, and Voyager in the background. We’re not going anywhere.”

The soft sounds of The Omega Directive played on—Janeway’s voice steady and sure, like a lighthouse in the dark. You let it wash over you, but your body still fought sleep. Still clung to the ache like a reflex.

You shifted, just slightly, trying to tuck yourself closer to Rio’s chest. But even that—just a simple movement—lit up your back like sparks under your skin.

You winced, your breath catching in your throat. Rio’s hand came up to your face instantly, cupping your cheek, guiding your gaze toward hers. “Hey. Hey.” Her voice was soft but steady. “You just had two huge needles put into your spine, baby. Right into the vertebrae. You’re allowed to hurt.”

You blinked hard, the pain flashing hot behind your eyes. Your lip trembled, your throat tightening with everything you didn’t say.

Rio leaned in, her forehead pressing gently to yours. “They’ll help,” she whispered. “They always do. A few months of relief…”

Then, softer—closer—like a secret meant only for you: “Mi pequeña guerrera.”

She said it not like you were fragile—but like you were fierce, even in this. Like the act of letting them see you in pain was its own kind of bravery. “You always try so hard to be strong,” she murmured. “Even now. Even like this. You don’t have to with us, but... god, I see it. I see all of it.”

Agatha’s hand slid around your waist from behind, her magic a steady thrum against your spine. “And we’re here,” she whispered. “For all of it. Every wave. Every return.”

Rio kissed your brow, her lips lingering just a second longer than before. You let out a shaky breath. Then, so quiet it barely counted as sound: “What if one day I can’t do this anymore?”

The words cracked the air. Rio stilled. Her breath caught, arm tightening around your middle like instinct. She didn’t speak—just held on. Her hand slipped under the blanket, warm over your stomach, grounding you where she could.

Agatha didn’t speak right away either. But her body shifted, curling tighter to your back, and her hand slid up to cover Rio’s—both of them holding you now. “Don’t say that,” Agatha murmured. There was no sharpness to it. Just a tremor of something deeper. Something afraid. “I can’t…” Her words broke, and she pulled you tighter. “I can’t imagine life without you in it. I don’t want to.”

She shifted closer, her mouth near your ear now, her voice barely more than breath. You blinked hard, vision already blurred from exhaustion, but that hit something raw. Agatha’s voice stayed low, steady—but there was no distance in it now. Just truth. “We don’t love you because you’re strong. We love you because you’re you. And if you ever get tired… if your body can’t carry it anymore… we’ll carry it with you.”

Rio pressed her forehead to yours, exhaling like she’d been holding that breath for hours. “You’re not too much,” she whispered. “Not ever. Not even close.”

Agatha’s hand brushed over your ribs, smoothing beneath the edge of the map blanket. “You are not a burden,” she said, the words as final as a spell. “You are our heart. You are everything.”

The tears came again, soft and helpless. You didn’t try to stop them. And neither did they.

******

The pain didn’t vanish. It never did. But the sharp edges dulled just enough, and the weight of the day slipped back—slow and forgiving—until your breathing evened out. You sagged into Rio’s chest, your face tucked into the soft fabric of her shirt. Agatha’s arm stayed firm around your waist, her hand warm beneath the blanket, resting exactly where you needed it.

Neither of them moved when they felt your weight go soft. Not right away. Rio’s eyes stayed on your face, watching your lashes settle against your cheeks, the way your lips parted just slightly with each exhale. She swallowed hard, voice low and catching in her throat.

The air smelled like chamomile and clean cotton—traces of the tea you hadn’t been able to finish and the blanket Agatha had warmed for you in the dryer. Beneath it all was Rio’s cologne, warm and woodsy, clinging faintly to the skin at her neck and wrists like something meant to stay. Outside, soft rain tapped against the windows—steadily, rhythmically—like the whole world had taken its cue from the three of you and agreed to keep quiet.

Rio glanced down again at your sleeping face. You looked peaceful now. Soft. Your body finally still between them. “She’s gonna wake up and feel embarrassed,” she murmured.

“She always does,” Agatha replied gently. “But we’ll remind her. Again, and again.” Rio nodded. “That needing care doesn’t make her a burden,” Agatha finished.

“She still blames herself,” she added after a pause, her voice barely above a breath. “For being in pain. For needing help. Like that accident was her fault…”

Rio’s jaw tightened slightly. “She fought so long to be seen—cared for—by her bio family. Years of feeling like she had to earn love, and that being sick was a personal attack on others. That kind of damage doesn’t just… vanish.”

Agatha’s eyes didn’t leave your sleeping face. “No. It doesn’t.” “But she shouldn’t have to fight to be cared for. Not with us.” Rio’s hand slipped beneath the blanket, fingers brushing softly along your wrist. “Never with us.”

“I know,” Agatha whispered. “We just have to keep reminding her. Showing her. Over and over.”

Agatha kissed the back of your neck, then glanced toward the soft flicker of the screen. Janeway’s voice was still steady, still sure. “Omega Directive,” she murmured. “Of course, she put this one on.”

Rio smiled faintly, “She always does. When it’s bad.”

They lay there with you in the dark, the rain still whispering against the glass, Voyager murmuring in the background like the universe hadn’t stopped.  Rio shifted first—carefully, so carefully—just enough to tuck her arm fully beneath your shoulders and pull you closer into her chest. Her nose brushed your hairline. She kissed the crown of your head with the kind of gentleness that said I’m here. I see you. I’m not going anywhere.

Agatha moved next, her hand slipping beneath the edge of your map blanket to smooth it back over your shoulder, tucking it in behind your spine like she could press safety into the spaces where pain had once lived. Then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your back, just below your shoulder blade.

From somewhere between the fog of exhaustion and the weight of everything pressing down, you made a sound. Barely a moan. Just a soft, broken breath that cracked at the edges. “Ri, Aggie…” you whispered “...hurts,”  Your voice didn’t carry. It didn’t need to.

Rio heard it instantly. She kissed your temple, her arms tightening around you like she could absorb the ache into her own chest. “I know, baby,” she murmured, her voice catching. “I know.”

You didn’t open your eyes. But your face crumpled. Just enough. A tiny tremble in your chin. A quiver in your mouth. And then the tears slipped out—silent, exhausted, too heavy to stop. Not a cry so much as a release. The kind of tears that come when you’re too tired to fight, when you’ve been strong too long, and your body finally folds under the weight of it all.

Agatha felt the first tremor in your shoulders and pressed in closer from behind, her hand sliding beneath the blanket to rest firm against your ribs. “The meds are kicking in,” she whispered, kissing the soft space behind your ear. “Just a little longer, my love.”

Rio held you. Just enough to remind your body that you were still here. Still held. Still safe. You buried your face deeper into her chest, tears dampening her shirt as your body continued to ache—too tired to stay awake, too sore to fully let go. That liminal space where pain meds blur the edges but don’t erase the sting, not yet. That almost-asleep place where everything still hurts, but someone’s hand is there.

And hers was. So was Agatha’s. You didn’t say another word. You couldn’t. But your fingers twitched against Rio’s side—small, searching. She caught your hand in hers instantly. Agatha tucked the blanket higher, her magic curling softly through the edges of the fabric, sealing in warmth and weight.

Just before you finally dropped into sleep, when your breath caught on one last shaky inhale and your tears slowed to a stop, Agatha leaned in and whispered, “I love you.”

Simple. Unwavering. Certain. And if you stirred again—if your breath caught or your nerves fired off one last aching protest— They were there. Every time. No hesitation. A hand. A kiss. A promise. Because you weren’t just being held. You were being kept—seen, chosen, safe. They were not the people who made you feel like love had to be earned. They were yours. And in their arms, even the pain had less power. Even the hurt began to soften.

And finally—finally—you let yourself rest.

******

Mommy needs to go rest now, before Daddy @transboyswitchytales gets on me

[dandelions4us]

if i got used to sleeping by Agatha Harkness' side every night, id NEVER sleep well alone again

Hi! I want to request Agatha Harkness x reader where you’ve had an argument and decide to sleep in different rooms but Reader spends hours trying to sleep but but both of you struggle to sleep without the other 

Sleepless in Westview

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3,426

Content warning(s): Angst, marital disputes, angst with a happy ending, low key a lil toxic

Summary: You've begged Agatha to teach you a spell for months, and it's only when Rio suggests she teaches it to you that Agatha finally caves.

A/N: Hello! Another anon request! I hope you enjoyed this! I've gotten a few requests for a second part to Charlotte's Web, and I've got something planned out, so that should be out in the coming weeks. Anyway, I have less than a month left in Miami rip, but I'm going back to school so I'm actually kind of excited. But I'm on academic probation, so enjoy the oneshots as they come beacuse I will have no free time after August 20th.

Tip Jar of hearts💕

Masterlist

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please, Agatha!”

“You’re not ready for it.”

“Yes, I am!”

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve asked. You’ve been dying to learn the protection spell she created on her own, but every time she shoots you down. At first it was fun–the game of cat and mouse–but eventually, it built up with every time she underestimated you.

Including when you were the only one left of your coven after falling for her Witches Road trick. 

“You’re smarter than you look,” she had said. 

You were appalled by her crass nature, but still persisted. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well look at you,” she chuckled. “I mean…you’re adorable, really.”

“Oh…Well, I…Umm–”

“Cat got your tongue?” she grinned, raising an eyebrow at your humiliation. “It’s almost laughable that you want me to teach you.”

But you made your case. 

And she taught you…many, many things.

It’s always been more of a pull-pull dynamic rather than a push-pull. The both of you are so stubborn and so hot headed that it’s a miracle you ended up married.

But here you are, fifty years together and newly weds. 

The sun is far below the horizon and the coven meeting is in full swing fifteen minutes after Agatha’s introductory remarks. You sit with Lilia as you practice reading tea leaves.

You turn the teacup slowly in your hands, eyes squinting as you try to make out the shapes.

“The shapes don’t have to be perfect,” Lilia explains. “It’s about your intuition–what do you think the shapes look like?”

You point to a small glob of tea leaves in the cup. “This one kind of looks like an axe almost.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, resting her elbow on the table. “Anythig else?”

You giggle. “Oh, that one sort of looks like a mushroom! It’s cute.”

Your ears tune in to a conversation that Agatha is having. You’re not one to eavesdrop, but your wife is also not one to be quiet. 

“You think I should?” she asks.

Rio, who sits beside Agatha, is in your eyeline and you make eye contact. Her eyes drift back to Agatha and she leans back in her chair, shrugging. “Yeah, why not? She’s ready.”

You sit up straight as a board, fingers tightening around the teacup as Agatha turns to face you. She’s so non-chalant about it, as if she’s the one who brought it up first, as if she wasn’t rejecting your every effort to learn this spell.

“What d’you say, hon?” she grins. “You want me to teach you that spell you’ve been begging to learn?”

“Are you serious?” you mutter, and your tone is anything but excited. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “I think it’s high time you learn.”

You take shallow breaths and you have to set the teacup down so as to not break it. “Are you fucking se–?” You cut yourself off and stand up abruptly. “Everybody out!” you snap. “Now! Everybody get out!”

As the coven rushes out of the house, Agatha sits back in her chair at the table, confused. “What’s the matter?”

You close your eyes and take a deep, steadying breath. “Are you fucking serious?”

“About?” Agatha says expectedly. 

“About the fucking spell, Agatha!” you shout. “I’ve been begging you to teach me it for months!”

Agatha stands up. “And now I’m teaching it to you!”

“Oh, my gods!” You start ridding the table of used dishes–tea cups and kettles, china plates and crystal glasses–and bring them to the sink. “You really don’t see what I mean?”

Agatha’s jaw drops and she rolls her eyes, “I guess I don’t!”

The dishes fall into the sink with a loud clatter. “Agatha, you didn’t take it into consideration until Rio put in her two cents!”

“Rio is the original Green Witch!” Agatha shoots back.

“Rio is your ex-wife, who you take more seriously than your current wife!”

Agatha scoffs, “Okay, well what about you and Lilia, huh? You’ve been consulting her a lot!”

“Lilia is mentoring me in divination,” you retort. “Lilia has more sense than this entire coven combined! I asked you so many times! And each time you said I wasn’t ready!”

“Well, can you blame me?” she yells. “You’re not even a hu–!”

You hate that your anger rises with tears. Your throat is tight and your eyes burn. “Yes, I can blame you! Since the first day we met, I’ve shown nothing but willingness to learn, Agatha!”

You stomp through the kitchen as you put every herb and spell ingredient back into its proper spot. “Don’t you think I know when I’m ready? I don’t need your ex-wife telling us when I’m ready to learn something that I’ve been wanting to for months!”

“It’s a complicated spell!” Agatha shouts. “How am I supposed to know that you’re ready f–?”

“By trusting me!” you cry. “By being patient! By helping me as we go along, because that’s what we do! We’re married! We help each other!” You’re now in a standoff with each other in the middle of the kitchen. “We’re part of a coven! We’re supposed to help expand our practices! We’re supposed to support each other! Help me grow, Agatha! As my friend, as my partner in the craft, as my wife! I want your support!”

She doesn’t say a word. You scoff and brush past her, hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. In your ensuite bathroom, you collect her nighttime routine items. You stop in the bedroom when you see Agatha standing there.

“What are you doing?” she huffs.

“It’s not what I’m doing,” you say. “It’s what you’re doing. And you’re sleeping in the guest room tonight.” 

“Excuse me?”

You force the items into her grasp. “Yeah, here. Tooth brush, hair brush, facial shit, you can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

Her eyes are wide and her jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious, Agatha!” you snap, digging through your dresser for pajamas. “Until you can get your head out of your ass and start supporting me, you can sleep in the guest room.”

“Get my head out of my–?” Agatha stops herself and huffs. “Alright, fine. You want me to sleep in the guest room tonight, I will.”

You hate how quiet it is after she slams the door. You hate how empty the bathroom sink is without her stuff cluttering it. You hate getting into bed and not being met with her open arms pulling you in close. You hate this feeling.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. You reach for your phone and when you check the time it reads 10:22. With a heavy sigh, you turn over, bundling yourself in the duvet and closing your eyes.

It’s going to be a very long night.

When your eyes open again, it’s still dark out. You hate this feeling. You hate that you can’t sleep properly without Agatha beside you–even if she does snore, and even if she does kick you in her sleep. 

You’re supposed to be mad at her, and now you’re regretting your reaction. Now, you’re silently begging that she comes in and crawls back into bed without a word.

But that doesn’t happen. 

Instead, the sun rises and you eventually pull yourself out of bed. You’re the first one downstairs, which is unsurprising–Agatha’s never been a morning person. Part of you hopes that her night was just as rough and long as yours.

At nine, you’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you see her again. It’s awkward and unbearably thick with tension.

“Morning,” she mumbles, her jaw tight.

You respond the same, your voice clipped as you finish your morning routine. “I’m going grocery shopping. Is there anything you need that’s not on the list?” you ask, and this time your voice is even and somewhat civil.

“Well, how do I know?” Agatha sighs. “It’s not like you let me touch the list, sweetheart.”

The ‘sweetheart’ is filled with a sour taste that makes you seeth. “Because you always lose the list! The last time I sent you to the grocery store with the list you dropped it in a puddle!”

“That wasn’t my fault!” she snaps as she turns on the shower. “That car almost hit m–!”

“Oh, my gods, I’m not doing this at nine in the morning!” you groan. “If you want something from the store you can get it yourself.”

There aren’t many instances where Agatha has felt remorse. When the bathroom door slams shut–and the front door–an uncomfortable feeling sits in the pit of her stomach. Guilt perhaps? Dread? Fear? 

The last thing she wants to do is lose you over an argument like this, but her pride bears down and the only thing she wants is to win this argument. And she hates it. She hates it so much.

She hates how she is.

She doesn’t know why she is the way she is, but regardless, she hates it.

Most of her shower is spent just standing under the water. No shampoo, no conditioner, no soap, just standing there. Thinking.

Thinking about your words, and how you really are an eager learner. Thinking about all the times she’s consulted Rio instead of you during important decisions. Thinking about your relationship and the foundation it was built on.

She killed your original coven. She’s the reason you had no choice but to stick with her. Because she killed your family.

Yet you somehow have never held it against her. Never condemned her for it. No, instead you accepted her willingness–albeit reluctant–to teach you. You listened to her instructions, her teachings, every piece of advice she had to give you–no matter how convoluted. 

And more importantly, you loved her. You loved her when everyone else said she was unlovable. You stuck by her, not for the benefit of learning to harness your powers, but because you genuinely liked her.

She knows how smart you are. She knows how capable you are of this. She doesn’t know how she let this happen.

Agatha hangs her head, hands rubbing over her face in exhaustion. She wasn’t met with a single wink of sleep last night.

The day is quiet, and not in the peaceful Sunday afternoon way. You put away the groceries in silence–far different from the usual conversation of what you’d be making for dinner. You wash the dishes and clean the kitchen, and then Agatha stands there awkwardly, not knowing if she should speak.

“I’m going out for a couple hours, so I–”

“With Rio?” you interrupt, voice tight with frustration as you focus on the dishes in the sink.

Agatha huffs. “No, not with Rio.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “I trust you.”

And she knows that’s a jibe at her, but instead of fighting back, she sighs. “I’ll be back before five.”

She didn’t think it would come to this, and quite frankly, she didn’t want it to come to this. But here she is, stepping through the frosted glass door of a cafe. And in the back, sitting in a small booth is Jen.

Agatha closes her eyes and sighs before making her way to the table. When she sits down, Jen wears a smug grin. 

“Trouble in paradise?” 

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Gods, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Jen crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. “Alright, so tell me. Why did she flip during the meeting and kick us all out?”

“I don’t know,” Agatha huffs.

“Agatha, I know we have our…disagreements,” Jen says. “But you’re not stupid. And neither is she. Why did she freak out?”

“She said that I don’t support her,” Agatha sighs. “And that I trust Rio more than her.”

“Well, do you?” Jen asks, raising a brow.

“I don’t know,” Agatha groans. “Maybe? No. I just…I don’t know…I guess I just don’t want to burden her with my problems, so I go to Rio instead…”

“Yeah, you’ve been burdening her for centuries,” Jen snickers.

Agatha flashes a warning look before taking a deep breath. “I worry about her so much already. The last thing I want to do is lay all my problems on her.”

“You two are married,” Jen says, taking a sip of her latte. “You’re supposed to lean on each other. Does she go to you with her problems?”

“Yeah,” Agatha shrugs.

“And do you feel burdened by them?” 

Agatha sighs, “No. I’d never feel burdened by h–”

“Exactly,” Jen interrupts. “I’m sure you do trust her–”

“I do.”

“I’m sure you do trust her,” Jen continues, “but even subconsciously, there could be a layer of yourself that you don’t trust her to handle.”

Agatha leans on the table, chin supported by her hand. She sighs, almost like she’s bored of the conversation. “I guess…yeah…maybe that’s a possibility. I don’t know why she doesn’t think I support her, though. I’m plenty supportive.”

“Well, from what she’s told me, it doesn’t sound like you’re supportive in all aspects of her life.”

“Excuse me?” Agatha snaps. “What has she told you?”

“She told me that you wouldn’t teach her the spell that you created,” Jen says simply. “Why not?”

Agatha huffs. “Because it’s my spell!” 

“Oh, so you’re not letting your wife–the love of your life–learn this protection spell because you just don’t want to?” Jen concludes. “Okay, sounds about right.”

Agatha groans in frustration. “Jesus Christ! I don’t know, Jen! It’s a complicated spell, she’s not–I just–Ugh!”

Jen narrows her eyes. “You don’t like being vulnerable, that’s why.”

“I–!”

“No,” Jen cuts her off. “Let me finish.” Agatha slumps down in her seat as Jen continues, almost smug as she reads Agatha. “You don’t like being vulnerable. Not one bit. Not even with the people you love. By creating your own protection spell, you’re giving yourself the upper-hand. You’re giving yourself strength–you’re the one protecting her.”

Jen sips her latte before setting it down gracefully and leaning in. “But by teaching her the protection spell, that gives her the upper-hand. Her casting the spell gives her the strength. If you teach her the spell…you become the vulnerable one.”

Agatha scoffs. “That is not–”

“So you went to Rio for permission,” Jen says.

“Permission?” Agatha repeats.

Jen nods. “Permission to be vulnerable. Even if you didn’t realize it, Rio was once your only lifeline–ironically. You went to her for everything. She let you be vulnerable. So now, your subconscious leans toward her when something serious happens–your ex-wife instead of your current wife. She’s not the one who isn’t ready–you are.”

She ignores Agatha’s eye rolling and continues. “Of course she’s not going to feel like you support her. How can you support her when you don’t trust her? Trust needs to be mutual, Agatha. Stop going to Rio for your problems and start going to your wife. You’re there to help each other grow.”

Agatha glares at Jen. Deep, deep down she knows Jen’s right. And she hates it.

“I see you dropped midwifery and picked up a psychology textbook.” She stands up quickly, clearly annoyed by Jen’s words. “I’ll see you at the next coven meeting.”

Agatha lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. That same dreadful feeling sits in the pit of her stomach again. She thinks back to Jen’s words, replaying them over and over again.

She thinks about the vulnerability you’ve shown her. The times where you’ve been at your weakest and weren’t afraid to show her. It wouldn’t kill her to do the same–maybe. She could always see, and if she’s being honest, this moment might be the best time for that first step.

Because she can’t sleep without you.

And the only way she can describe how she feels right now is…vulnerable. 

She feels like a child. Why can’t she sleep on her own? Why does she need you in order to get a good night’s rest? She hates it. She hates all of it. 

For the past thirty hours, she was convinced the anger she felt was towards you.

But it’s not. This is a deep seated anger. This anger has been lingering for centuries. This anger is at no one but herself.

So, Agatha pushes back the duvet and slowly gets out of bed. She almost has to force herself to open the door. She pads quietly across the hall and hesitates as she opens the door to your shared bedroom.

Your side of the bed faces the door, and when she finally opens it, she’s met with your curled up figure–wide awake with puffy eyes.

Agatha shuts the door behind her and rounds the bed, but she doesn’t climb in. She stands there, hesitant and awkward. 

Finally, she huffs, frustrated with herself. “I can’t sleep…without you.”

“Me either,” you grumble.

“Can I come back?”

Your jaw is tense as you turn over and face her side of the bed. “Okay…but I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” she sighs, climbing beneath the duvet.

“Good.”

Neither of you touch. Neither of you dare to move an inch. 

You close your eyes, but Agatha remains wide awake, facing you. Her voice comes out quiet, barely above a whisper.

“I hate…being…vulnerable.”

You open your eyes, heavy with exhaustion. “Yeah, I know,” you mumble.

“No, I mean…” Agatha huffs, trying to explain herself. “That’s why I didn’t want to teach you the spell. Because that means you’d be…protecting me…and…that makes me…vulnerable…”

“You met with Jen today didn’t you,” you say, grinning at her sleepily. 

Agatha sighs. “I did–and never again.”

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable, Agatha,” you mutter. “How are we supposed to trust each other if we don’t let one another in?”

“That’s exactly what Jen said,” she grumbles. 

You hum. “Well, she’s right. It won’t kill you to let me help. I want to help.”

“I don’t wanna worry you, though,” she mutters, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Agatha, I’m your wife,” you sigh. “I’m going to worry about you regardless. At least this way I know what to worry about and how to help.”

It’s quiet for a moment in the dark room. The two of you lay beneath the duvet, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth.

“You know I love you, right?” Agatha murmurs.

You smile softly. “I do. I love you too.”

“I hate that I do this,” she says. “I shut you out and I don’t even realize it. Jen had to tell me. Jen, of all people.”

You sigh, “I just want you to be here, Agatha. You’re not a burden to me. No problem you have is too heavy on my shoulders. If you really don’t want to teach me the spell, you don’t have to. But if you don’t want to teach it to me because you’re scared of losing control…” 

Your hand reaches up, brushing over her cheek softly. “I looked after you all three years that you were under Wanda’s spell. You’re allowed to give up the reins every now and then. I can take it, I promise.”

The kiss that follows is soft, but it’s filled with every unspoken apology and makes up for the past two days. She pulls you in close, leg locking over top of yours. The kiss deepens quickly and you can feel beneath your thumb, a tear slip from Agatha’s eye. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“For what?” you mutter.

You can see her lip tremble as she takes in a slow breath. “I don’t know…everything? Taking care of me when I didn’t even know who you were, for starters.” Agatha lets out a quiet hum, and even though her lips curl at the edges, there’s nothing humorous in her words. “For letting me in, and trusting me, even though I haven’t done the same. Everything you’ve done for me that I haven’t acknowledged, thank you.”

You smile softly, searching her eyes and softly stroking her cheek with your thumb. “You’re welcome…You actually went to Jen?” you ask suddenly.

Agatha’s eyes close and she rolls onto her back, groaning as you giggle quietly. “Yes, I went to Jen. She psychoanalyzed me the whole time.” Agatha looks down at you–face buried in her neck, one arm curled into you, the other draped over her torso, and your eyes already closed. “Don’t tell her, but I’m glad I did.”

“I’m telling her that when we get lunch tomorrow,” you mumble, just on the verge of dozing off. 

A kiss is pressed to your hairline and she sighs deeply, smiling. “I’m sure you will…I love you.”

And she’s met only with a quiet snore.

[dandelions4us]

heaving, someone get me a inhaler 😩

Established Jealousy

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2025 - Day 1: Jealousy

Summary: Agatha comes home to find Rio two knuckles deep in you. She isn’t impressed.

Tags: Established polyamory, grinding, fingering, oral, orgasm denial, voyeurism, magical bondage, Mistress Agatha, Sir Rio, Sub Reader

She/her pronouns used for Reader. Pet names - love, pet

Words: 2,464

Authors note: Happy Agatha all along week!! Please enjoy my humble offering

ao3 | masterlist

You gaze aimlessly out the window as you lay on the bed. Agatha is away doing one of her more elaborate traps, apparently she found a particularly powerful witch who has been keeping herself successfully under the radar for decades. You’re bored out of your mind. Your own fault for saying you wanted to stay home instead of joining her in her latest feeding, but at the time all you had wanted was to stay snuggled in bed. Three days later and you miss your wife. You’re also pouting just a little at not getting to watch her siphon. She’s as captivating as the first time you watched her siphoned someone.

A pressure begins building outside and you frown. It’s the usual feeling of someone with immense magical power who isn’t hiding it but it most definitely isn’t Agatha. It only takes you a few more moments to place who the power is emanating from. Rio.

You sit up eagerly. You’d recognise her presence anywhere. She rises from the beds shadow and you grin at her. She’s never been one for doors (except when she’s pissed off Agatha). You take her in eagerly. She’s in one of her slightly more modern outfits with a green jacket and thin vines snaking along her pants. A smile stretches wide across her face. She’s in one of her giddy moods.

“Love!” she exclaims and squishes your cheeks between her hands. “How’s my littlest love been these long days I’ve been away?”

Rio had taken to calling you little the moment she learnt how young you are compared to Agatha, which is centuries. 

“Good,” you say, your words slightly distorted due to your cheeks being squished. “Missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you,” she places a quick peck on your forcibly puckered lips before asking, “And where is our sweetheart?”

Her grips lessen as she looks around. You can feel her reach out with her magic. She would’ve sensed if Agatha were home long before she got here but it’s still cute to watch her double check.

“Off siphoning a coven,” you say. “She should be home in a day or so.”

“Perfect,” Rio murmurs and pulls you in for a kiss.

It’s not her usual response to Agatha being away but you’re too distracted by her soft lips to question it. You happily lean into her, your hands creeping under her jacket and then up her shirt to feel her cool skin. You try to pull her closer but she pushes you back instead. You follow her lead and lay down, wrapping your legs eagerly around her hips when she climbs between them. 

Agatha hasn’t technically forbidden you from touching yourself this time but she’d been so intent on outsmarting the latest witch it might have slipped her mind. Or she purposely said nothing so she had someone to punish while on a big siphoning high.

Either idea excites you. If she genuinely forgot and you’ve behaved, the reward will be mind-blowing. If she did it on purpose, she’ll trick you into breaking a rule before punishing you stupid. Either way, you’re needy and have no intention of stopping Rio.

She’s quick to remove your shirt and grope your chest, her lips never far from your own. She plays with your chest until you’re grinding up against her in need. She rips your pants and underwear off instead of taking the time to remove them. Her fingers find you soaked and she growls. You gasp into her mouth as her wet fingers circle your clit. Rio pulls back just far enough to watch your face as her hand dips lower and she pushes two fingers slowly into you. You mewl when she’s two knuckles deep. She always makes you feel fuller than she should.

Movement catches the corner of your eye and you turn your head. Agatha stands in the doorway, power pulses off of her. She’s fresh from a feeding and ready to burn off the euphoria. She also looks less than impressed.

“Is two days all it takes for my pet to get desperate enough to start humping someone else?”

Your hands tighten on Rio’s shoulders. You’ve always found Agatha’s ability to get jealous about you and Rio more than a little amusing. It’s best not to push her but fuck when she greets you like this you want to do it all the time.

“A bit past humping,” you say.

Rio punishes your cheek with a curl of her fingers. You whimper.

“Only having a taste, sweetheart,” Rio says like she isn’t deep inside of you.

“Three fingers is hardly a taste,” Agatha scoffs. “No doubt you were planning to devour her until I interrupted.”

“I’ll show you exactly how far I was planning to go,” Rio says.

A threat, a promise and a goad all in one. Agatha’s eyes trail your limp form as she considers this, or considers how she’ll stop Rio. 

She’s a vision. Her pupils are blown, her hair thicker from the crackling magic in the air and she’s in her witch robes. You can feel the magic pulsing off of her. You want to taste it on your tongue. She gestures for Rio to continue.

Rio starts pumping her fingers again. Your hips lift to meet her thrusts but you can’t look away from Agatha. She draws closer without taking her eyes away from where Rio’s fingers disappear inside of you. Having her eyes on you makes the pressure build even faster. Rio swipes your clit and your nails dig into the soft leather of her jacket, your mouth falling open as you pant.

Agatha finally looks at you. “Are you getting close?”

Agatha is always aware of how close you are. It’s like she has a sixth sense for it. But you nod anyway. There’s no need to get in even more trouble. If you’re in trouble at all? It’s hard to tell when she’s like this. Rio continues to lightly play with your clit as she thrusts into you.

You’re moments away from tipping over the edge when she pulls away. Her wet hand moves to your hip to hold you down as you whine and squirm in protest. Your hips desperately searching for the slightest bit of friction to send you over the edge.

“I see,” Agatha says, “And how many times were you planning to deny the poor thing?”

Poor thing. That has to mean she’s feeling merciful, right?

“Until you came home,” Rio says.

You whimper at the idea. Agatha is home two days early. The amount of times Rio could have edged you would’ve driven you insane. Agatha’s eyes darken and she licks her lips. She likes the idea.

“Don’t let me stop you,” she says, in a way that shows she’s still slightly agitated.

“Mistress—” you try to beg but she waves her hand and the connection between your mouth and brain is gone. It’s rare that she doesn’t allow you to make any noise and the whine that escapes you proves she still wants to hear how desperate you are.

“My love,” Rio says, voice soothing. “I only wanted for you to come home to an incredibly desperate pet.”

“She gets plenty desperate from my absence,” Agatha says with a tight jaw.

“As desperate as this?” Rio pointedly runs her fingers through your soaked folds.

She gathers your wetness and lifts her fingers to show Agatha. The humiliation goes straight to your clit. Your legs unconsciously close tight around Rio in an attempt to get even a bit of pressure on your aching centre.

“If she’s been naughty.”

“Does listening to her Sir make her naughty?” 

Agatha steps close enough to grab Rio’s chin in a tight grip. You can see her sharp nails digging in.

“Yes, when her Sir is also being naughty.”

You’re definitely in trouble then. The way Rio is looking at Agatha tells you she isn’t going to be any help. The borderline worship on her face means she’s in the mood for obedience, despite how she started this play. Which means she won’t allow you to come purely to piss Agatha off.

“Tell me to stop fucking her and I will.”

Agatha scoffs and shoves Rio’s head to the side. “Antagonistic as ever.”

“Whatever helps to keep you entertained.”

“What will entertain me most is my pet spread out below me,” Agatha says.

Rio huffs a laugh and climbs to lay by your side. She has to force your legs to let her go. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” Rio gestures to you. It’s an effort not to squeeze your thighs together. Agatha gives Rio a long look. There’s no doubt some mild mischief on the way and Rio actions are verging on a command. Purple wraps around Rio’s wrists and yanks. She goes from lounging on her side to stretched out. She laughs again. She doesn’t fight the hold.

Agatha straddles you, still in her witch robes. It glides against your bare skin. The magic still rolls off of her. You shiver.

Please, Mistress, you beg. There’s no way to know if Agatha is currently in your mind or if she knows what you want from your expression.

“Does the naughty pet think she can ask for things?”

No. You don’t stop your pleading look. Agatha snorts and flicks her wrist. Her robes disappear. Electricity races where she touches you, the magic jumping from her skin. You arch into the feeling. Agatha’s purple forces you back down.

Her cold hands trail over your skin, her eyes admiring the effect Rio has on you. Her hands dip lower and you tense in anticipation. Her hands stop just below your waist. You try not to pout. Based on Agatha’s crinkled brows you fail. Agatha stays perfectly still and it takes you all of a second to realise it’s not a tease. Neither of you had been paying attention to Rio. A mistake. 

“Rio,” Agatha snarls.

“She’s spread out below you, isn’t she?” Rio asks smugly. Her fingers sneak below Agatha’s just to show she can before moving behind to reach where you’re aching. She traces patterns just above your twitching clit. 

Agatha’s magic sparks but it’s quickly swallowed by Rio’s green. The purple around your wrists is replaced by green that dances up and down your arms.

You hadn’t been expecting Rio to merely give in to Agatha’s commands, you all know that Agatha finds a fight much more entertaining than easy submission, but you’ve never seen her freeze Agatha like this before.

Rio’s fingers find your clit and you stop thinking about it. Agatha will slowly undo the spell Rio used whether you figure it out or not. You want to enjoy Rio’s hands before Agatha forces her to stop.

Rio runs light, teasing circles around your clit. You try to press closer but you can’t move far with Agatha on top of you. You feel Agatha’s eyes burn into you. The way they trace your face, your heaving chest, where Rio’s fingers play with you. You should probably do something to stop Rio, or at the very least resist, so Agatha doesn’t punish you for it later but what can you do against a cosmic being?

Rio buries her fingers inside of you and you moan. She keeps fucking you and you think she’s actually going to let you come. Then she stills. You whimper and whine and try to fuck yourself onto them but her magic presses you down. She won’t let you come until she decides that you can. Or until Agatha takes over. 

You notice a warm, wet feeling against your stomach and you look down. Agatha is wet. Rio follows your gaze and smiles slowly.

“Someone’s enjoying herself,” she says.

“Well it’s certainly not our pet,” Agatha says waspishly.

“We both know she loves the torture.” Agatha doesn’t say anything so Rio continues. “Why don’t we help you out a bit, hm?” Rio turns to you. “You want to make your mistress feel good, right pet?”

You nod eagerly. The caressing magic around your arms seeps into your skin. Your arms move without your say. Your hands land on Agatha’s hips and tighten. You watch with wide eyes as you move Agatha’s hips to grind against you.

Agatha looks furious but there’s no hiding the way her wetness grows. Rio’s fingers start moving again and your hands grip Agatha’s hips tight enough to bruise. Thankfully, Rio’s spell keeps your arms moving. Your ability to set a regularly pace is rapidly disappearing under her fingers and Agatha might’ve killed you for it.

There’s not enough friction for her to come but her breathing gets heavier and her face begins to flush. You watch, captivated even as your own orgasm grows.

Heat rises. You know the pleasure is going to end in another edge but you sink into it anyway. It feels too good to resist. You still writhe and squirm and whine when Rio pulls away. It doesn’t sway her.

You thought the heat was from your own rising orgasm. It’s only as it slips away that you realise that it’s coming from Agatha. Her magic radiates warmth as it undoes Rio’s spell.

The furnace turns into a roaring fire and Agatha breaks free. Rio is pinned to the bed by her neck in a second, Agatha’s snarling face inches from her own. Rio’s pupils are blown.

“You think you’re so clever,” Agatha snarls.

“Not as clever as you,” Rio says.

Agatha falters for a moment at the frank honesty, but only for a moment. “You’re not going to be able to walk by the time I’m done with you.”

“As fun as that will be, isn’t there someone else needing your attention?” Rio’s eyes flicker to you. You try to look as pathetic as possible. Agatha grinds her teeth.

“Make it up to me,” she commands Rio. Sir turns to you.

“You want to come?” Sir asks. You nod eagerly. “Then eat out your mistress.”

You try to push yourself up but your shaking arms give out. Agatha snorts and pushes you onto your back.

“Hold your tongue out,” she commands as she climbs on top of you. You obey and watch with eager eyes as she moves above your face. “Don’t move,” Agatha warns. You wouldn’t dare. Her taste fills you as she grinds against your face. You fall into a haze of her smell and taste as she uses you. 

Agatha is halfway to orgasm when you feel Rio’s hands creeping back up your thighs. She’s cruel enough to tease you before slipping two fingers back inside. Nothing feels better than this. Than being surrounded and consumed by them.

“Come for your owners,” Rio says.

You arch into their embrace.

[dandelions4us]

im sat 🫢

Bent Over

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: joining in on Agatha and Rio's special brand of foreplay is just like flipping a coin

Tags:  breeding kink, dubcon, strap referred to as cock, biting, light scratching, manhandling, slight boot humping, light degradation,  implied pain kink, oral, overstimulation, Sir Rio, Mistress Agatha, switch Rio, mommy Agatha, toy Reader, pet names - good girl, dirty girl, pet

She/her pronouns used to refer to R (sorry it’s not the usual they/them I was leaning diff when writing)

Words: 3,783

masterlist | ao3

Authors note: fr wish the world would stop kicking me in my nonexistent balls but at least this one shot is finally here! Ignore the placeholder name that stuck ahshdjdjd I lowkey like it now. Also, this is the witches road Rio, not soft baby or crashing out Rio.

Note: Agatha much prefers having the most power at any moment than winning. Rio’s referring to one specific event to get under Agatha’s skin 💞

You trail in curiously after Rio. She stalked to Agatha’s office with the clear intention to bother her. Something that will either end really well or really badly for you.

Rio has Agatha’s attention instantly but she decides to play it oblivious. Like the tension in the room isn’t rising by the second. Rio prowls around the walls of the room, pretending to look at the artefacts scattered about the shelves. You linger by the door, just in case this turns into a genuine fight and not the foreplay you’re expecting.

Rio knocks an intricate…statue thing off the shelf. You have no idea what is it but it shatters when it hits the ground. You wish you knew. Its importance would tell you which end on the fight-foreplay spectrum they’re currently dancing in.

“Is there something you needed?” Agatha asks, sounding very unimpressed.

“You couldn’t tell?”

“No. I assumed Death, a cosmic entity, would be capable of using her words when she wants something.”

“I much prefer using my tongue.”

“That is what you use to make words, dear,” she says before she concedes, “In this form, anyway.”

Rio flashes her skull face and you swallow. It’s been a while since you’ve played in that form and the tease has you clenching your thighs together.

“Is there a reason why you’ve come to bother me?” Agatha asks.

“I’m not allowed to spend time with my dearest love?” Rio finally prowls towards Agatha’s desk.

“Don’t be rude,” Agatha tsks and flicks her fingers at you.

Rio turns slowly to look at you. You stay very still. She crooks a finger and you cautiously approach her. If she didn’t want you in the room you wouldn’t be.

She gently cups your face in her hands and it’s more nerve wracking than comforting. She studies your expression as she scans your face.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

It’s not said with the mocking sympathy that would come from Agatha in this situation. Your eyes flicker towards her but Rio is too close for you to see past her.

“No,” you say simply.

She gives you another considering look. You wonder how much your emotions differ from Agatha and if Rio finds it hard to understand your own. You reach up to cradle her wrist but you barely move before you find yourself on Agatha’s desk. It happens so fast you don’t have time to catch yourself.  Rio’s claws land between your shoulder blades and slams you down. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, although the shock of the impact still flows through you.

“Play nice,” Agatha admonishes like she has a leg to stand on when it comes to that. 

“Did I hurt you?” Rio asks curiously.

You’re still too stunned to respond.

“Probably,” Agatha answers for you. “I’m sure there’s some lovely bruises forming.”

Rio’s hands lightly run down your sides and you know she’s picturing the marks she’s creating. Purple flares and she doesn’t have to imagine. The polished wood of Agatha’s desk is cool against your skin and start in surprise.

You look up at Agatha to see her dark eyes already on you. It’s too early for you to be pleading but you know your face is already giving you away.

“Rio, why don’t we try what we talked about earlier,” Agatha says, lounging back in her chair.

Rio’s nails dig into your skin. You don’t know what she’s talking about but you know exactly what expression Rio has on her face. A wolf standing at attention, about to snap its teeth.

“Since you want to so badly,” Agatha says in a way you know in digs at Rio.

A moment you see often in the middle of their games.

“Are you sure, Agatha?” Rio asks.

The rest of your clothes disappear.

“Ca- “ your mouth clicks shut without your permission.

It’ll be more of a toy night than a participant night it seems. 

Something hard nudges your entrance and you shiver. It’s all the warning you get before Rio sheathes herself inside of you in one go. You gasp and relish the way Agatha’s eyes snap down to you. She licks her lips and your eyelids droop as Rio does it again. 

“We both know how much you like to be first,” Rio continues to goad as she slowly pulls out before thrusting all the way back in.

You don’t know what they’re talking about, you rarely do in these moments, and Rio scratching her nails down your back distracts you from that vague curiosity. The fresh sting has you arching. It doesn’t draw Agatha’s eye this time. She’s too deep into her game with Rio to give in. Knowing this doesn’t stop a little part of you pouting.

You squirm on Rio’s cock instead of listening to their next set of jibes. They only make sense to you when one of them knows it will get to the other. As hot as their foreplay is, it can take so long. Too focused on your throbbing cunt, you don’t think about the consequences as you whine and kick out. 

Their attention instantly snaps to you and you freeze. The feeling of being a rabbit caught in a wolf den creeps up on you. Agatha’s face turns into a fake pout that has you shivering. 

“Is someone feeling left out?” she asks and you hurriedly shake your head but it’s too late. 

Rio’s threads her fingers through your hair, grips firmly and forces your head down. You whimper. It’s impossible to survive the two of them.

“We don’t want that,” Rio says with a grin you can hear.

Agatha is about to give her exactly what she wants. No consequences. All because you couldn’t wait a little longer. You can’t even try to apologise. Agatha will only act oblivious.

“I just want to know what you’re talking about,” you try.

Sometimes playing their game works in your favour, even if you always lose. This time, it only seems to amuse Agatha more.

“Poor thing doesn’t even know what they risk every time you fuck her,” Agatha says to Rio. 

She drinks in your confused expression.

“It’s not surprising,” Rio says as she plays with the fresh scratches down your back. “Her confused little face is what drew you to her in the first place.”

Agatha’s head tilts slightly as she gives you a considering look.

“Rio is a cosmic entity, dear,” she  reminds you like you aren’t well aware of that whenever Rio’s does…anything, but especially when she’s inside of you. “And we are witches. We aren’t restricted by the usual limitations when it comes to death. Or life,” she quirks her brow.

You suddenly become very aware of how vulnerable you are.

“You mean she can…?”

Agatha’s smirk answers the question for you. 

Hot breath skates along the back of your neck before Rio growls lowly. Instinct has you freezing again. She noses at the delicate skin of your neck. You aren’t naive enough to think it’s a comforting motion.

“Yes,” Agatha says simply.

“I -” is all you get out before Rio’s sharp teeth sink into your shoulder. The ache is a familiar pain, one you know will soon turn to pleasure, yet you still instinctively cry out, bucking. 

Rio has too tight of a hold. She’s going to- is all you can think before her cock is sinking back inside of you. She doesn’t do the teasing pace of before and her cock stretches you open with every thrust.

“Please,” you gasp, “I don’t want- “

“Yes, you do,” Agatha says with all the confidence in the world. “It’s easy to see into your head, hon. You want to be owned. Completely. Something we’re well equipped to do.”

All you can manage is a pathetic whine. She’s never said it so plainly before. Rio is groaning against your back in a way that tells you she’s close. It only makes you clench tighter. Her claws dig into your skin as she holds you still, controlling every movement as she fills you over and over again. You can’t look away from Agatha. The only thing that gives away how much this is effecting her is her slightly heavier breathing. She has that self-satisfied smirk that drives you crazy. 

“Take it like a good pet,” Agatha says and Rio stills inside of you.

You swear you feel something warm flood you as she groans above you. Her teeth find a new spot to dig into. Heat floods through you and it’s all you can do to hold onto the desk as you come. Your eyes shut as you arch but you can still feel Agatha’s gaze searing into you. Your orgasm ends in a whimper. Rio doesn’t release her teeth until you go limp. With a satisfied growl she lets go of you.

“Feel better?” Agatha asks, now lounging back casually as she watches Rio.

“Not yet,” Rio says as her hands travel down to grope your ass. She’s still inside of you.

“Don’t be greedy,”Agatha says.

“I’m not. There’s no saying whether it’s taken yet.”

“Death itself can’t guarantee it on the first go?” Agatha’s voice is almost mocking.

“Not when she wants another round,” Rio says in a voice that tells you she’s wearing a sharp grin. 

You grind back against her, wanting nothing more than to feel like that again. Nothing more except with the taste of Agatha in your mouth too. Agatha clicks her tongue.

“If you can’t get it right the first time then it’s my turn,” she says.

“Oh? Didn’t you say this is something only Death can do?”

“I am a witch, dear,” Agatha says.

As hot as you find this, you wish they’d stop in favour of getting back to the fucking you part. 

“You’ll have to take her,” Rio says.

Agatha raises an eyebrow.

“Give her to me and I’ll suck you off,” Agatha says.

You can feel the way Rio twitches. Agatha is offering something that is usually hard won, yet Rio sees saying yes as a kind of losing.

“Sir -”

Agatha grips your shoulder and digs her thumb into one of your fresh bite marks before you can continue. Your words turn into a strangled whimper. You don’t risk begging to her instead. 

The pressure lessens when you stay quiet but Agatha doesn’t pull away. That combined with the sting of Rio’s claws has you unconsciously grinding back on Rio. It’s probably lessening your chance of Agatha fucking you full, but you’re full now and that’s all you can concentrate on.

Rio grinds her hips forward and Agatha’s hand snaps out to grip her chin. Rio stills and you can’t help the whine that escapes you. They both ignore you.

“Fuck her again and I won’t touch you for a week,” Agatha warns in a low voice.

You swear you hear Rio swallow. Her claws retreating tell you she’s given in. A second later the world tilts and you find yourself on your knees in front of Agatha. You stare up at her with wide eyes. Her pupils are blown and her hair is that slightly messy it always gets when she’s worked up. The wonders of magic. You want to run your hands through it.

You’re distracted from the thought by something dripping down your thigh and you pray Agatha can’t see it from this angle. Her boot lifting to nudge your thigh tells you otherwise.

“Dirty girl,” she murmurs before tilting her boot higher.

You twitch when it touches your sensitive core but don’t dare move otherwise. You want her to touch you, or to touch her. If she’s in an ultimatum kind of mood than complete obedience is the only way to get what you want. Her smile stretches wider and she presses harder. Pleasure sings up your spine. You’re trembling but you manage to resist the urge to grind down. Remembering her reaction when you tried to use words earlier, you beg with your eyes instead.

“Good girl,” she says and you shiver. She sits back down and spreads her legs. “Eat me out and I’ll think about rewarding you.”

You’re crawling forward before her pants are off. You run your hands up her thighs a second before they disappear. She allows the contact and you follow the trail with you nose, taking a deep breath when you hit her soaked folds. Surprisingly, she doesn’t move a hand to your hair like usual. You take the opportunity to suck a dark mark into her thigh, hoping Rio’s reaction to it will lean more towards fucking you than the punishing she is prone to. Not wanting to risk either of them pulling you away from your prize, you find Agatha’s clit with your tongue the second you’re done. You lick firm circles around it and she groans.

“I thought I was the one getting head,” Rio says, closer now.

“Don’t pout, sweetheart, it doesn’t suit you,” Agatha says.

“That isn’t what you said the last time I was on my knees,” Rio says.

Your pace stutters and Agatha laughs lowly. She threads her hand through your hair when you’re too overwhelmed by the image to remember to continue. You don’t need more than a slight push forward before you swiping your tongue over her clit again. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees now? I might change my mind again,” Agatha says.

You barely resist the urge to turn around. Agatha and Rio have the most fun in a power struggle so you’ve seen them in all kinds of roles and positions. You’ve even seen them kneel for each other. But it have Rio kneel beside you is something you’ve never experienced. You aren’t apart of the power struggle, although you’re usually used within it. You’re always firmly below at least one of them. Nether have subbed beside you. You clench your thighs together and try to distract yourself by moving lower. Dipping your tongue teasingly into Agatha, you wait for her tight grip to guide you further. She instantly pushes you closer and you eagerly comply.

It’s enough to distract you that you don’t notice the warmth of another body until it’s brushing against you. You freeze but Agatha’s nails dig in warningly. You move your focus back to her clit to try and disguise your distraction. For the very first time you don’t want to spend the next six hours eating Agatha out and you debate using your fingers without explicit permission.

You can’t see Rio but you can feel her slowly lean against you, which means she’s also leaning against Agatha’s leg. It takes you a moment to realise she’s resting her head against Agatha’s thigh. You imagine the look of Rio’s face as she looks up at Agatha, one you’ve only seen once before. Soft, open, submissive. Agatha’s other hand moves to gently stroke her hair. You fight every reaction you have, terrified of breaking the moment and losing this experience before it truly begins. 

Agatha makes a deeply satisfied noise. You immediately move down and curl your tongue inside of her. She squeezes around your tongue as she comes, moaning in unison with you. You don’t stop until Agatha tugs you away. She lets go before you can rest against her and you only get a moment of confusion before a new hand takes her place. Rio pulls you back further before turning your face towards her.

Instead of kissing you like you’re eagerly expecting, she licks over your lips. Agatha has soaked your face and Rio diligently cleans you up. Her breath is hot. The feeling of her tongue on you, of her kneeling against you, has you shaking. You’re too overwhelmed to do anything more than kneel there.

Rio doesn’t grace you with a kiss when she pulls away. You’re too dazed to miss it. It takes you a long moment to open your eyes again. 

Rio’s hand slides down to the back of your neck, thumb gently stroking the skin there, but she doesn’t take her eyes away from Agatha. 

“I’ll reward you later. I have a pet to breed,” Agatha says to her.

Rio doesn’t react, not even a twitch. Hands pull you up into Agatha’s lap. You’re straddling her for barely a moment before something hard nudges you. Looking down you’re shocked to see a green strap-on instead of a purple one. You want to see Rio’s reaction but Agatha’s grip is iron.

You hold your breath as Agatha guides her cock to your entrance. She doesn’t need to push you onto it, you sink down eagerly. You’re surprised again as she allows you to set your own pace. Her hands on your hips steadying you instead of controlling. Moving your eyes from the flashes of green to her deep blue ones, you’re unsurprised to find them studying you. 

“Mommy’s going to come in you,” she says and a shiver runs down your back.

Her fingers dig into your skin and you wish she was moving you like she usually does. Your steady pace turns shaky and uneven. Too desperate to come to be able to get yourself there.

“Please,” whine you. Agatha’s eyes drop to your lips and you say it again, “Please, mistress.”

Agatha growls and pulls you up. Your heart drops, thinking she’s pulling you off, until she slams you back down again. You moan and grasp desperately at her shoulders. Her eyes don’t leave yours as she makes you ride her. 

You’re trembling and desperate. The heat that had been slowly building again flares through you. You hold on as long as you can, not wanting it to end. Victory shines in Agatha’s eyes when you finally snap and that warmth floods you again.

Agatha runs a soothing hand up and down your back as you come down, curled into her shoulder. It takes until you have most of the feeling back in your body to realise Rio has been quiet for too long. You lean back from Agatha, trying not to get distracted with her still inside of you. Her amused smirk doesn’t reassure you. Claws curl around your hips and you freeze mid-turn. Rio moulds herself against your back. She slides her cheek against your own. A slight pressure has you staring back at Agatha, Rio’s sharp grin against your cheek. Those claws lift you half-way up Agatha’s cock.

“Wait,” you gasp and uselessly pull at them as they start to push you back down.

“No,” Rio growls and you stop, listening to your survival instincts. “If you’re so desperate to come to Agatha wearing one of my straps, then you’re going to do it again.”

You whimper. Your cunt is sensitive after two hard orgasms and you know you won’t survive another. Not functioning. You pretend the idea doesn’t make you drip. 

Agatha doesn’t do anything to save you. She leans back in her chair and settles her hands low on your thighs, prepared to enjoy the show. 

Rio bounces you on her strap without mercy and you’re struggling not to come within moments. Their scents surround you, Agatha’s eyes devour you and Rio’s claws make themselves known every time she moves you. 

Rio murmurs something under her breath and Agatha jerks suddenly. You have no control to stop and see what’s wrong. Her eyes slam shut, grip turns tight and her mouth drops open into an expression you’re familiar with.

Rio’s made it so Agatha can feel what’s happening to the strap-on. The realisation pushes you even higher. You’re too far gone to truly help with Rio’s movements but you give yourself completely to them as you watch Agatha’s face. Her head slowly tilts back. The desperate urge to kiss her surges and you lean in.

Rio grips the back of your hair and holds you still. You whimper.

“Don’t ruin my fun.”

Agatha’s eyes languidly open. “I don’t remember telling you to stop,” she says.

“Someone was trying to take more than she’s been given,” Rio purrs.

You shake your head but it’s useless.

“Eating your mistress out and being used as a fleshlight isn’t enough?” You don’t get a chance to respond. Purple swirls around your wrists and forces them behind your back. Her sharp nails dig in when she grips your chin. “Take it like a good girl before I leave you tied up for a week.” You try to nod but her grip is too tight. “Say yes mistress.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Agatha pushes your chin away and Rio starts fucking you on her strap again. It’s all too much and you’re falling apart within minutes, clinging desperately to her as pleasure consumes you.

Rio forces your hips up again and you can’t even make a noise of protest. Your bones are jelly. Your everything is jelly.

Agatha clicks her tongue. “Stop before you break her.”

Rio rolls her eyes and lets you go. You slump into Agatha’s hold. “But she’s so fun when she’s been fucked stupid.”

“I have plans for tomorrow,” Agatha says. There’s no room left in you for curiosity. “And I’d rather you focus on your own reward.”

Rio’s eyes snap to Agatha’s. Agatha lifts you and gets up before placing you back on her chair. You reach for her, confused in your slowness. She grasps your chin.

“Watch,” she commands.

You nod once the word makes it through your slow thoughts. The command giving a bit more life to them. They speed up more as you watch Agatha slowly kneel down in front of Rio. Swallowing roughly, you grip the chair tight. Wondering if you’re dreaming.This is a sight you rarely see. Rio has won dominance before and even allowed you to watch on rare occasions but this feels different.

Agatha wraps her hand around the base of Rio’s cock and begins to slowly stroke it. Rio looks almost frozen, riveted by the sight. Agatha slowly licking her from base to tip doesn’t help.

She wraps her lips around Rio’s head. They don’t break eye contact.

Rio groans when Agatha takes her deeper. Agatha hollows her cheeks and Rio’s hips jerk. Her hand lands in Agatha’s hair but doesn’t push.

She doesn’t last as long as you’re expecting. She was more worked up than she was letting on and the sight of her coming with a loud groan has you grinding against the chair despite your sensitive cunt.

“Good boy,” Agatha husks when she pulls away and Rio’s whole body shudders. Agatha gets up and sits on her desk. “Now fuck me like you mean it and maybe I’ll give you another go with our pet over there.”

[dandelions4us]

how're feeling Rio nation????? because we've WON today!! 🎉🎉🎉🎆🎆🗣️🗣️

❦ 𝗗𝗮𝗱𝗱𝘆'𝘀 𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗚𝗶𝗿𝗹

✧ warnings: pure smut, aftercare, daddy kink, degradation, humiliation, fingering, magic cock, edging, denial, spanking, face slapping, choking, begging, bondage, spit kink, exhibitionism kink, reader is called 'puppy'

✧ pairing(s): dom!agent!Rio Vidal x fem!sub!reader

✧ summary: you're being punished for touching yourself and sending your girlfriend naughty pictures while she was at work.

✧ word count: 2.6k

✧ a/n: pure filth. requested by a friend. written in first person. i haven't posted in a while but wanted to try writing something new. longest fic i've written so far. any feedback is much appreciated.

☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎

The sun dips low, casting a warm glow through the large windows of Rio’s apartment. From the corner, my cat meows softly and her tarantula shifts in its tank. The air is filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers, as the plants she loves so much thrives in the sunlight. The apartment is a cozy sanctuary of green, with potted ferns and ivy cascading down the walls.

I heard her before I saw her. Heels clicking down the hallway, the jingle of her keys, and that calm, deliberate sigh she always lets out as she enters the apartment. I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, bare skin pressing against the cool marble, wearing nothing but the collar she gave me and lacy black lingerie. My body tenses in anticipation.

The front door creaks open. And there she is—Agent Rio Vidal, in her perfectly tailored dress pants, suspenders still taut across her shoulders, and her crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease. Her hair is still pinned back from work, a few dark strands falling loose, framing that stern, knowing, and dangerous look.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Eyes only leaving me as she turns to shut the door. I think back to her reply to the pictures I sent.

Behave.

And I had tried. Really. I had.

She slides off her blazer and places it on the hook by the door. She walks over, slow and steady, eyes never leaving me.

“Tell me,” she says, loosening her suspenders, voice like velvet laced with warning. “Did you touch yourself while I was at work?”

I nod, meekly. She cocks her head.

“Use your words.”

“…Yes.”

Her eyes narrow as she leans in, her lips brushing against mine in a soft, teasing kiss. "And what else did you do during the day?" she murmurs, her voice barely audible, her breath hot against my skin. I can feel the heat of her body, the tension in her muscles as she presses against me.

I whimper, my body aching for more. "I... I sent you pictures," I manage to say, my voice breathless.

Rio pulls back, her eyes darkening with desire. "You did, didn't you?" she says, her voice a low growl. "You were a very bad girl today." Rio tsks, hooking her finger underneath my collar. “Such a desperate little thing,” she mutters, dragging her nails up my inner thighs, making me shiver. “Always so needy…”

Her hands grip my waist. I whimper, already soaked, already guilty. Before I could respond, she pulls on my collar harshly and spins me around, forcing me against the kitchen counter. I gasp, my body pressing against the cool surface, my heart pounding in my chest as she pulls down my panties and runs her fingers through my folds.

“Mmm,” she purrs. “So wet. Soaking your panties like a bitch in heat who can't control herself.” Her fingers slide inside me without warning, and I moan, bracing myself.

"But you know what happens to bad girls, don't you?" she whispers, her voice a mix of amusement and desire. "They get punished." She pulls her fingers out suddenly and I gasp when her palm meets my ass with a harsh smack!

“Bad girls don’t get to cum,” she says flatly, spanking me again. “You want to be a good puppy, don’t you?” 

“Yes, Daddy—please, I want to be good, I’ll be good—”

“Then count.”

Smack!

“One… thank you, Daddy.”

Smack!

“T-two… thank you…”

Smack!

“Three—nngh—I’ll be better, promise.”

Smack!

“Four… fuck—”

Suddenly, my arms were being stretched out in front of me, my wrists being bound by enchanted silk. I'm panting, already trembling from the sting of her last strike. My panties were bunched at my knees, my thighs sticky with want.

Another smack lands—harder, more deliberate. I cry out, the sound bouncing off the tile and windows.

“Six!” I moan instinctively, too distracted by the stunt she just pulled to properly keep count.

Silence.

Not hers. The room’s. Still. Heavy.

The hair on my neck stands up.

“No,” Rio says flatly behind me, “That was five.”

I blink, my heart dropping to my stomach.

“I—I thought I—”

Her hand grabs my hair instantly, tugging my head back with enough force to make me whimper.

“You thought?” she repeats, venom-soft. “Did I ask you to think?”

“N-no, Daddy…” I breathe.

“That’s right. I asked you to count. And you just skipped over a number like some dumb little mutt who can’t follow the simplest instruction.”

Her grip tightens.

“You want to be treated like a brainless fucktoy?” she asks, voice low, inches from my ear. “Because that’s exactly how I’ll use you if that’s what you’re begging for.”

I whimper, back arching involuntarily.

“I’m sorry, I’ll count right, I swear—please, I didn’t mean to—!”

“Shh.” She releases my hair and steps back. Her magic buzzes at my wrists—hotter now. Tighter.

“Start over,” she says firmly. “From one.”

I bite my lip, holding in a sob—my cheeks burning with shame and heat.

“Y-yes, Daddy…”

Her hand comes down hard across my ass.

“One,” I choke. “Thank you, Daddy…”

“That’s more like it,” she says, her voice smooth and cold. “Now keep going, and if you mess up again?”

She leans in close, whispering, “I’ll display you on the fucking balcony and the whole city will hear you moaning my name.”

My breath hitches.

And then the next slap lands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ten—I—I can’t focus, Daddy, I can’t—” I sob, my voice breaking.

Rio didn’t pause. She didn’t let up. Just kept spanking me, measured and cruel, letting each one sink in before delivering the next.

I don’t even remember most of them. Just flashes of pain, tears spilling freely down my cheeks as I tried to stay still, and her voice in my ear—

“Count, baby.”

“Seventeen… seventeen… I-I’m sorry, please—”

“Eighteen!” I whimper. “Thank you—fuck—thank you…”

“Nineteen… I—I need you so bad, please Daddy…”

And then—

“Twenty—fuck~”

My thighs tremble as I slump against the counter. My breath is ragged, my ass burning with every twitch, so red and raw. I can still feel the shape of her palm on me—every smack echoing through my muscles like a pulse. My knees feel like they might give out but I don’t dare move.

I sense her behind me. Calm. Controlled. Like she didn’t just spank me until I forgot how to count.

“You’re dripping,” Rio says, amused. “Such a fucking mess.”

I can’t respond—not properly. I just whimper. A needy one.

She runs her fingers through my folds, lazily dragging them through the slick that coats me.

“Soaked,” she hums. “Just from getting your ass beat like a disobedient puppy. You really are pathetic, huh?”

I nod. Shame heats my face—but it only makes the throbbing between my legs worse.

She hums again, then tilts my head up gently so that my eyes meet hers. “Color?” She asks softly, such a contrast from her harsh tone.

“Green.”

She holds my gaze, searching for any flicker of doubt. When she finds none, she grabs me by the collar and pulls me upright, dragging me out to the balcony. The night air kisses my skin, and the busy city hums three stories below. People walk past, oblivious to what is happening right above their heads.

I cling to the railing, trembling, and feel her body pressing against my back. If someone looks up—

“Is this what you want, slut?” she whispers in my ear, hand tangled in my hair. “For me to put you on display?” She yanks my head back, making my bra disappear with magic. “For them to see your pretty pussy being used until you're unable to walk for a week?”

I whimper—“Please…”—and she laughs, sliding two fingers inside me with ease. I let out a filthy moan as she fucks me, pumping her digits in and out while her thumb rubs over my clit in slow, torturous circles. Her other hand palms my breats, rubbing and pinching at my sensitive nipples.

“Nngh… D-daddy~”

“Look at you—your needy little hole is leaking so desperately… You want Daddy’s cock that bad?”

I nod desperately. “Please… need you inside me Daddy—make me yours~” I moan shamelessly, too far gone to care who hears.

The look in her eyes shifts—simmering now, burning with hunger. She pulls out her fingers and yanks me back inside the apartment. She strips, making her clothes disappear with magic then throws me onto the bed like a doll.

In seconds, I am strung tight, breathless, and my wrists are bound to the bedpost by her spellwork. I can feel the pulse of her magic humming around my thighs, locking them in place with enchanted silk.

She waves her hand between her legs and a shimmer of light crackles at her fingertips. It slowly forms into a thick, pulsing cock.

“Oh, baby…” she murmurs, climbing between my legs while stroking herself lazily. “You pathetic little thing, begging Daddy to fuck you dumb.”

“Daddy… too big~” I try, but she slaps my cheek just hard enough to make my breath hitch.

“Did I say you had permission to speak?” she says coolly, firmly wrapping her fingers around my throat. I whimper helplessly beneath her.

“Open.” I obey and she smirks, spitting into my mouth. “Swallow.” 

I do without hesitation.

“Good girl.”

She begins sliding her cock through my slit slowly, the head of it bumping against my clit. She never pushes in—just teasing, pressing, denying.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” she growls, tightening her grip on my throat. “And you’re not going to cum until I say so. Do you understand?”

I nod, whimpering desperately. The lack of oxygen making me lightheaded. She slaps me again.

“Words, bitch.”

“Yes, Daddy~”

She grabs her shaft and slowly guides herself into me, watching as my pussy swallows her cock inch by inch. She groans at the sight.

“It’s too big Daddy~” I whine. “I can't take it—it hurts…”

“I know you can baby. You like it, don’t you?” She moans at the feeling of my walls squeezing around her, milking her. “Your greedy little hole is taking me so well.”

She pushes her last few inches into me and bottoms me out, both of us moaning at the sensation.

“Ahhh~ nngh… so full…”

“You’re nothing but a hole for Daddy to use.” She drags herself out slowly and slams back into me with force. I tremble beneath her. “My pretty little fucktoy…”

The silk binding my wrists are soaked with sweat now. I can’t hide. Can’t do anything but take what she gives me—and beg for what she won’t.

“Who owns you?”

“You, Daddy!”

“That's right. And who does this pretty pussy belong to?”

“I—please!~”

Her hand comes down hard on my cheek.

“I asked you a fucking question slut.”

“You—fuck—It belongs to you!”

“Such. A. Dirty. Mouth.”

She punctuates each word with a deep thrust, hitting that sweet spongey spot inside me every time. With a flick of her hand, her magic begins to hum beneath my skin, hot and unforgiving. It curls low in my belly, coiling tighter with every roll of her hips, and every flick of her fingers over my swollen clit.

“Please!—”

“Please who?” She growls in my ear.

I’m so close I can’t think. Release is right there, like a wave about to crash—

And then it doesn’t.

It just… stops.

The pressure locks inside me, burning and unbearable. My muscles seize, my toes curl, and I cry out, voice cracking.

“Ngh—fuck! Please, Daddy please, I need to cum so bad!”

She laughs, a soft, low sound. I’m exactly where she wants me. Ruined, shaking, dripping. Nowhere close to getting what I want.

“Oh, baby,” she purrs, leaning down to tease my nipples with her tongue. “You thought I’d let you cum that easily?”

I sob, tossing my head into the pillows beneath me. “I—I can’t take it, I’m so close! Please Daddy, please let me~”

“Shh,” she coos, her hot breath ghosting against my skin. “You’ll cum when I say you can. Not when your dumb little body decides it’s ready.”

She starts moving again, slow and deliberate. My hips jolt up to meet hers instinctively.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, almost admiring. “Barely holding it together. Such a desperate puppy... so tight~”

I’m close to tears now, overwhelmed as the pressure builds inside me again, faster this time. My back arches and my lips part in a silent cry. I’m dangling over the edge, hands curling in the bindings, a moaning mess beneath her—

And again, her magic stops me.

A scream tears from my throat.

She smirks above me, eyes glowing with something dark and divine.

No matter how much I plead, her response always leads to that one cruel word.

“No.”

And every time, the need for release claws at me. Louder than thought, louder than reason. 

It wasn’t until I was crying and squirming beneath her that she finally, finally, released the spell.

“You've been such a good puppy for Daddy,” she whispers. “You wanna cum, baby?”

I nod furiously, whimpering, no longer able to form coherent words in my head. She was close too, her rhythm faster and more desperate with every thrust.

“Cum for me, my love.”

With her permission, my whole body shatters with hers, unbelievable pleasure washing over me. I could feel her twiching inside me, thick ropes of cum painting my insides, as my walls milked her for every last drop.

We lay there for a moment, basking in the blissful aftermath before she gently pulls out of me.

With a wave of her hand, the ropes disappear and her spells dissipate. I lay in the center of the bed, cheeks tear-streaked, and breath unsteady. My wrists ached where the silk had held me down. My body pulses with the aftershocks of everything she’d done to me.

The mattress dipped as she slid into bed behind me, her hand immediately finding my stomach, gentle and reassuring.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, her voice a little raspy.

I nod slowly, unable to speak yet. She flips me onto my side, wraps her arms around me, and kisses the back of my shoulder softly. She pulls me flush against her as she casts a spell to calm the nerves in my muscles. Almost like a weighted blanket.

“You did so good today baby,” she whispers, brushing my hair back. “Took me so fucking well.”

Her voice was still low and commanding, but there was gentleness in it now. It grounded me.

“I didn’t go too far?” she asks. It comes out casual, but I can hear the tension beneath it. 

My heart swells from knowing that she always cares so much. “You were perfect,” I breathe.

She lets out a relieved sigh and I can feel her smiling against my skin.

After a moment of silence, she leans over and grabs the soft towel she had waiting. She cleans me gently then tucks the towel away, kisses my forehead, and pulls the blanket over both of us.

The world is quiet. Safe.

“You know…” She brushes her fingers lazily along my hip. “You were such a fucking menace today.”

I laugh weakly.

“Sending me those pictures while I was at a crime scene...”

“You liked it,” I mumble.

“I tolerated it,” she deadpans. Then smirks. “Barely.”

She tilts my chin up, kissing me gently. “But you know, if it was too much… you tell me next time. No games. No magic. Just say it.”

I nod.

“I mean it.”

“I know,” I say. “I trust you.”

And I really do. With everything.

She curls around me, hand on my stomach, lips on the back of my neck.

“Sleep now, puppy,” she whispers. “Daddy’s got you.”

[dandelions4us]

omg he's so soggy 😭😭❤️🥺

[dandelions4us]

this one could eeeasily become a book

Agathario AU | Inspired by a single gif of Aubrey Plaza. No I will not elaborate. Yes it’s gay. Words: 6,678

The road to the community center shimmered under the summer sun, its heat rising in waves that blurred the painted lines. A soft buzz of cicadas stitched the stillness together, interrupted only by the low hum of Agatha Harkness' aging sedan and the occasional, rhythmic flick of the turn signal.

Agatha drove with one hand resting on the wheel, the other draped casually near the open window. Warm air curled across her skin, sticky and familiar. Her blouse clung at the back, and her sunglasses kept sliding down her nose. But she didn’t mind. The mundane discomforts of summer felt almost grounding.

In the back seat, her four-year-old son, Nicky, was deep in conference with his plush frog.

“Froggy says it’s almost time,” he whispered. “We gotta do our big stretches so we can float really good.”

Agatha glanced at him through the rearview mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Float better, sweetheart. Why do you need to float better, hmm?”

“For jellyfish mode,” he said like it was obvious. “Froggy says I need to be wiggly but not too wiggly. Like a calm jelly.”

Agatha smiled, her gaze softening. “Well, remind Froggy to listen to the teacher.”

“He knows already! He said Coach Cool got real superpowers!”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Coach… Cool?”

“That’s her secret name!” Nicky said, bouncing. “Her real name is Coach Rio! You forgot, Mommy!”

Agatha made a show of thumping her forehead with her palm. “Of course. How could I forget someone with superpowers?”

Nicky giggled and went back to flipping through his frog-themed sticker book, worn and crinkled from too many car rides.

They turned down a narrow road lined with old oak trees, their branches heavy with green. The scent of sunbaked mulch and chlorine drifted in through the window, unmistakable and sharply nostalgic.

For a moment, Agatha let the quiet settle in. No meetings. No looming deadlines. No hurried errands she didn’t care about. Just her son, his frog, and the slowly dawning truth that she was finally, finally out of excuses to avoid her own life.

She hadn’t dated since Ralph.

Not because of grief. Not exactly.

Ralph had been a partner in the logistical sense: financially steady, reliable, good with diaper changes and Saturday grocery runs. Safe. Predictable. Kind.

But they hadn’t shared a bed after the first year.

Agatha had tried. She’d told herself discomfort was just part of marriage, that maybe intimacy got easier with time. That love was supposed to feel practical.

He knew. Of course he did. She never said the words, but he saw it. In the way she pulled away from touch. The way she overworked. The way she couldn’t meet her own eyes in the mirror.

That she didn’t love him that way. That she was surviving a life she thought she had to want.

And then he died. Suddenly. No warning, no long goodbye.

And the script she’d been clinging to disappeared with him.

And after that—

No more pretending. No more excuses.

She was now 43. Her marketing business ran itself. She paid the bills. She parented well. She laughed when Nicky said ridiculous things like "jellyfish mode."

So what now?

Agatha pulled into the community center parking lot, the building squat and welcoming, its windows steamed from indoor humidity. She killed the engine and turned to Nicky.

“You ready, baby?”

He stuck out his chest. “I’m brave! But Froggy said he’s scared... just a tiny bit.”

“Want me to hold him during class?”

“No! He hasta watch me float really good—uh, I mean bett'r!”

Agatha bit back a grin. “Naturally.”

Inside, the pool area hit them like a wet slap—chlorine-heavy air thick with steam and echoes. Flip-flops slapped on tile, kids shrieked and splashed, and the chaotic energy of childhood swirled through the humid space.

Nicky bolted toward the shallow end, Froggy under one arm like a noble talisman.

Agatha turned to follow and then stopped.

Coach Rio stood poolside, crouched beside a toddler, adjusting goggles with a tenderness that made the moment feel slower somehow. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose braid, a few damp strands clinging to her temple. Black shorts hugged her strong, sun-bronzed legs, and a red tank top clung to her like a second skin—damp, warm, utterly unbothered.

She looked like summer come to life. Solid. Gorgeous. Effortlessly herself.

When Rio looked up, Agatha forgot how to breathe.

It was the kind of moment people laugh off later, blame on heatstroke... or hormones. But it landed in her chest and felt impossible to ignore.

She was... radiant. Not in the magazine sense. In the way she moved. Grounded. Easy. Like she belonged.

And then she smiled at a child.

Not at Agatha. Not yet. But the way she did it—open, delighted, patient—made something strange and electric bloom behind Agatha’s ribs.

She shook herself and kept walking, head down, too aware of the sweat at her collarbone.

From the bleachers, Agatha watched the class. Watched Rio guide the kids with a steady hand and an easy confidence. She didn’t shout. She didn’t coddle. She crouched when she talked to them. She remembered names.

Nicky floated for three seconds and came up grinning.

“Jellyfish mooooooode!” he shouted.

Rio laughed, rich and full. “That was Olympic-level floating, buddy.”

Agatha folded her arms tighter.

This woman—this stranger—was the cherry on top of an already cracked-open day. And now Agatha was trying not to stare. She wasn’t doing very well.

After class, Nicky ran toward her, soaked and beaming.

“I floated like a real jellyfish! Froggy counted all the way to five!”

Agatha crouched to towel him off. “And Froggy is a very generous judge.”

A shadow passed over them.

“Hey, superstar,” Rio said. “You totally ruled the pool.”

Nicky squeaked and buried his face in Agatha’s side.

Rio offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Rio.”

“Agatha.”

The handshake was warm. Firm. It lingered a second longer than expected.

Rio smiled. “You two new here, or just new to my class?”

“Moved last year. Wanted space.”

“Smart move,” Rio said. Her gaze held steady. “This place is good for that.”

She seemed interested. Present. Like she was choosing this conversation on purpose. And Agatha didn’t know what to do with that.

“You should swing by my other gig sometime. Vidal Swirl. It’s my shop—ice cream, coffee, all that. Nicky would love it.”

Agatha blinked. “Wait. That's a real place, or are you messing with me?”

Rio grinned. “Depends.”

Nicky pulled on her sleeve. “Mommy! Froggy said he need'a popsicle right now!”

“Of course he does.” Agatha looked back at Rio. “We might just take you up on that.”

“Good,” Rio said, a glint in her eye. “I make a scandalous cherry-chocolate crunch. One bite and you’re either in love… or in trouble. Sometimes both.”

Agatha’s mouth curved before she could stop it. “I’ll take my chances.”

She gathered their things, nudged Nicky toward the door, and didn’t look back.

But she felt it—heat lingering at the base of her neck, eyes she didn’t need to see to know.

Rio was still watching.

The next week, the sky broke open. Not a drizzle. A full-throated summer downpour, with sheets of rain hammering the windshield and thunder rumbling like a warning. The kind of storm that made the whole world feel heavier.

Agatha parked with a splash and cursed under her breath as she reached for Nicky's bag, already soaked through from the short dash across the lot.

Inside, the pool area was quieter than usual. Steam curled up from the surface, and the glass ceiling vibrated softly with the sound of raindrops.

Agatha stood near the pool deck this time, arms crossed over her damp linen blouse, her hair frizzing in defiance. Her mood matched the weather. She was watching Rio so intently again.

Rio was in the water, her ponytail soaked, her tank clinging to her back. She floated beside Nicky, gently nudging his noodle into place. Her tone was low and encouraging.

Agatha’s chest ached. That familiar tightness again.

Rio caught her looking. And this time, Agatha didn’t look away.

After class, Nicky skipped from the locker room in mismatched socks and a towel cape.

Agatha reached out, ruffling his damp locks. “You did great today, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I knows,” Nicky said solemnly.

Rio approached, wringing out her ponytail with one hand, a hoodie in the other, and a canvas bag slung over her opposite shoulder—faded denim with a rainbow patch stitched onto the side, fraying slightly at the corners.

“You’ll catch a chill,” she said simply, offering the dry piece of clothing. It smelled like clean cotton and a hint of lavender.

Agatha hesitated. She slipped it on without a word. It was warm. It swallowed her shoulders. It was too much and not enough.

“Much better,” Rio murmured, her eyes skimming Agatha’s face. “You clean up nice—even soaked.”

Agatha didn’t answer. But she smiled.

As Nicky tugged on his sneakers, Rio unzipped her canvas bag—the one with the little rainbow patch Agatha had noticed earlier—and fished around before pulling out a battered paperback. She hesitated, shifted her weight. “Okay, this is probably ridiculous... and maybe I should’ve just stuck with the hoodie, but I brought you something else.”

Agatha blinked, surprised, as Rio offered the book again with a sheepish, almost teasing smile. “You seem like someone who reads at night. Like when your brain won't let you be.”

She scratched the back of her neck. “This one’s about complicated women who make... like bold, occasionally catastrophic choices. I figured… maybe that vibe resonates?” Then, with a glance that didn’t quite meet Agatha’s eyes, “Anyway, if it’s not your thing, no big deal. I just—thought of you.”

Agatha took it carefully and looked down at the cover. 'The Price of Salt.' Her brows lifted.

“Messy and beautiful,” Rio murmured, almost like she was thinking aloud. Then, after a beat, “It meant something to me. Thought you might get something out of it too.”

Agatha stood for a moment longer, hoodie too warm, book in hand, rain still echoing overhead.

And something inside her stirred.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She didn’t really know what else to say.

Rio nodded, already turning to help another kid zip a too-small backpack. “See you next week, Jellyfish.”

That night, Nicky fell asleep curled against her ribs, one hand still gripping Froggy’s leg. She lay there a long time before slipping out from under him and settling into bed. The hoodie was still on the back of her chair. She pulled it on again.

Next to it, the paperback. She flipped it open and her hand stilled on the page.

She didn’t know what she wanted yet.

Only that something in her life had been paused too long.

And now, perhaps, it was beginning again.

Tuesday afternoon, Agatha lingered in the lobby of the community center, arms crossed, pretending to read the flyers about summer movie nights and free CPR training. But her eyes kept flicking to the glass doors, listening for the sharp squeak of sneakers on polished floors—the sound she’d started waiting for without meaning to.

Nicky came bounding out of the changing room, a puff of chlorine-scented air trailing after him.

“Mommy, I has'a secret. But you can't hear it.” He clutched his stuffed frog dramatically and leaned down to whisper something into its fuzzy ear with a loud, stage-whisper hush.

Agatha crouched and gently tapped his nose. “Is Froggy conspiring again?”

Nicky nodded and skipped off to check out the vending machine selection, narrating a dramatic standoff between chocolate chip cookies and seaweed chips.

Behind him, Rio emerged, her hair damp from the pool. Her white shirt clung in the humidity, and a faint flush had risen to her cheeks. She wore the same ease as always—like her body was something she never second-guessed.

Agatha held out a folded sweatshirt, freshly laundered and faintly scented with morning coffee.

“For you,” she said. “Washed it too.”

Rio grinned, taking it with both hands. “I was hoping you’d keep it.”

Agatha let herself smile back. “I started the book.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m halfway through.”

Rio looked genuinely delighted. “It only gets gayer from here.”

Agatha laughed before she could stop herself. “Good.”

There was a pause. Long enough to feel like it could mean something.

“You’re a quick reader,” Rio said. “That, or it hit a nerve.”

Agatha glanced down. “Maybe both.”

Another pause.

Rio reached for her hoodie slowly, brushing Agatha’s fingers as she folded it over one arm. “Let me know if you want the sequel. It’s sadder. Also gayer.”

“I’ll consider it,” Agatha said, trying to sound light. But her throat was too tight.

Swim lessons became a quiet ritual. Not dramatic, not even intentional, but consistent. Nicky adapted fast, and his joy carried Agatha into a rhythm she hadn’t realized she missed.

Rio gave every kid a nickname—not just Nicky. A tiny redhead girl became “Cannonball Queen.” A shy boy named Henry was “Sea Otter Supreme.” She crouched to their level when she talked. She remembered which kid liked purple goggles and who hated getting their hair wet. She offered high-fives and let them splash her. And she never forced a child to do more than they were ready for.

Agatha watched from the bleachers. Every week, she noticed something new.

The way Rio guided a nervous child’s hand to rest on the water, murmuring, It’ll hold you, I promise.

The way she crouched at poolside—leaning on her elbows, voice low and encouraging, all calm steadiness.

The way she peeled off her shirt on the hotter days—casual, unthinking—revealed a red lifeguard one-piece that clung to her like a second skin. Her arms were strong, defined from weeks of sun and motion, and a soft line of muscle ran down her abdomen, catching the light like something sculpted. Agatha would forget how to breathe, her pulse stuttering like her body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was just swim class.

One afternoon, Agatha reached out absentmindedly to hand Nicky a towel. Rio turned, and her hand brushed Rio’s side. Bare, warm skin.

She froze.

Rio glanced at her, eyes curious.

Agatha stepped back. “Sorry. I wasn’t—sorry.”

Rio smiled, gentle. “You’re okay.”

But Agatha flushed hard, caught off guard.

She glanced away quickly, pretending to focus on Nicky, but her pulse betrayed her—fluttering. Was it embarrassment? Or want? Maybe both. She didn’t look at Rio again for the rest of the lesson, too aware of her own body, too afraid she’d give something away.

That night, Agatha lay awake long after Nicky had fallen asleep. He’d curled up tight with Froggy under one arm, mouth open in his usual toddler snore.

She stared at the ceiling, then reached for the nightstand. 'The Price of Salt' was still there—dog-eared, worn, and heavier now than when she first opened it. One line in particular stared back at her: “She looked at her and something settled.”

Agatha shut the book slowly and got up.

She padded barefoot to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

She didn’t recognize herself at first: bare shoulders, hair loose, face quiet.

She took a deep breath.

“I’m gay,” she said.

Her voice was low, even. She said it again. And then again, until it didn’t sound like a foreign language.

Later, when she passed Ralph’s photo in the hallway—one where he held baby Nicky, proud and beaming—she stopped. Her breath caught. The hallway was quiet, dim, but the weight of the picture hit her like a wave. She stepped closer, barely breathing, staring at a life she had performed more than lived.

“Ralph,” she whispered, the word crumpling in her mouth.

Her hand reached out, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch the frame. She didn’t feel like she had the right.

“I used you.” The words came out thin, breaking. “I didn’t mean to. God, I... I didn’t mean to. I told myself it was enough. That I was lucky. That I could make it work if I just stayed busy—if I just kept... pretending.”

Her throat tightened.

“You were good to me. You were good to Nicky. Fuck—you gave me Nicky. And I tried to deserve that. I tried to be what you needed. But I was lying the whole time. Not just to you. To me, too.”

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and helpless.

“I wasn’t straight. I never was. And I thought maybe if I married the right man, had the baby, made it all look right on paper… it would fix the part of me that didn’t fit.”

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. “I didn’t love you the way you deserved. I didn’t know how.”

Silence filled the hallway, thick and aching.

“I hope you knew,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “I hope, somehow, you knew I was trying. Even if it was all wrong.”

She stood there a moment longer, her heart too full and too empty all at once. Then, gently, she flicked off the light and slipped back into bed.

The guilt didn’t vanish. But for the first time, it had a name. And it had been spoken out loud.

Thursday after class, Rio hung back. “Hey, so uh, there’s this cool bookstore downtown,” Rio said, kneeling beside Nicky to help with his backpack. “I do story hour there once a month. I’m reading Saturday.”

She hesitated, then looked up. “You should come. I mean—if you and Nicky are free. It’s pretty sweet, and he’d probably like it. Maybe you too.”

Nicky’s eyes got big. “Is there gonna be snacks?”

“Always,” Rio said with a grin. “And beanbags. And hey, if you guys come, I might just find a cool frog book with your name on it, Jellyman.”

Agatha looked at her for a moment. Really looked. Then nodded slowly. “We’ll be there.”

The bookstore was tucked between a bakery and a florist, its gold-lettered windows slightly fogged from the afternoon heat. Inside, it smelled like espresso, old paper, and something soft and sweet—maybe honey pastries, maybe just comfort. It didn’t feel like a store. It felt like a hug someone had turned into a room.

Agatha hesitated in the doorway, holding Nicky’s hand. Her heart beat a little too loud for something as mundane as story time. But there was Rio already, in her element, greeting the small crowd of kids like a favorite cousin who never outgrew their sense of magic.

The kids' area was tucked in the back corner, framed by rainbow beanbags, pastel rugs, and low shelves filled with picture books that wore their queerness proudly. Julian Is a Mermaid. Red: A Crayon's Story. My Maddy.

Nicky let go of her hand and made a beeline for a basket of books, promptly narrating an imaginary council meeting between amphibian royalty. Froggy, naturally, was presiding.

Agatha drifted to the perimeter, leaning near a shelf of worn-out YA paperbacks. She pretended to browse. In reality, she watched.

Rio sat in a rounded teal chair, one foot tucked beneath her, the other lightly tapping the rug as she turned pages. She wore a faded tank top, the strap slipping off one shoulder, her smile full and easy. Her voice shifted with each character, warm and playful but never cloying. She let the kids interrupt. Let them shout. Let them be who they were.

Nicky perched beside a plush alligator, his mouth open in pure, unfiltered awe.

Agatha felt something pinch behind her eyes. It was the way Rio made space. For everyone. For her.

She hadn't realized she'd started to let herself want that.

When the final page turned, the kids scattered in every direction—some to crayons, others to the snack table. Nicky marched straight to Rio, a picture clutched in both hands.

“Look! It’s me and you and Froggy!” he beamed. “Froggy’s in charge, and he said you hafta eat more sprinkles or else!”

Rio crouched beside him, inspecting the wild scribbles like they were sacred.

“I’ve never looked better,” she said solemnly. “And Froggy looks like he has a lot of opinions.”

“He said, ‘More sprinkles. No excuses.’”

Rio gasped. “The nerve. I’ll fix that immediately.”

From the poetry shelf, Agatha let out a quiet, unguarded laugh. She tried to cover it with a fake cough.

Rio looked over her shoulder, caught Agatha watching, and didn’t look away. She made her way over, unhurried, while Nicky returned to his masterpiece with serious scribbling energy.

She nodded at the book in Agatha’s hand. “That one makes you cry by page twelve.”

Agatha looked down at the cover. “I haven’t even opened it. Just needed something to hold.”

“Same,” Rio said softly.

They stood for a moment in the quiet hum of the store. Music played faintly in the background—something with strings and soft voices. Rio rocked back on her heels.

“I like this place,” Agatha said, because it felt safer than saying something like, I like the way you make this place feel.

Rio grinned. “Same. It’s actually where I figured it out. I was standing over by the graphic novels, flipping through some random teen anthology and boom, lesbian prom kiss. Totally wrecked me.”

Agatha blinked. “You just… knew?”

“Eventually. I kept coming back for that one book. Like if I stared at it long enough, it would tell me something.” She tilted her head. “What about you?”

Agatha hesitated. Her pulse skipped. Her throat tightened around the truth.

Rio’s gaze flicked to Agatha’s hands, then lingered on her mouth—just a second too long to be innocent—before finally meeting her eyes. Her smile was warm, a little teasing. “Take your time. It’s allowed.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just charged. Waiting.

Rio reached out, slow and deliberate, and tapped the spine of the book in Agatha’s hands, her touch lingering on Agatha’s fingers. She didn’t pull away right away. Instead, she let the contact hum between them, a quiet question posed without a single word. Her gaze held steady as she let her thumb slide just slightly over Agatha’s knuckle, then finally released the book. It wasn’t just a line tossed—it was an invitation.

“If you ever want a reading buddy… I’m around. I’ve got strong opinions and zero shame.”

Agatha met her gaze, and for once, didn’t flinch.

“Noted,” she said. Her voice was quiet. But steady.

Across the room, Nicky shouted something about Froggy being elected as a reading time mayor.

The moment slipped. But not fully.

Agatha lingered near the poetry display, turning the same slim chapbook over in her hands without registering a single word. Her pulse still thrummed just beneath her skin, and she couldn’t stop replaying the unmistakable openness in Rio’s voice.

It had been a long time since someone looked at her like that. Like they weren’t trying to figure her out but simply inviting her to just... be.

She caught sight of Rio again across the store, crouched beside a small boy who was crying quietly over a snapped crayon. Rio’s voice was low, murmured. She didn’t try to distract him. She listened, then handed him a new crayon. One from her own stash, Agatha guessed. The boy nodded and sniffled and went back to coloring.

Agatha turned back to her shelf. Pretended again to browse. But her heart wouldn’t settle. She wasn’t sure what scared her more: how much she wanted Rio to be serious—or the quiet, terrifying thought that maybe she was.

A few minutes later, Rio drifted back toward her with Nicky’s drawing held carefully in one hand.

“I was told to hang this up in my shop,” she said lightly.

Agatha smiled. “He runs a tight ship.”

“I can tell,” Rio said. Then, softer: “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”

Agatha looked at her. Really looked. Rio's voice wasn't flirtatious now. It was something else. Something steadier.

“I wanted to,” she said. “And I think maybe… I needed to.”

Rio held her gaze for a second longer, her expression open but undeniably charged. Her eyes flicked to Agatha’s mouth again, then lingered this time—an unspoken question, but not a demand. When she looked back up, there was something patient in her smile, something that said: I’ll wait until you’re ready.

Then she gave a small nod.

“Well,” she said, “you know where to find me.”

Agatha huffed a small laugh, the sound soft and surprised.

As Rio turned back to the kids, Agatha felt a shift. A tiny one. But real.

She wasn’t just circling the edge of something anymore. She’d taken a step in.

Vidal Swirl was brighter than Agatha expected. Not trendy, but lived-in—warm wood floors, string lights crisscrossing the ceiling, and a chalkboard menu behind the counter boasting flavors like Blueberry Basil, Cardamom Cream, and the infamous Fire Island Surprise. A tiny pride flag hung beside the tip jar, and one corner of the counter was covered in crayon drawings from local kids.

Nicky smushed his nose against the case. “That one. The white kind. No weirdy things!”

Rio appeared behind the counter wearing a coral tank and a smudge of chocolate on one wrist. She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Not even frog-shaped gummies on top?”

Nicky squinted real hard. “I never eat frogs.”

“Respect,” Rio said, straight-faced. “One vanilla, frog-free, coming up, sir.”

Agatha chuckled, stepping up beside him. “What’s the Fire Island Surprise?”

Rio grinned. “It’s technically edible. That’s all I’ll say.”

She moved behind the counter, and that’s when Agatha noticed it—Nicky’s drawing from the bookstore, taped carefully to the wall near the register.

Agatha raised an eyebrow.

Rio followed her gaze, then blushed—actual color, rising across her cheeks and down her neck. She reached for the scoop, but her voice dropped just slightly. “You, though... I have a surprise for you. Non-fire kind.”

Agatha looked down, smiling helplessly. Her chest felt tight, like her heart was stretching into something bigger than it had ever been allowed to be.

Rio scooped slowly, still watching her.

They settled at a small corner table by the window. When their order was ready—vanilla for Nicky, an affogato for Agatha, and something lavender and gold for someone in line—Rio came around the counter and slid into the seat beside them, stealing a slow spoonful of Agatha’s before she could protest.

“That’s mine,” Agatha said, biting back a smile.

Rio licked the spoon with infuriating calm. “You looked like you might want me to taste.”

“Did I?”

Rio leaned in just slightly, grin crooked. “I was feeling optimistic.”

Agatha stared at her, flustered—but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.

She offered to pay more than once, but Rio waved her off each time. Finally, with a casual flick of her wrist, Rio said, “This one’s on the house. First-time visitor discount.”

Agatha arched a brow. “That a real thing?”

“Absolutely not,” Rio said, deadpan. “But I might need your number... just in case I accidentally overcharge you next time.”

Agatha didn’t look away. Slowly, she reached for a napkin and pulled a pen from her purse.

She handed it over, neat handwriting and something warmer curling at the edges. Her number, written in ink—and just the barest hint of yes.

It was just past eight when Agatha padded barefoot into the kitchen. Nicky was freshly bathed and already asleep, tangled in his sheets with Froggy tucked under one arm and his thumb in his mouth. A soft, steady snore drifted down the hallway.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and leaned against the counter. Her phone sat face down beside her, silent.

She didn’t know what she was waiting for—maybe nothing. Maybe just a quiet moment to breathe, to let her mind drift somewhere it hadn’t dared go in years.

Then the phone buzzed.

Rio: Sooo I might’ve made a mistake.

Agatha blinked. Tapped back.

Agatha: Oh?

A photo came in. Rio, grinning, holding up a pint of ice cream labeled in Sharpie. “Agatha (test batch)”

Below it, scrawled in smaller letters: fig, espresso, dark chocolate, wishful thinking

Rio: Made a new flavor. Was gonna call it something else. But it kept reminding me of you. Ate too much. Now I’m wide awake.

Rio: Any chance you want to come over and distract me? Since you’re already in my head.

Agatha’s brows rose, amused. She typed slowly.

Agatha: You’re offering me insomnia as a treat?

Rio: You wound me up. I’m offering you a private pool and some ice cream with your name on it... literally ;)

Rio: I’ll bring towels. Agatha: Fine. But if I end up wide awake too, that’s on you.

Fifteen minutes later, Agatha knocked softly on the apartment next door. Lilia opened it wearing curlers and a kaftan.

“You’re either about to commit a crime,” she said, “or finally live a little.”

Agatha smiled, sheepish. “Could you come over and keep an ear out for a few hours? He’s already out cold.”

Lilia looked her up and down. “In a swimsuit and shorts at almost nine at night?”

Agatha glanced down at herself, suddenly unsure how to explain what she was doing.

Lilia just waved a hand. “Not my business, honey. Go. And don’t you dare come home early.”

Agatha blushed. “It’s not—”

“It is,” Lilia said firmly. “Let it be.”

She grabbed her keys, locked her door, and headed straight into Agatha’s apartment like she’d been on standby for weeks.

The pool was quiet, the air thick with summer warmth. Soft underwater lights shimmered beneath the surface, and a few delicate string lanterns glowed along the walls—casting golden halos on the water like a dream half-remembered.

Agatha stepped inside and paused.

Rio was floating in the shallow end, half-submerged, her body stretched out with slow, easy grace. The dark straps of her bikini clung to sun-warmed skin, modest by definition, not by effect. Her hair fanned behind her, damp and loose, and moonlight from the skylight kissed the curves of her shoulders, her collarbone, her stomach—soft and glowing with heat and chlorine.

Agatha swallowed. Quietly, deeply.

“Nice of you to dress down,” Agatha murmured.

Rio turned, smile lazy and pleased. “You came.”

“You named a flavor after me.”

Rio swam to the edge, arms resting along the tiles. “It was either that or ask if I could kiss you someday.” Her grin curved, light and teasing. “The pint felt... safer. But maybe not as fun.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Though next time... I might skip the ice cream.” She smirked. “Might be sweeter ways to spend the night. Fewer calories, too.”

Agatha stepped out of her sandals. Her suit was simple, black, with a low back and a neckline that made her feel more like herself than she had in years. She slipped into the pool slowly, the water cool but welcome. Rio didn’t look away.

“If I stare too long,” Rio murmured, “just remind me I’m still coming down from that pint. Lot of sugar. No self-control.”

Agatha met her gaze. “What if I like it?”

Rio blinked, then smiled. “Then I’ll take my time.”

They drifted in the quiet water, the occasional ripple brushing against their arms. Neither of them spoke at first, and that silence felt comfortable—an extension of the hum between them. Agatha watched the shimmer of moonlight play on Rio’s shoulder. Her eyes followed the line of her collarbone, the soft rise of her chest as she floated. She felt warm, too warm, and not from the water.

Rio tilted her head. “You always this quiet?”

Agatha smiled faintly. “Only when I’m trying to be brave.”

“I like brave,” Rio murmured. Her tone was light, but her gaze—steady and slow—wasn’t teasing anymore.

Agatha let herself drift a little closer. “What if I don’t know how to be brave?”

Rio’s voice was quiet. “Then I’ll wait. But I’ll still flirt. And sneak glances at your ass. Fair warning.”

That earned a surprised laugh from Agatha, breathy and small. She hadn’t felt this alive in years.

“I’m not used to this,” Agatha admitted.

“To what?”

“Someone like you.”

Rio’s brow lifted. “Someone like me?”

“Kind. Funny. Gorgeous. And… actually interested?” Agatha gave a soft huff, self-conscious.

Rio reached forward, fingertips barely brushing Agatha’s wrist beneath the water. “I'm very interested, Agatha. It’s not a trick.”

Agatha met her eyes. “No?”

Rio’s voice softened. “No pressure. I’m just here. In case you want company. Or someone to float with. Or talk to.” She paused, then added with a teasing smile, “Or, you know... maybe make out with. Eventually. If the mood strikes.”

Agatha let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. She looked at Rio, really looked at her, and the warmth in Rio’s eyes nearly undid her.

“Thank you,” Agatha said quietly.

Then, after a beat, her voice low: “But just so you know… the mood’s getting there.”

They floated together in silence, the moonlight shimmering on the surface like flecks of silver leaf. Agatha’s breathing slowed, her pulse thrumming like distant thunder. She was aware of everything—Rio’s nearness, the soft brush of their legs as they drifted, the way the night seemed to hold its breath around them.

Quietly, Agatha broke the silence with, “I think I’ve always known I was gay. But it felt easier to pretend I wasn’t. To focus on school, or work, or Nicky. To make my life small enough that nothing could shake it.”

Rio treaded water beside her, her expression soft. “You don’t have to explain.”

Agatha reached up, brushing her damp hair from her face. “It wasn’t Ralph. My ex-husband. He was a good man. Kind. But I never let myself want more. Never let myself even imagine this.” She paused. “You make me imagine it.”

Rio’s hand found hers under the water. Not gripping—just touching. Grounding.

“I just—” Agatha looked at her. “It took me longer than I wanted. But I’m here now. And you make me feel…”

Rio waited.

Agatha’s throat bobbed. “Happy.”

Then Agatha reached forward. Her fingers brushed along the edge of Rio’s jaw, slid into the damp silk of her hair, and lingered. She looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the quiet question waiting in her eyes.

So she kissed her.

It was slow at first, tentative. A brush of lips that trembled with withheld longing. But when Rio sighed softly into it, Agatha deepened the kiss, her hand tightening in Rio’s hair. It then became need.

Rio responded with a low hum, a sound that curled around Agatha’s ribs. One hand found her waist, the other rose to cup her cheek, and they pulled each other closer in the water, bodies aligning with the kind of grace that only comes from finally giving in.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close with noses brushing and breath mingling. Rio’s eyes were shining, her smile dazed like she couldn’t believe any of this was real.

Agatha whispered, voice catching, “I think I’ve wanted to do that since the first time you said Nicky could be a jellyfish.”

Rio laughed softly, a sound full of joy and disbelief, then kissed her again—gentler, slower—like she was memorizing it. When she pulled back, she rested their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.

“You want to split the pint?” she asked, voice thick with affection.

Agatha smiled, her heart too full. “I want to share everything with you.”

They waded to the steps and settled side by side, feet trailing in the warm water. The pint sat between them, melting slightly, passed back and forth as their fingers brushed in a quiet, perfect rhythm.

Each touch lingered. Every glance brimmed with something unspoken and blooming. And each messy spoonful came with a soft laugh, a gentle wipe of a thumb, a kiss that tasted like dark chocolate and something sweeter.

The last swim class of the summer started with Nicky shouting, “It’s my pool now!”

By the end, Coach Rio let him blow the whistle—twice—before she laughed and ran after him with a towel.

Agatha sat on the bleachers, one leg crossed over the other, iced coffee in hand and one of Rio’s hoodies draped over her sundress. It hung loose and lived-in, the sleeves pushed up, the faint scent of lavender and chlorine still clinging to the cuffs. She wasn’t pretending to read flyers today. She was watching them—her two favorite people in the world, wide open and full of light.

Nicky’s giggles echoed around the tiled room as Rio scooped him up like a sack of flour and dunked him gently one last time. He surfaced shrieking with laughter, goggles askew.

“Okay, Jellyfish,” Rio said. “Let’s towel off before you flood the lobby.”

Nicky burst through the double doors a few minutes later, soggy and radiant.

“Mommy, Mommy! I did the big float all by myself!” Nicky shouted, slipping a little on the tile and catching himself like a superhero. “AND Froggy says I get a popsicle and root beer. Both!”

“Did he now?” Agatha said, standing to brush imaginary lint from her lap. “We’ll see.”

Behind him, Rio appeared with a towel slung over one shoulder, damp hair clinging to her cheeks. Her shirt stuck in places Agatha now knew by heart. She lit up when she spotted Agatha in the hoodie.

“You wear it better than I do,” Rio said, voice soft and playful as she stepped closer.

Agatha smiled, slow and sure. “I know.”

Rio laughed under her breath, like she couldn’t help it—and maybe didn’t want to.

They hadn’t made a big deal out of it. But sometime between the first kiss and the first time Agatha stayed the night, this part—the ease of it—had started to settle in. Like joy didn’t always have to be new to feel overwhelming.

Nicky tugged on Agatha’s sleeve. “We still goin’ to the movies, Mommy? You promised.”

“Yep,” Rio said with a wink. “Popcorn and root beer—my treat, little man.”

They stepped out into the heat—sunlight pooling on the sidewalk, the soft smell of sunscreen and cut grass drifting through the air. Behind them, Rio locked the center doors, then glanced sideways.

Agatha caught her looking at Nicky—just ahead, swinging Froggy by the leg, humming to himself.

She reached out and took Rio’s hand.

“I want this forever,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Rio didn’t miss a beat. She just squeezed her hand, steady and sure. “You’ve got it, babe.”

As they walked toward the car, Agatha slowed. She turned back toward the pool doors—the glass still fogged, her reflection faint and layered over memory. She glanced down at the hoodie sleeves bunched at her wrists. Her hands looked the same. But now she saw them for what they were—capable. Chosen. Free.

She let out a breath. It caught for a moment—like it had to climb its way through years of silence—but then it came. And with it, a quiet smile.

Not long ago, she’d stood in that same lobby, wondering if she’d missed her chance to live honestly. To be loved fully. To love in return.

But now—

Now Rio’s hand was warm in hers. Nicky’s laughter echoed down the sidewalk. And Agatha knew, deep in her bones, that she wasn’t lost.

The water hadn’t changed.

But she had.

She wasn’t drifting anymore.

And as they reached the car, the line came back to her—dog-eared and underlined, from a book she hadn’t meant to finish so quickly: “She looked at her, and something settled.”

It had. Quietly, completely, and without question.

[dandelions4us]

im sobbing

What’s your dream job when you grow up, and what do you love about it? 🕵🏻🫆✨

Can you guess who’s the most proud of him? 🤔

[dandelions4us]

why aren't my tags by the search tab anymooooore???? tumblr, you have to stop switching stuff from their place!!

[dandelions4us]

now i wanna know everyone's ABO status

Omegas Only Purr When They Feel Safe

Had this random idea for an Omega!Agatha fic and banged this out over the weekend.

AO3 Link

Summary:

Four times Agatha purred around the company.

~~~

"Billy," Alice says. "You're blocking the stairs. What the hell are you doing?" 

Billy stands, not quite in the doorway of the living room, but pressed up against the side of it. He doesn't look at her, instead reaching back blindly to grab her arm.

"Come here," he hisses. He peers around the corner. "Look, but be careful."

Alice rolls her eyes and steps around him, easily dodging his attempts to grab her and pull her back. She stands in the doorway, hands in her pocket staring into the room the coven first met all that time ago.

She sighs. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Billy pulls an alarmed face and makes a series of increasingly confusing hand gestures. 

It takes a lot of willpower for her not to say what's on her mind. She steps further into the room. Something about Billy's demeanor has her moving quietly, taking extra care not to let her combat boots sound on the floor. She hears Billy swear softly, and then the soft pad of his sneakers as he follows her. 

She makes her way slowly around the perimeter of the room until she sees her. 

Agatha. 

Agatha is laid out on the couch, the top of her head just visible over the arm rest. She's got a book propped up against her leg, one hand running along the words, the other hangs off the side of the couch lazily petting Señor Scratchy.

She stares longer until she realizes that's all she's doing. Alice stifles a groan. There is absolutely nothing unusual or special about this scene. She turns to Billy to say as much when he shushes her again bringing a finger to her lips. "Listen," he whispers.

She pauses tilting her head trying to figure out what he's talking about. She's about to tell him off for wasting her time when she hears it. It's soft, barely audible over the ambient noise of the house, but it's clear what it is. 

Purring. 

She nearly gives herself whiplash spinning around in disbelief. 

Agatha Harkness is purring. 

"Can you believe it," Billy is almost vibrating in excitement. "I've never seen one do it before. I thought it was a myth."

"It's not a myth," Alice says, equally as excited because she also had never encountered it. "It's just extremely rare."

"Do you think she knows she's doing it?" Billy asks softly.

Alice looks at Billy. "What?"

"Like, do you think they can control it? Can they do it on purpose."

"I don't know," Alice shrugs. "But I heard they only do it when they feel safe."

They look at each other, the implication of her words hanging heavily between them

The purring stops and they look up to see Agatha peering at them from over the couch. "What are you two doing?"

They both straighten up. "Nothing." "Just hanging around."

Agatha's eyes narrow. "Right," she says slowly. "Well if you're doing nothing then you can go do nothing somewhere else. You're disturbing Señor Scratchy."

Señor Scratchy snuffles, completely unaware of the proceedings around him.

"Shoo." A bolt of purple shoots out hitting the ground in front of their feet and they quickly vacate the room.

~~~

It's not often that witches get sick. Their immune system is naturally stronger than a regular humans, and what that doesn't fight off, magic does the rest. So it isn't often that a witch gets sick, but when they do, they're hit hard.

Jen's alone at the house. The House, being Agatha's house that became the de facto Coven House when everyone decided it would be way more convenient to move in, much to Agatha's chagrin. They still had their own homes of course, which Agatha never tired of pointing out, but most of them found their way to The House more often than not.

It was rare for the house to be totally unoccupied, but with the rest of the Coven different trips, Billy out with the Kaplans, Lilia visiting her home land, Alice at some concert where they screamed more than they sang, Agatha who knows where, Jen was not going to let this opportunity go to waste.

Jen balances a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of wine that was hidden behind 3 Agatha made hexes in the other. The bag of cookies that she told Teen were missing is clenched between her teeth, and she, with her gathered contraband, heads towards the living room.

She makes it halfway to the couch when she registers that it's not empty. A lump resides there and Jen has her suspicions as to who it is.

"Agatha?" Jen calls.

"Waddya want," Agatha mumbles and Jen winces because nobody's voice should sound like that. 

She takes in the woman curled on the couch. Her hair is plastered to her face, cheeks red, eyes glassy. "Are you sick?"

"No." Then she lets out a cough that sounds like it belongs more to someone suffering from the plague than someone who is not sick.

"Yeah okay." Jen drops the bag of cookies on the ground and carefully puts the bottle of wine and bowl of ice cream on the table. She crouches down and puts her hand on Agatha's forehead, ignoring how the other woman shrinks back.

"'M fine." She bats weakly at Jen's hand.

Agatha is not fine, and Jen sighs, mind going to what potions she can brew that can make this thing pass faster.

"You are not fine." Jen grabs Agatha's arm and hauls her up, stumbling a bit when the woman refuses to support her own weight. "You need medicine and a real bed."

Agatha mumbles something incomprehensible, head lolling to the side. Jen shakes her head. Yeah. Her weekend was fucked.

Jen half walks, half drags Agatha out of the room. Agatha was short and more hindrance than help and it isn't until they got to the staircase that Agatha started fighting back, digging her heels into the ground refusing to move.

"Agatha please," Jen begs. She does not have the time or patience to deal with Agatha's antics. "I cannot carry your heavy ass up these stairs."

Agatha makes a whining noise and Jen let's go because it's so soft and so omega and Agatha has never made a noise like that before. As soon as Jen lets go Agatha stumbles forward. She catches herself on the banister and then moves past that to the door on the side of the stairs.

A door that Jen can't recall ever seeing before.

It was plain and simple and nestled underneath the staircase in a spot that should have definitely been visible the numerous times she's been in the house. 

The door opened as soon as Agatha touched it revealing a small room that resembled that old, and inaccurate, movie of that boy wizard. It was lit magically, a soft pink glow coming from everywhere and nowhere. The floor was carpeted and was filled with pillows and blankets and—.

"Is that my fucking shirt," Jen exclaims. She bends down and picks it up. It was her shirt. Silk, expensive, top of the line. "I've been looking for this everywhere. You fucking asshole. You said you didn't know what happened to it. Why is it— oh…"

Jen trails off as she takes in the room. The beanbag, the blanket, the several articles of clothing from the various coven members. Everything soft and familiar. She swallows, something unidentifiable rising in her chest. This was a nest.

This was Agatha Harkness's nest.

She watches as Agatha curls up on the beanbag pulling what she knows is Rio's shirt close to her face. Jen feels. Jen doesn't know what she feels. She knows omegas have nests, so logically speaking Agatha Harkness would have a nest, but… but Agatha was unlike any omega she's ever known.

Jen rubs the fine silk of her shirt between her fingers. It was her favorite shirt. But the fact that it was chosen for a nest means … Jen groans and tosses the shirt back on the ground. "Alright Agatha. I'm going to get you something to make you feel better. Please don't magic away the door or whatever."

She doesn't wait for Agatha to acknowledge her before stepping out the room. She's got a set stash of potions for simple things like nausea, pain, magical depletion. There's nothing to cure whatever magical illness Agatha managed to catch, but there is stuff that would help lessen the symptoms. 

She grabs a bottle and is relieved to find that the door to Agatha's nest is still present and visible. She heads in already opening the bottle the potion is stored in. 

"Alright Agatha, I'm back. I brought you something that should help with the—." She stops staring in disbelief.

First, because Agatha has swapped Rio's shirt for hers and is now drooling on her silk 500$ shirt, that fucker. 

But second, she's purring.

Agatha opens one eye to look at her before raising her hands and making a grabbing motion. "Gimme."

Jen gives it to her slowly, her brain on a constant loop of 'what the hell is going on'. Agatha drinks the potion in one go, none of her usual snarky complaints and jabs at Jen's brews present. 

She takes the empty bottle from Agatha watching as she tries to get comfortable among the stuff she accumulated. Jen turns to leave and hand shoots out grabbing her ankle. 

"Stay?"Agatha's voice is slurred, the potion already taking effect. Jen hesitates. She had plans for the weekend. Wine and ice cream awaits her outside. But omegas don't often invite others into their nests.

Agatha stares up at her with unfocused eyes, and Jen feels herself fold.

She nods. "I'll stay." She sits down gingerly leaning against the beanbag. Agatha wastes no time curling into her. 

Bit by bit she begins to relax the sound of Agatha's purring luring her into sleep.

If she gets sick from this she's going to be pissed.

~~~ Nightmares aren't uncommon among The Coven. Most of them have lived long enough to experience horrors to last multiple lifetimes. The road took care of the rest. 

They all had their own ways of coping, dealing with the way their mind turned against them. Billy would rope some unsuspecting victim into hanging out with him, they'd sit quietly as he explained the latest tiktak gossip and pretend not to notice the way his hand shakes.

Alice had her music. The soft melodic notes of her acoustic guitar echoing hauntingly around the house.

Jen baked, which surprised everyone, but they learned not to question the smell of cookies at 3 o'clock in the morning. 

Lilia. She made tea. It was a habit that started all those years ago when she was a child. Back when she still had her family, and her original coven, and her Maestra who she would run to when she could not make sense of her visions. Her Maestra would make her a cup of tea and hold her while she cried and listened to her while she tried to explain what she saw.

Her coven. Her Maestra. They were long gone, but the habit still remained. 

Lilia didn't have a nightmare tonight, didn't drown in dreams that could be memories, that could be visions, but she was up regardless. She moves around the coven's kitchen, taking care to keep quiet as she gathers what she needs. 

The kettle goes on the stove, silencing spell around it. Saucer taken from the cabinet and biscuits from the pantry. She takes out two cups, instead of her customary one. She gets the feeling sometimes, that she's up, not because of her own nightmares, but because of someone else's. 

The kettle is starting to steam when she hears the creak of the floor boards behind her.

She turns, only faltering for a bit when she sees who is behind her.

Agatha Harkness.

Nobody knows what Agatha does when she has nightmares. When, not if, because even though they have no evidence, someone with a history as long and bloody as hers does not escape unscathed.

Agatha's wearing an oversized band shirt that she recognizes as Alice's, and cartoon boxer shorts that she recognizes as Rio's. Her hair is mussed and frizzy, and her eyes are red and puffy, and her arms are wrapped around herself as she looks anywhere but at the witch in front of her. 

Lilia registers all this in a second and takes it in stride. "Would you like to join me for tea?" 

Agatha doesn't speak, but she shuffles forward, bare feet against wood floor, and takes a seat at one of the chairs by the table. Lilia pushes the packet of biscuits towards the other woman and sets about preparing their tea.

Lilia doesn't speak. She doesn't ask Agatha if she's okay, or if she wants to talk. She simply slides a cup towards the younger witch, murmuring a quick "chamomile", and takes her own seat at the table. She knows that sometimes the best comfort is just having someone there.

She sips her tea, looks out the window, and watches as the night passes. Then she hears it. It's quiet, barely registering above the hum of the refrigerator, but the sound is unmistakable. 

Slowly Lilia turns and looks at Agatha. She's not sleep, not quite, but she's close to it. The woman rests on the table, head nestled in her arms. Her eyes are closed, the tea half drunk. There are crumbs from the biscuit on her face. And from her chest emanates a sound that she hasn't heard in centuries. 

An omegas purr.

~~~

They have movie night once a month. It was Teens idea because of course it was Teens idea. Him always bringing up things to make them a 'real' coven. Like Coven dinners that have to happen on a night that's separate from movie night even though everyone would already be at the house.

She'd be fine with it if it didn't have to always be at her place. Everyone else had homes. There was no reason everyone had to keep gathering at hers. 

She can hear everyone in the living room discussing what movie they want to watch. It shouldn't even be an argument. They had a rotating schedule with her having the last say, but that rota fell apart and her veto powers got vetoed so now she doesn't even get a say in what they watch.

Agatha pours the last of the popcorn (stove popped, she has standards) into the remaining bowl, and then, balancing the two other bowls filled with popcorn, enters the other room.

"Alright you freeloaders," she says, dropping one of the bowls in Teen's lap. "Hurry up and pick a movie. I don't have all day."

"Don't pretend like you don't enjoy being here," Alice says, taking the other bowl of popcorn from her.

"Yeah," Jen laughs. "We know you love us," and Agatha makes a face 'cause ew. 

"Did all those potion fumes melt your brain," Agatha snarks back. "The only thing I love about you is when you're gone."

"There's no shame in admitting you care," Lilia says.

"I'm going to say this one time and one time only. I don't care about any of you. You all are pests that invaded my home."

"Then why are you purring?" The room falls silent, and Rio steps into view still dressed in her death outfit. She walks over her clothes rippling and changing into sweats and a t-shirt.

"I'm not—," Agatha freezes, eyes widening. Because now that it has been brought to her attention she can feel it. The low rumbling in her chest, the floatyness of her body, and the fact that she cannot. Make. It. Stop.

They're all looking at her with smiles on their faces and an arm wraps around her shoulder pulling her into the cold embrace of death.  "You're not what?" Rio says in her ear. 

Agatha's face burns. "Fuck off." She elbows Rio in the stomach, extracting herself from her hold. She drops the last bowl of popcorn on the table and backs away. Fuck the couch, she doesn't want to be near those fuckers. Instead she folds herself into the loveseat and pulls the hood of her hoodie over her head. 

"Wait, are you wearing the hoodie I got you for your totally not birthday?" Billy shouts.

"No—."

"Yes she is," Jen interrupts. "And she's wearing the glasses I got her."

"And she's wearing my socks." Alice is grinning.

She ducks her head further into the hoodie pulling her feet under her. Because yes, she's wearing the socks Alice got her because they were soft and comfortable, and she's wearing the glasses Jen gave her because she couldn't find her other ones, and the only reason she's wearing Teen's hoodie is because it was the first thing she grabbed from the closet. 

Rio squeezes into the seat with Agatha, and to her absolute mortification her purring gets louder. "Face the facts cariño. You like them."

"Alright, alright. That's enough," Lilia says. Agatha shoots her a thankful look. "We all know that Agatha loves us." The fucking traitor.

"Just hit the goddamn play button."

[dandelions4us]

it's a cail, cat-snail

[dandelions4us]

POOKIE 🥺

🖤💙