#agatha harkness drabble | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stayevildarling · 7 months ago

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can I request an agatha x reader fic. in westview so no witches road or anything (need a break) . where someone stalks reader bc she‘s agatha‘s girlfriend and tries to get closer to them in order to steal agatha‘s powers or get to her. maybe reader gets hurt. very angsty and overprotective agatha please!!

Agatha Harkness x Reader- Shadows of Magic

A/N: Thank you very much for requesting this! I love requests like these 🤍 This is somewhat an AU but not really, basically Aggy x Reader live in Westview and share their lives together there. Also please ignore my description of seasons, I‘m just gonna pretend they have the same seasons as Europe there😅

tw/tags: established relationship, mention of witchhunters, mention of blood, mentions of injury, overprotective agatha, dark agatha, hurt/angst/comfort

word count: 4k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay , @blu3dimples , @stepintomyworld

The days in Westview had grown colder lately, darker even, fall unfortunately almost coming to an end, as the leaves slowly began falling from the trees, another reminder of another year passing by. Usually you wouldn‘t mind this, loving fall with every fiber of your being and spending the best Halloween ever with your Aggy. You loved the winter, the beginning of Snowfall and Christmas and you had already began working on your presents for your girlfriend.

But something had felt different this time, it began with something almost unnoticeable, a prickle at the back of your neck when you are alone, the feeling of eyes lingering on you for too long. But you brushed it off every single time, assuming it was just your imagination or watching too many horror shows and Halloween movies with your girlfriend. But as more days pass, the feeling becomes hard to ignore, often turning around when walking on your own but never noticing anything suspicious. At first you assumed it was maybe Aggy pulling a prank or even occasionally following you as she was undeniably overprotective but the thought quickly vanished when you remembered the deep trust between you both.

Ironically enough you didn’t feel like you could tell Agatha about this, not because you didn’t trust her but because you didn’t want to worry her. She was so busy, providing for you both, working on her magic and especially working effortlessly in her basement over the last few weeks. One evening it happened again, picking up some groceries for dinner, the street empty and some fog rolling in, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminating the scene further. You were almost home when you felt it again, your breath catching in your throat but as you glanced over your shoulder there was nothing or no one there.

Back at the house, Agatha was humming softly in the kitchen, waiting for your return as she finished for the evening. „Everything okay, hon?“ she asked and you considered then but seeing the exhaustion in her eyes and at the same time that playful smile, excited to spend time with you, you couldn‘t ruin the moment, instead forcing a smile and reassuring her you are okay. But it never stopped, the last few weeks the feeling growing more intense and causing your anxiety to act up slightly as you were more fidgety, more careful with your movements.

And Agatha being Agatha of course she noticed the change, despite the business, despite your secrecy, she could tell something was upsetting you, making you nervous and so she watched with quiet concern, deciding to keep an eye on you as her attempts to talk to you and get some truths out hadn‘t been successful so far. But the brunette was too late.

It‘s close to dusk when you finally step out of the little shop, arms full of carefully wrapped presents you picked out for your girlfriend for Christmas. It was early really, maybe too early but you wanted it to be perfect for her, give back for all the things she would do for you on a regular without you ever asking. You linger for a moment, smiling at the parcels and imagining the soft look on her face before she would scold you for getting her so many. But you had listened carefully, gotten a few books and crystals she had mentioned as well as some little things you knew she adored.

You are just a few blocks from home, feeling your phone in your pocket vibrating a few times, assuming it must be Aggy but unable to reach for it with your hands full. The sudden feeling creeps over you again, sharper this time but before you can respond, speed up a little or reach for your phone you realize this had never been your imagination to begin with. Out of nowhere, a hand grabs your arm hard, yanking you into a hallway as the packages fall from your grip and scatter on the pavement. You try and twist, seeing who has pulled you into darkness but another set of hands presses against your mouth, muffling your screams.

„Quiet now“ a cold voice commands and you shiver as you feel somehing sharp and cold brushing against your cheek. „Wouldn‘t want to cause a scene, would we?“ he hisses and your stomach twists at his word, the disgusting tone and hands still gripping you tight. You try to fight, sqiurming and clawing but they are too strong and as another person appears, blocking out the last glimpse of daylight, you know it‘s too late. Their faces are hooded but you can feel their gazes, intense and calculating. One of them leans in close, their breath warm against your ear.

„She‘s powerful isn‘t she?“ one of them spits and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. „Agatha“ he says her name, rolling of his tongue in a way that makes your blood boil. „People say she‘s untouchable.. but everyone has a weakness“. Their grips tighten around you before another adds „Looks like your hers“. Defeat fills you as they drag you away into the back of a van, your cries and pleas unheard and as the doors slam shut, Westview fades away, leaving nothing but the scattered gifts on the floor and your sobbing, chained form in the back of a van.

Meanwhile Agatha has been pacing the livingroom, glancing at the clock on the wall for what feels like the hundreth time. You had told her you would be back by now and despite telling herself you might have just gotten caught up with something while shopping, there is a strange feeling gnawing at her insides. She picks up the phone again, this time opting to call you instead of texting but when the call goes straight to voicemail, she can‘t help it, grabbing her coat and leaving the house.

A part of her worries she‘s too overprotective, maybe even controlling when it comes to your safety but she hadn‘t let anyone come this close into her life, opening her heart in a way no one else had. Changing her selfish ways and life completely as you undeniably brought sunshine into her life. She steps through the quiet and now dark neighborhood, making her way to the shops. Her heels click against the sidewalk as she heads towards the area you mentioned, her eyes scanning every shadow and empty corner, seeing the stores closed now. But she can‘t see you, knowing if you had been on the way home, she would have caught you as there is just this one direction leading towards home.

Then, something catches her eyes, something metallic and torn and when she steps closer she sees the pieces of wrapping paper, discared on the ground. Her heart twists in her chest, still trying to stay calm but when she takes the contents into her hands she knows. The books she had mentioned, the crystals. Moments later as she digs through the things she stumbles upon your phone and her heart stops, knowing this was no coincidence, realizing the last few weeks hadn’t been either.

„Where are you?“ she whispers, her voice laced with panic but as she looks around further she sees some droplets of blood leading towards an now empty ally. With clenched fists she stands in the silence of Westview. Realizing that something must have happened, someone must have taken you. Guilt instantly fills her, realizing she should have done something weeks ago, the feeling of being followed, your anxiety and all the things she had been brushing off. Knowing she should have been more careful, knowing she should have accompanied you rather than working on her magic. Each regret feels like a sharp twist of a knife into her heart, your sweet smile and your gentle eyes filling her memory and causing tears to fill her features. „No..“ she mutters, sadness, shock and fear overwhelming her as she thinks about what may have happened.

But then her voice drops to a dark whisper, purple smoke filling the air around her as anger overtakes her, knowing someone had touched what belongs to her. „I‘ll find you. I swear it“ she whispers before picking up the scattered items, quickly making her way home, more determined now than ever to find you quickly and hold whoever is responsible for this accountable. And she wastes no time in practically running home, almost stumbling down the stairs into her basement as she begins laying out countless items, partly belonging to you as she begins casting a spell on finding you.

And Agatha being one of the most powerful witches around and this not being her first spell on finding someone, she manages to trace your steps instantly, wasting no time as she hurries into a car, wanting to leave no traces of her own behind by teleporting as she doesn‘t know just who she is dealing with yet. In the meantime, you had been dropped into a room, chained and picked up by your hair as they dragged you through a cool and damp space, seemingly big as every single noise echoes around. There is silence for a while as you sniffle quietly, feeling the effects of your stupidness hit deep as you really should have spoken up. You pray that Agatha won‘t find you, having not a single doubt about her abilities but having heard their plans as they dragged you inside, knowing that this was a trap, that they wanted her to find you.

The witches love brings her close to you, a trail of purple ahead of her as she follows with a heavy heart. All sorts of thoughts fill her head as the dread of losing you becomes stronger. She thinks of the times when you first moved to Westview, how you met almost by accident and how you both somehow had been captivated by each other. Your hearts intertwined with the first kiss, before that gentle silent love confessions through locking eyes or the ocassional finger brushing against each other‘s skin. The witch learnt what true love was, forgot her sometimes selfish reasons in life and what it meant to be ready to lose everything for the one she loves. You made her better, every minute of every day you made her stronger, forget about her past and hauntings of it. She loved holding you close to her chest, seeing your face light up when she would show you some magic or when she would spoil you rotten.

Agatha adored the way she could make your face fall apart, how your bodies worked its on magic with each other and how you would always fall on your knees for her. And she couldn‘t imagine a life without you anymore, speeding through the dark night sky and eventually getting to an abandoned building outside of town. And meanwhile they had taken off the blindfolds, throwing all sorts of questions at you on how to get to your girlfriend, how to lure her there and asking specific questions about her magic. And a part of you couldn‘t quite grasp how stupid they are, having assumed they would be good enough at this to know all of those things already and bit by bit you hoped that Aggy may find you. But it took her a while to get to you, the people having captured you growing impatient as they begin to leave their frustration and lack of planning and organisation out on you, their fists landing hard on your face, leaving stinging bruises and droplets of blood.

They begin moving in some weird machine looking things that you hadn‘t seen before, designed to take Agatha‘s power and you begin feeling the confusion, their questions not matching their actions and as you watch them interact with each other you can tell one of them is desperate to get answers, hitting you repeatly until you eventually see stars. One of them watching in sorrow despite the mask and ushering him to stop over and over again while the third seemed to not care what is happening at all. And you hoped he would leave again, hoped you could reason with the seemingly nice one. And as he steps away for a moment you try your luck, a desperate attempt as your body aches with the pain they had inflicted on you, stars filling your vision and your voice quiet.

„Please… please let me go“ you whimper, not finding the strength within you to plead with him properly. You watch him through your blurry vision, almost thinking he was going to answer you when the other one returns, a bucket of water this time, as he forces a cloth over your face, pouring the freezing cold water over you, causing you to choke again and again. You eventually black out from the ordeal, hearing the occasional noise just before everything goes black, their echoed shouting, whiring of a machine and some metal clanging nearby. You never notice Agatha rushing inside, how the machines are supposed to stop her but just as you had expected they didn‘t plan or think this through as much as you both had assumed by now. She walks straight past the machines, feeling a light tingle but nothing that could take her magic like they intended to.

Her eyes search frantically for you through the dark and it takes her a while until the familar cloud of purple appears, her magic sensing her distress upon finding you, slumped in a chair beaten and bruised. „Oh god Y/N“ she cries out as she runs over to you, dropping to her knees to look at your features. She checks your pulse first, sighing in relief as she finds one, weak but there. With a flick of her wrist the chains and blindfold disappear and she gently wipes the blood from your cheeks, your eyes fluttering open for a moment despite the exhaustion, your heart and body sensing your Aggy was close. „Oh thank god“ she whispers before you give her a dopey smile upon seeing her. „Aggy“ you whisper croakily and she knows you can‘t walk, gently taking you into her frame and putting one of your arms around her shoulders to get you to the car. She would have taken you into her arms but she could feel their presences around her and knew she needed to stay on guard, still unsure what game they were playing, their attempts harmless on her magic but the torture on you so vivid.

„It‘s okay sweet girl, I‘m here, I‘m taking you home“ she whispers on the brink of tears as she helps you get up and begin walking. Her blood quickly begins boiling as she watches the three frames enter her vision, standing there pathetically with weapons in their hands. „The trap worked“ one of them laughs in a way that causes her anger to increase. „Not really moron, your machines did nothing“ she hisses and he grins in disbelief as he starts up the gun in his hand, blue blasting lights blaring towards you both and bringing Agatha to her knees. They had been much more calculated than you both believed, the machines a mere distraction to make it seem like they didn‘t know what they are doing, the torture not necessary as they knew all those answers already, only wanting to let off steam and you playing into their sick fantasies.

Agatha feels her magic burning in her veins, a feeling she had felt before, all to familiar as she slowly feels her abilities beginning to leave her. The impact of Agatha dropping to her knees startled you awake, your vision still slightly blurry, body still aching but watching it all unfold. Agatha‘s eyes searching yours, filled of regret and defeat, knowing she couldn‘t help you. You watch with a pained expression as the „nice guy“ struggles with whats happening, the other seemingly careless guy having already ran by now. And you pull all your strength together, pushing Aggy out of the way as the blue blasting stops, hitting through your body instead of the woman‘s. „No“ she screams as she regains her strength, sending the guy flying to the next wall, watching your weakend body on the floor. „No wait“ you scream as she flicks her wrist and points it at the other guy.

„Not.. him“ you pant, knowing he somehow didn‘t mean for any of this to happen. Her face twists in horror and confusion, not thinking about sparing either of their lives. And she wastes no time, sending him flying to the nearest wall sucking their life force out of them as she walks past, her anger burning and parts of the old Agatha back. She picks you up this time, crying, shocked and hurt. She doesn‘t care about your pleas or shivering in her arms as she gets you home. Despite the shock of it all, you manage to relax and fall asleep beside Agatha in the car, your head leaning against the window, the exhaustion heavy on your body.

By the time your girlfriend has you home, you are passed out asleep, sleeping off the lingering reminders of pain and trauma that the events of this have had on you. Once she has you home and safe, she is back to your old Aggy, taking you gently into her arms, careful where she is touching you, before tugging you into bed. She stays by your side, laying awake next to you as the events from this night linger on her mind, your broken and exhausted form, your pleas and the way your face crumbled and twisted when she did what she had done. But she doesn't feel an ounce of remorse, no one getting to touch you, ever. The only thing replaying in her mind is your face, sending a pang of guilt through her body, wishing you never had to see any of this, wishing none of this would have happened, wishing she just went with you and never let you near any danger.

It's early morning when you next wake up, your eyes slowly adjusting to the first peaks of sunlight streaming in through the curtains. For a split second the world feels normal, like none of this happened. Like this was just a bad dream but when you feel the pain radiating from your entire body, a pounding headache, the memories slowly wash over you again. And then they come crashing, leaving you trembling and shaking as their voices repeat in your mind, their hands sting and leave more bruises. But Agatha is there in an instant, turning over to you and taking your shivering form into her embrace. ,,Shh I'm here'' she coos, holding you close to her chest and soothingly rocking you back and forth. ,,They can't hurt you now angel'' she coos and despite trying to reassure you, she sends another wave of anxiety through you as you remember what happened, how they had been on the floor when you left, looking lifeless and cold.

,,Aggy.. you... you killed them'' you whisper, staring into her eyes in realisation and when she sees the scared in your eyes, her heart breaks, for the first time ever seeing you scared of her and she didn't know how to act, instinctively pulling you a little closer as she was scared you would slip through her fingers further. She could never explain this to you, the love she felt for you ever since seeing you for the first time, your adorable smile, your shyness and squirming around her and how your hearts seemed to realise much faster than either of you did. How she would kiss death in order to safe you every single time, how she would go back to her old ways in order to save you, how the universe could never be a priority as long as you are alive.

The brunette doesn't know what to say, silence filling the bedroom but as your eyes meet hers, you can see the vulnerability in them, the scared of your reaction, the hurt of your reaction and the guilt. ,,I wanted to keep you safe'' she admits and your eyebrows furrow before she whispers again ,,No one gets to touch you, hurt you, ever'' she carries on, her voice filled with a seriousness and overprotectiveness that takes your breath away. And then you realise that no one had ever cared for you the way your Aggy had. No one ever listened to you as intently, no one ever cared about your interests in the way she had, letting you ramble about plots of a book or tv shows for hours on end and never getting tired of it. How no one had quite ever cared about your physical wellbeing the way she had, always holding your hand before crossing a street, always making sure your seatbelt is buckled when driving somewhere. And the realisation brings tears to your eyes, just how much Aggy loved you, just how far she would go for you, going back to the darkness in order to save you.

She instantly notices your tears, hesitant as her fingers hover above your cheeks but wiping them nevertheless, the sight of you crying breaking her heart every single time. ,,I'm sorry for scaring you'' she admits, her own tears reflecting in her beautiful orbs. ,,You.. you saved me Aggy'' you whisper, getting to understand the depth she went through for you and grateful nevertheless. You both knew this would take time to heal together, to talk this through together but all you both want right now is to hold each other, appreciate being with each other and fate not having seperated you further. Agatha watches your body up and down, the bruises and cuts on your face, the guilt reflecting in her orbs.

„Did they..“ she begins but stops herself as she looks away, wanting to be strong for you. „Hurt you anywhere else?“ she asks hesitantly after a moment and you quickly shake your head and a sigh of relief leaves her. „I‘m - so sorry I wasn‘t there with you“ she whispers and the guilt radiates off her that much that all you can do is lunge forward and take her into your arms, wrapping around her and seeking her warmth and safety. And despite wanting to give her comfort and reassurance right now, being in her arms makes you feel complete, slowly washing away the events and pain from the previous day. „It‘s not your fault Aggy“ you reassure and she stays silent while the two of you quietly hold onto each other. Neither of you speak for a while, the fireplace softly crackling in the background as you hold each other, the events from before slowly melting away.

After a while she pulls away ever so slightly, her hands still on you to reassure and show you she is right there. „How about we get you cleaned up sweet girl?“ she offers and you nod, holding the hand she is offering before following her into the bathroom, both of you noticing the exhaustion heavy on your features again and still aching body. But Aggy is there, gently wiping your bruises and the blood away, gently hovering her hands over them and making them go away one by one. And softly she would soothe you back to sleep, hold you in her arms and whisper reassuring nothings into your ear, holding you steady, not sleeping herself in order to be there. And softly and slowly Aggy would soothe you through this, shushing the nightmares, always ready to listen and hold you. And she was sure to never let you near harms away again, keeping you close to her heart and hand at all times. Protecting you, always.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x y/n #agatha harkness drabble #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agatha rio #agatha x female reader #writing #marvel #mcu #kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #lgbt #angst #fanfiction

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miloscozycorner · 8 months ago

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hiya! idk if you write for agatha, so just ignore this if you dont!

if you do then yay!! would u do hcs of agatha being a carer for a baby regressor reader? thanks! have a good day!

I do write for Agatha! I love her :’) sadly I haven’t watched Agatha All Along yet, but I have lots of friends who are bugging me to! Gotta get on that.. anyhow, enjoy! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

- Loves to show off her magic to impress you! Agatha learns lots of different magic tricks just to show off. Doesn’t even matter if it’s real magic or not- you’ll always be impressed.

- Buys lots of purple things for you- she thinks it’s adorable for you to match with her. Purple sippy cups, pacis, anything.

- Even though you’re usually too tiny to maintain a conversation, she loves to go along with it. You’ll babble about something and she’ll nod enthusiastically. “You’re so right, baby!”

- Playtime with Señor Scratchy is a must. Lots of pets and cuddles with him, and you hold him if you’re very gentle :3

- Very protective- doesn’t really like when her baby does too much exploring. She’d much rather keep you bundled up and safe with her >:p

- Constant affection! She’s super clingy so she’s always holding you, wanting to cuddle, all of it. “Why don’t you give mama a hug?”

- Just very soft in general. Coos to you, calls you silly petnames. No matter how scary she is to anyone else, you’re her baby :’3!

#milo answering #milo writing #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness blurb #agatha harkness drabble #agatha harkness headcanons #agere fandom #agere fanfiction #agere fic #agere fanfic #fandom agere

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saphiccarma · 4 months ago

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Agathario with a silly reader who tends to pick up strays? Like first it’s subtle like a cat or something- but then it’s a cow? Idk it’s silly and sounds cute- the rests up to you :)

(for your small Drabble requests post thing)

Trying a new thing with this

The first thing you bring home is a cat, a small black cat that you name Shadow and refuse to let go of.

Agatha is reasonably unamused but she can never find it in herself to say no to you.

Meanwhile Rio is estatic, going all out and buying the fanciest cat food and a cat tree and a self-cleaning litter box, all of the stuff

A few months later you come home with a puppy. Agatha flat out refused, firmly stating she would not have a flee bag, mud tracking thing in her finely decorated house.

Rio and you persuaded her in certain ways until she agreed to keep the dog. It was a golden retriever, a perfect contrast to the cat.

It only escalated from there. A duck, named Senor Waddles, much to Senor Scratchy's displeasure.

You tried to sneak in a racoon, tucking it into your shirt and shuffling into the house quietly.

Agatha raised an unamused eyebrow at the sight of you and the struggling animal in your shirt while Rio smirked and scoffed.

In the end the racoon was kept and named Snuggles. He often slept in Rio's hats and Agatha's hoodies.

Those were only the animals kept. You brought home opposums, geese, rats, snakes, even a fox.

But for the most part, it was small creatures, nothing big.

Then, you brought home a fricking cow. It took you horus to lead it back to the house, softly coaxing it with an apple you had in your pocket.

Agatha was leaning on the front door, an unamused eyebrow raised as she watched you slowly back up and try to lead the cow into the backyard subtly.

"Darling?" she called out, "What's that?"

You squeak, standing in front of the cow as if that will hide it. Rio comes up beside Agatha, wrapping her arms around the older woman and kissing her neck.

"We are not keeping a cow." Agatha states firmly.

"Oh let her have it," Rio murmurs agaisnt her neck, "Look at how happy she is."

"Pleaseeee," you beg, giving her wide eyes and prayer hands, "Please please please please."

Eventually she gave in to letting you keep the cow.

Your house was turning into quite the zoo with all the animals you had.

#rio vidal x agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agathario fluff #rio vidal x you #agatha harkness x you #trying out a new style for like little drabble things #idk guys #i'm experimenting :)

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salmonballsss · 1 month ago

Text

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 15)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word count: 13k

Warnings: None.

You stir slightly, a small huff leaving your lips as you snuggle further into the warmth at your side. Your body is sore from the night before—just a bit—but you’d slept like you were on clouds.

Slowly, you start to become aware of a small, repeated thumping noise. At first, you think it might’ve been that stupid crow again, but this is… softer. Soothing.

Like a heartbeat.

Your eyes open—and the first thing you see is Agatha’s hair, a tousled curtain in your face, and the feeling of her shirt against your cheek. Your limbs are tangled with hers.

Well… it’s mostly you completely on her side of the bed. Practically on top of her. You lift your head just enough to look at her. She’s still asleep.

Her breathing is slow and soft, and—god—she looks so peaceful. So pretty. Her hair a little wild from sleep, and somehow that just makes her hotter. Less untouchable. And she’s warm. So warm.

You could lie there—pressed to her side—forever.

But then… a certain ache. The lingering scent of smoke still clinging faintly to her shirt. It all hits you.

Your mind flashes back to last night. And the weight of it rushes in like a tide. you stay there.

Still.

Breathing her in. But your mind won’t stop now that it’s awake. Because—what the fuck. What the actual fuck. You watched her do magic last night.

Like—real, actual, no way to explain it away magic. Not a trick. Not some weird Wiccan aesthetic with candles and sage. No. This was ritualistic. Ancient. Her eyes were glowing. There were symbols. Words that made your skin crawl. A bowl that hissed with violet light .

And she touched you. She pulled something out of you. It wasn’t just care. It wasn’t just some natural remedy. It was a goddamn ritual. And she didn’t flinch. Not once.

You glance back down at her, heart climbing up into your throat.

Agatha’s still asleep. Peaceful. Composed. Her features are relaxed in a way they never are when she’s awake—like she’s let go of whatever weight she normally wears like armor.

You study her face.

Trying to find it.

The lie.

The crack.

The part that tells you what the hell she is.

Because she’s not forty five. You’re not stupid. You know it. The signs are all over her. In her eyes. Her voice. The way she moves like she’s lived through every moment twice.

She knew Harry. She was there when he died. And Harry died decades ago.

You stare at her. Like if you just keep looking long enough, she’ll give it away. Like maybe her skin will shift. Or she’ll age five hundred years right in front of you.

But she doesn’t.

She just breathes. And looks impossibly human. You exhale shakily and roll onto your back, eyes dragging toward the ceiling.

It’s too much. All of it. The beast. The summoning. The hallucinations. The visions of other lives. The feeling like your soul knows her before your mind can catch up. And now?

Now she’s sleeping next to you like nothing happened. Like she didn’t chant over your body to save your life.

You cover your eyes with your arm and groan softly. “Jesus Christ.” You’re in way over your head. And she’s still sleeping like a dream.

You stare up at the ceiling like it holds answers. But of course, it doesn’t. Because the person who does have the answers is lying right next to you—warm and silent and maddeningly mysterious.

Your eyes shift back to her. Just for a moment. She hasn’t moved. Not an inch. And that—somehow—only makes it worse. She did all of that to you. For you.

But she hasn’t told you anything. No explanations. No reassurances. Just soft hands, glowing eyes, and a voice that slipped ancient syllables into your skin like medicine.

You bite your lip, eyes narrowing slightly. There has to be more.

She has to be hiding something—more than just her age, or her knowledge of the beast, or her connection to Harry. Something bigger. Deeper. Older.

And you know where to find it.

Her study.

That damned room she leaves open just enough to tempt you, stocked with books that don't belong to any public record. Shelves full of volumes written in Latin , labels scrawled in handwriting that doesn’t look like it’s changed in centuries.

Bird feed. A wooden box that seemed to hum when you touched it. There’s something there. You can feel it in your bones.

The way she talks around your questions. The way she deflects with teasing. The way her eyes flicker when you ask about her past—like she’s remembering centuries instead of decades.

You swallow hard, suddenly more awake than you’ve felt in days. She won’t tell you. Not yet.

So maybe it’s time you stop waiting to be told. Maybe it’s time you find out who—and what —Agatha Harkness really is.

You sneak out of Agatha’s warm embrace, slipping gently from her arms and the covers. Your feet hit the floor with barely a sound, the cold wood biting at your skin as you make your way toward the door.

Once you reach it, hand on the knob, you glance back. Just to make sure. She’s still asleep.

You trace your eyes over her one last time—face half lit in the soft early light, dark hair messy around her cheek, breath even and unbothered.

You slip out. The door creaks. You wince, freezing, breath caught in your throat.

No movement from the bed. You exhale softly and turn, feet light as you creep down the hall. Toward her study. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. Especially with her actually home this time.

Especially when you’re not just passing through—you’re here to snoop. Last time you tried that, you were vomiting up black, evil tar mixed with blood. So… not great odds.

Still.

Your mind won’t quiet. Something’s scratching at the inside of your skull, pacing like an animal, pushing you forward.

You reach the study door and grab the knob.

It doesn’t budge.

Your brows furrow.

Locked?

Did she lock it?

Does she know you’ve been in here before? Is that why she didn’t seem all that surprised when you passed out on the bathroom floor last time—like she’d been expecting it?

You frown. You can’t remember if you left the door open or not. The last time you were in here, it was just for the crow feed—and she hadn’t seemed too suspicious.

You jiggle the knob.

Nothing.

You try again—harder. It shifts slightly, but not much. You grumble under your breath, set your jaw, and give the door a firm shoulder.

It creaks open with a groan, and you stumble forward into the dark. You stop. Breathe. Take in the familiar space.

The books—lined up spine to spine, most in Latin or languages you don’t recognize. Their covers cracked, gold-embossed, or so old they look like they’ll fall apart if you breathe too hard.

The low wooden box on the shelf. The packets of bird feed, still labeled in that same steady handwriting.

Everything is just as you left it..

The air smells the same—dust and ink and something faintly... electric.

You swallow, throat dry. There’s only one place left to look. Your eyes fall to the desk.

Agatha’s desk.

The heart of the storm. And something inside you knows— that’s where the answers are. You move toward the desk slowly, like it might bite you.

The wood is dark, aged, the kind that probably weighs five hundred pounds and has been passed down through at least six generations—or maybe just one person who’s lived long enough to look like six generations.

You brace your hands on either side of it and stare down at the surface.

Empty.

No notes. No books. No clues. Just a clean slate of polished wood, except for a single small ink stain in the corner and a quill pen tucked into a carved holder.

You sit down in the chair, spine straightening automatically like the desk demands it.

You start with the top drawer on the right. It sticks a little before sliding open.

Inside: ink bottles. Three of them, their contents long dried. One is cracked at the rim. There’s a strange, almost green tint to the glass that makes you squint. A few pens. Some real, metaltipped ones. Others modern and cheap. A tangle of paperclips and what looks like… a spool of silver thread?

You frown. Close it.

Second drawer.

Loose parchment. Old pages covered in faded ink, none of which mean anything to you at first glance. Scribbles. Grocery lists, maybe. Or spell fragments? A few have dates. All very modern. One is labeled "3/19/85" and just says: H refused again. Storm came anyway.

Your stomach flips.

But before you can spiral again, you close that drawer too.

Left side.

The top drawer is shallow. Inside is a collection of wires—metal, copper, tightly coiled—and a few bolts. A roll of electrical tape. You blink down at it all, confused. What the hell would Agatha Harkness need wires for?

You shut it harder than necessary.

The next drawer is deep, heavy, and full of notebooks. You tug one free, flipping through it, hoping to see that strange language again—something. Anything.

But it’s just… outlines.

Lesson plans? Chapter breakdowns? It’s academic. Dry. Smart, sure, but it reads like a curriculum map for a college course no one took. One page reads: Witchcraft and Female Autonomy in Puritan Era Trials: A Case Study.

Okay.

So she’s either a very well-researched liar or you’re looking in the wrong place.

You open another drawer.

Nothing.

Just dust. An old envelope with nothing in it. A single button. A dried flower pressed flat between two sticky notes.

You let out a long, aggravated sigh and lean back in the chair, rubbing your hands over your face. "Great. Good. Love that for me."

You sigh and reach for the final drawer on the bottom right.

It doesn’t budge.

You blink.

You try again—both hands this time, yanking gently, then with more force.

Still locked.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath.You lean down, squinting at the handle. It’s old—brass, tarnished, maybe even hand forged. A tiny keyhole sits just beneath it, almost invisible unless you know where to look.

Your stomach tightens. Of course there’s a locked drawer. Of course that’s the one she keeps closed. You sit back and stare at it for a moment, your hands hovering uselessly above the wood.

You don’t know how to pick locks. You didn’t exactly grow up a delinquent with bobby pins in her hair and lockpicks in her socks. Your skillset is firmly rooted in libraries, not break ins.

So you try what any desperate person might.

You check under the desk.

Nothing.

You run your hand along the underside of the drawer—searching for a latch, a switch, a hidden catch.

Nothing.

“Where the hell would you even keep a key?” you mutter to no one, scowling at the desk like it insulted you personally. You push back in the chair and glance around the study again.

Books.

Boxes.

Wall shelves lined with tiny, meaningless trinkets. And then your eyes fall on something else.

The far wall—just above the bookshelf near the window. There’s a small cupboard built into the paneling. It’s painted the same pale blue gray as the rest of the room, and you wouldn’t have noticed it except… the wallpaper near the edge is starting to peel. Not badly just the corner. But something about it pulls your eye. You rise slowly, stepping over to it, fingertips brushing against the edge of the paper where it’s lifting.

You frown.

There’s something beneath it. Not wallpaper. Not paint. A marking.

Faint, carved into the wood like it had been there before the paper ever went up. Your fingers rub lightly across it. It’s curved. Sharp. Intentional.

Not a scratch.

A rune.

You freeze. The second your skin fully brushes it, something shifts. Not visibly. Not loudly. Just… energy. The study, which moments ago had felt still and stale and familiar— changes. The air grows denser. Not colder, exactly. Just thicker. Like something in the room is suddenly awake. Or watching.

You step back instinctively, heart pounding. “What the hell…” you whisper. But nothing happens. No thunderclap. No magical burst of light. Just that... feeling.

It lingers. Heavy and Uneasy. You shake it off.

You don’t know what it is. Probably nothing. A trick of the light. Some weird, antique thing Agatha picked up from an auction that’s totally normal and not carved into the very foundation of her house.

You reach for the cupboard door and open it slowly.

It swings open with a tiny click.

Inside are a few items—a candle stub, a bundle of dried herbs tied with black string, and a small ceramic dish filled with what looks like crushed stone or ash. But most importantly?

A ring of keys. Old, Really old.

One is a skeleton key, heavy and iron wrought. The others are mismatched, tarnished silver and copper. One has a strange symbol etched into the head—almost like a mirrored spiral. Another looks like it could open a locker at a mental institution.

You take the whole ring in your hand and step back toward the desk.

The keys jingle softly.

You crouch in front of the locked drawer again and hesitate, staring at the tiny keyhole like it might grow teeth.

Then you inhale slowly and try the first key.

Nope.

Second.

Too big.

Third— click.

Your breath catches. The lock releases. Your fingers tremble as you curl them around the handle. And with one final breath—

You open it.

The drawer creaks open slowly.

Inside: paper. So much paper. Stacks of it, yellowed and brittle at the edges, smelling of dust and something faintly herbal. There are files. Clippings. Folders bound with string. A black envelope sealed in wax.

Your stomach turns. Your fingers hover above it all like you’re about to disarm a bomb.

You reach in slowly and lift the first folder. It’s heavy. Inside are newspaper clippings—some recent, some dated back hundreds of years.

You pull one free.

The Salem Gazette, 1693.

"Witch escapes execution. Town still haunted by her name."

You blink.

There’s a sketch attached. A woman in stocks, head low, dark hair tangled around her face. It’s rough, barely detailed, but… it looks like her. Like Agatha.

Your heart lurches.

You flip through the rest of the folder—newspaper clippings from every era. 1794. 1851. 1912. 1945. 1978. Each article a different city. A different name. But always a similar story:

Strange woman heals sick child.

Mysterious figure vanishes after fire consumes town.

Woman accused of witchcraft flees before trial.

The photos change styles, the names change entirely—Sarah Cotton, Margaret Eastwick, Violet Crane. But the face…

The face is always her.

You drop the folder and grab another. A manila file this time. Inside—IDs. Dozens of them. Old driver’s licenses, passports, library cards. All different names. All different birthdates. All Agatha.

Your breath stutters.

This isn’t just fake paperwork. This is a life, rewritten again and again and again. You rifle through more documents. A birth certificate dated 1644.

You stop.

No.

You check it again. The paper is cracked, the ink fading. But it's there.

Agatha Harkness. Born: October 28, 1644.

You do the math.

381 years.

Agatha is 381 years old.

You fall back on your heels, your hands shaking. You’re surrounded by decades— centuries of history. Of lies. Of truth disguised as fiction.

You grab another document. A page torn from an old notebook—dated 1985. Handwriting crisp and clinical:

"Found another sighting in Hollow Wood. Confirmed identity. Still calling herself Agatha. Magic still active. Not hiding it as well as before. Too dangerous to approach."

-J.P."

Your eyes widen. .He knew.

He knew what she was. And he was tracking her.

There’s more. Another folder marked "WITCH - HARKNESS. CONFIRMED."

Inside: hand drawn runes. Translated texts. Diagrams of rituals. Pages printed from microfilm of Puritan journals. One entry reads:

"A woman walks the woods still. She has not aged. They say her eyes glow. The crows follow. Her name is cursed. Her name is Agatha."

You can barely breathe.

She wasn’t lying.

About the beast. About the history. About knowing you before.

You grab a photo tucked at the bottom of the drawer. It's old. A black and white portrait. The ink is faded, but the image is clear: Agatha Harkness, standing beside a group of early 1900s suffragettes. She looks exactly the same.

No disguise. No difference. Just the same face, standing beside women fighting for the right to vote like she belonged there.

Your head spins. Why did she keep the name? If she used aliases, changed identities, why does "Agatha Harkness" keep appearing again and again?

Unless she wanted to be found. Unless she wanted you to know.

You sit back, dizzy, hands still shaking. This is bigger than anything you ever imagined. Bigger than your thesis. Bigger than Hollow Wood.

It’s her.

She’s real. She’s magic. She’s ancient. She’s been hiding in plain sight.

And you—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The voice slices through the room like ice.

You whip around.

Agatha stands in the doorway. Her silhouette is backlit by the hallway light, hair wild, arms crossed. Her tone is unreadable.

Cold.

Timeless. And she’s looking right at you. Agatha doesn’t move at first.

Just stands there—framed in the doorway like a painting come to life, shadows clinging to her as if they know better than to let go. Her hair’s still messy from sleep, but the rest of her… the rest of her is deadly still.

The kind of still that makes your instincts scream run.

Her eyes flick to the open drawer. The scattered documents. The photo in your hand.

“What,” she says, “do you think you’re doing?” You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. She steps forward. Slow. Measured. Like you’re prey and she’s deciding whether you’re worth devouring whole or peeling apart piece by piece.

Your hand tightens around the paper.

“I—”

“You were in my bed,” she interrupts, voice dangerously calm. “And now you’re in my study. Digging through drawers I locked for a reason.”

You scramble up to your feet, the papers fluttering to the floor like dying birds. “I had to. You—God, you lied to me—Agatha—”

“I didn’t lie,” she cuts in sharply. “You never asked the right questions.”

You glare at her. “Are you serious?”

Agatha says nothing.

You point at the drawer. “So what? I’m just supposed to ignore all of that? The birth certificate from 1644? The fake names? The newspaper clippings from every fucking century? The runes in the walls? You being three hundred and eighty one years old and doing witchcraft over my unconscious body like it was just another Tuesday —I’m supposed to just shrug that off? ”

Her jaw clenches.

You toss the crumpled photo at her feet. “I called you a historian,” you laugh—bitter, exhausted, disbelieving. “You’re not a historian. You’re history. ”

Her gaze sharpens. Something like pain flickers across her face—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a cold kind of stillness.

And then—she laughs.

Low.

Dark.

A real cackle , sharp and electric, curling through the study like smoke. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, a twisted smile spreading across her lips. “You sound just like you did the first time.”

You freeze. “What?”

She steps closer. “I said you sound exactly like you did back then. 1693. Standing in the square, hands trembling, voice cracking—calling me a witch like it wasn’t written into your bones the moment we met.”

Your heart stops.

Agatha tilts her head, watching your face carefully. “You accused me before. You cried for my death.”

“I—I didn’t—” You shake your head. “That wasn’t me. I didn’t—”

“But it was,” she says, too gently now. “You don’t remember all of it yet. But your soul does.”

You stumble back, breath short, fury tangled with fear. “You are a witch.”

“And you just figured that out?” she says, with a flash of teeth. “You summoned a beast, pet. You walked through visions. You spoke the language of old blood and earth without even realizing it. And now you’re scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you snap—but your voice shakes.

She smiles again. Darker this time.

You hate how much you want to kiss her when she looks like that. “You’ve been following me for centuries,” you whisper. “Haven’t you?”

She exhales slowly, like the weight of the years sits on her spine. “You followed me , this time.”

You blink. Your chest feels too tight.

“Why?” you ask. “Why keep the name? Why leave all of this behind where I could find it?”

Agatha steps close enough that you can smell her again—Lavendar and cedar, the scent of old fire and older grief. “Because some part of you always finds me,” she murmurs. “And some part of me never wants to stop you.”

You feel your resolve fracture.

You should be angry.

You should be furious.

But all you can feel is the ache in your chest and the unbearable weight of knowing that none of this started with you. Not really. And it sure as hell won’t end here.

You stare at her.

Everything inside you boiling.

Her words settle like ash on your skin, and for a moment you think maybe—maybe you’ll stay calm. Maybe you’ll just breathe.

But you don’t.

You explode.

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense!”

Your voice rips through the room. Agatha flinches—not visibly, but something in her jaw tightens.

You step forward, your hands clenched, tears starting to blur your vision and you don’t care.

“I’ve been trying to make sense of all this. The visions. The beast. The fucking leaf you taped to my ribs while I was unconscious. But you—” your voice breaks, raw and shaking, “—you just keep talking in riddles and half truths and ‘oh, you’ll remember eventually,’ like I’m supposed to just sit here and trust you while you light candles and pull black sludge out of my side like that’s a normal night!”

Agatha stays still.

“You think I’m scared of you?” you snap. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of not knowing . I’m scared that I kissed you and wanted you and needed you, and now I find out you’ve been alive since the 1600s and what? I’m just supposed to play catch up while you smirk in the shadows like I’m some little puppet for you to watch remember things?”

She opens her mouth.

“No! Don’t you fucking dare ,” you cut in. “Don’t give me another cryptic one liner or act like you’re protecting me. You are not protecting me. You’re lying to me.”

Your breath is ragged now. Your fists tremble at your sides.

“I came here to write a thesis. I came here to research women who were murdered. And instead I’m being haunted by something I summoned and stitched back together with whatever you are. You say I’ve done this before? That I cried for your death? Well maybe I had a fucking reason back then!”

Silence.

Agatha’s face is unreadable. Cold. Guarded. But her eyes…

Her eyes flicker with something.

Pain.

Pride, And maybe—maybe just a glimmer of regret.

But you don’t give her the chance to speak yet. You square your shoulders and snarl “Say something real for once.”

Agatha doesn’t move. Not at first. She just stands there, eyes on you, shoulders set. But something in her—something quiet— wavers.

Finally, her voice comes. Low. Tired. Real. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

You scoff. “Like what? Finding out you’ve been lying to me for weeks? Or that you’re three hundred and eighty one years old and apparently I burned you at the stake in a past life?”

She flinches. Barely.

“I didn’t lie to you,” she says again, quieter this time. “I just… I didn’t know how to explain it in a way that wouldn’t drive you off.”

You narrow your eyes. “You mean in a way that wouldn’t ruin the game?”

Her jaw tightens. “That’s not what this is.”

“No?” you hiss. “Then tell me something real.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens. Her mouth opens. And—for once—she doesn’t deflect.

“I never meant for it to go like this,” she says, her voice low, rough around the edges. “I was trying to give you time. To let you remember on your own. I thought maybe this time, maybe this life , you wouldn’t have to know everything. Not so soon.”

You scoff. “So you were just going to what— sleep with me and lie to me forever? ”

Her jaw twitches. “I wasn’t lying.”

“You’re 381 years old!”

“I know!” she snaps, loud and unfiltered. “I know what I am. I’ve known what I am since long before you were ever born. And yes—I’m a witch. I’ve been hunted. Burned. Exiled. You think I wanted to bring you into that again?”

The again is soft. Quiet. Almost lost under the crackling air between you.

You blink. That’s… more than she’s ever said. Too much and still not enough. But before you can respond— A sound splits through the room.

Low. Wet. Monstrous.

A deep, distant growl that echoes like it’s reverberating inside your skull. The windows tremble. The floor seems to shift beneath your feet.

Your side throbs.

Hard.

You gasp, hand flying to your ribs. Agatha’s eyes snap to you instantly. “What was that?” she demands.

You glare at her through the pain. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not,” she snaps, voice suddenly sharp, laced with something unfamiliar— uncertainty.

Then the beast calls again. Louder. Closer. As if it's right on the edge of the forest. You cry out, clutching your side as the mark pulses in time with its voice, spreading fire up your ribs.

Agatha spins toward the window, eyes narrowing. “That shouldn’t be happening,” she breathes.

You wheeze out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, welcome to my fucking world.”

“No,” she says, panic lacing her words now. “You don’t understand. This house—it’s protected. Wards. Runes. Layers upon layers of magical shielding. The reason that thing hasn’t gotten inside—why it hasn’t torn you apart—is because it can’t. ”

You freeze.

“…How is it protected?”

Agatha’s voice is curt, distracted. “Runes. Old ones. Carved into the structure, bound with my blood, sealed when I moved in.”

Your brain flicks back.

The cupboard.

The wall.

That mark.

That rune.

Agatha’s eyes suddenly snap to the wall behind you. She pales. “No,” she whispers.

You turn. You both see it. The spot on the wall where the wallpaper’s been peeled back. Where a faint, etched rune has been partially rubbed away.

Your breath catches.

Agatha looks like she’s been punched. “No no no—” She rushes past you, fingers hovering near the carving but not touching it. “This is one of the foundational seals. The barrier. It’s what holds the perimeter—it links the others. If it’s broken—”

Her voice cuts off. The house creaks. The wind outside howls. The beast screams again—and this time, it sounds like it’s inside the yard.

Agatha reels back a step, her face white. “…You touched it,” she says, voice soft with horror. “You broke it.”

Agatha’s fingers twitch near the ruined rune, her breath sharp and unsteady. She doesn’t touch it—like it might bite her if she does.

You step back, the burning in your side now pulsing, rhythmic and nauseating. Your vision swims for a second.

And then— You smell it.

The rot.

Like something dead for too long. Wet earth, meat gone sour. It creeps into the room like smoke, curling up your nose and hitting the back of your throat.

You gag, hand clamped to your ribs. Agatha whirls toward the window. You follow her gaze.

And you see it. A shadow slithering between the trees, moving too fast and too wrong. Limbs that don’t match. Smoke where a face should be. A body made of bone and teeth and void.

The beast.

It’s here.

“No,” Agatha mutters, her voice gone hoarse, old fear coiled beneath her words. “It shouldn’t be able to get this close. Not with the wards. Not with—”

She cuts off. Her eyes snap to you. Then to the ruin behind you. Then back to the window. You flinch as the beast lunges past a tree, the branches splintering from its mass—only to vanish again into smoke.

It’s circling.

Hunting.

“Agatha—” you croak, pain stabbing through your side, vision tilting. She raises a hand—fast—and mutters something in a language you don’t recognize.

A soft crackle of light snaps through the room. The broken rune sparks like it’s trying to repair itself but fails, flickering and fading.

Your jaw drops. It was subtle—but magic. Real, terrifying magic. Agatha curses under her breath. “It’s too late. The perimeter’s gone.”

You stagger back as another ripple of rot hits you like a wave. The windows rattle . The air goes thin . Agatha grabs your wrist hard—eyes wild, crackling with power and something dangerously close to fear.

“We need to go,” she says, voice shaking. “Now.”

Your body’s already moving with her as she pulls you through the doorway, the house groaning behind you like it knows it’s losing. Your side screams in agony as the beast howls again—this time, so close it sounds like it’s inside the walls.

And for the first time—

Agatha Harkness looks truly afraid.

“Right fucking now,” she growls. And the two of you run.

You’re halfway down the hall when Agatha yanks you sideways into a small, cramped storage closet. You stagger, heart racing, still clutching your ribs, mouth full of the taste of rot and adrenaline.

“What the hell are you doing?” you gasp.

She ignores you—dropping to her knees and yanking open a cabinet with more force than necessary. “Where is it, where is it—ah, there .”

You blink as she pulls out…

A broomstick.

You stare. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m always serious,” she snaps, standing up with the battered thing and glaring at it like it personally offended her.

“Is that—are we flying out of here?”

Agatha mutters something under her breath—sharp and fast—and you’re pretty sure it’s just swearing in Latin. She thrusts the broom into your arms, then starts rifling through a nearby crate of odds and ends—twine, branches, some long velvet ribbon, and a very sharp garden shear.

“Witches don’t use brooms,” she says flatly, grabbing a thicker branch from a bin and snapping the ends with supernatural ease. “That was made up by a bunch of terrified Puritans and then bastardized by Hallmark.”

You blink.

“I’m sorry, what? ”

She glares at you like it’s obvious. “It’s an old fertility symbol. Flying was metaphorical . But try telling that to Americans in October.”

You open your mouth to reply—nothing comes out.

Agatha grabs the garden twine and starts lashing the thick branch to the base of the handle, crafting what can only be described as the most pissed off, aggressively sexy broomstick in history.

“I had a proper travel charm,” she mutters, “but nooo, let’s peel the protection glyph off the wall, let the demon in, and now I have to fly us out of here like it’s fucking 1693. Centuries of progress, down the drain.”

You just stare at her.

She’s got twine clenched in her teeth, fingers weaving something fast and ritualistic into the tail of the broom, her sleeves pushed up, veins glowing faintly violet under her skin as she mutters incantations. Her hair is wild, her mouth is moving fast, her eyes sharp and shining.

And God help you, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

This woman is making a broom to save your lives. From a hellbeast. While ranting about Halloween.

“I’m dreaming,” you mutter. “I have to be dreaming. Or high. Or dead. Maybe I did die last night.”

“Sweetheart, if you were dead,” Agatha mutters, tying off the tail with a final flick of her wrist, “you wouldn’t be this much of a pain in my ass.”

She tosses the finished broom to the floor, plants a boot beside it, and wipes her hands with a dramatic flick.

“Alright,” she breathes. “Let’s ride.”

You gape at her.

“…Did you practice that line?”

“Of course not,” she sniffs, already stepping over the threshold with the broom under her arm. “But if you quote it back to me later, I won’t be mad.”

And with that, she marches toward the door like an eldritch, annoyed Joan of Arc—and all you can do is follow, heart thudding, absolutely terrified and, against your better judgment, just a little bit turned on.

Agatha shoves the door open with her shoulder, the broom clutched tightly in one hand, the other locked around your wrist like iron.

The moment the light hits you—bright, pale morning sun—you feel it.

The shift. Like something massive and wrong has noticed . The backyard is eerily still for a heartbeat.

Then, the air groans. A low, pulsing howl rips through the treeline—and suddenly it’s there.

The beast.

Barreling toward you from the woods, a towering, shifting mass of tar black limbs and smoke. Its jaws stretch too wide, full of bone and rot, and from its body— shadows peel off like vines , grasping toward you across the grass.

Your side erupts in pain.

You scream, stumbling, but Agatha doesn’t hesitate—she yanks you hard against her body and throws a leg over the broom.

“Hold on,” she hisses.

You don’t get a second to argue. Because the beast leaps.

You see it, midair, shadows fanned out like wings, shrieking with rage and hunger— And then Agatha kicks off the ground.

The broom roars beneath you, not loud but alive —a hum of raw, ancient power bursting through the handle. Wind snaps past your face as the two of you rocket upward , just as the beast’s claws slam into the earth where you stood.

You cling to Agatha with both arms, burying your face in her shoulder as she levels the broom and soars.

The ground falls away beneath you.

You don’t look down. You can feel the beast below. Screaming. Chasing. The smell of it—smoke and rot and centuries of blood—lingers like poison in the wind.

Agatha doesn’t look back.

She grips the broom like she’s been doing it for three hundred years—and maybe she has—and her jaw is tight, hair whipping around her like a stormcloud. Her eyes stay forward, scanning the horizon, her mouth set in a line that says not this time.

The broom bucks once beneath you, and you tighten your grip around her waist.

You’re flying In broad daylight. Clutching a centuries old witch, fleeing from a shadow demon that’s somehow marked you as its next victim.

And yet… Agatha feels solid in your arms.

You rest your forehead against her back, panting, dazed, the pain in your side easing as the beast’s voice finally fades below.

But you can still hear it.

Calling.

And you know this is far from over. Agatha doesn’t speak for a long moment. Then, quietly— too calmly “…Well. That was unpleasant.”

You don’t say a word. Not one.

Your arms are wrapped around Agatha like you’re the harness and she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the planet. Your face is pressed firmly into her back—cheek flat against the worn fabric of her sweater, eyes squeezed shut so tight you’re seeing stars behind your lids.

You don’t want to open them. You don’t want to look down.

You feel wind all around you, sharp and fast. You’re flying— actually flying. And you know, logically, the beast is behind you now. But logic has no place up here above the clouds with nothing but open air between you and a very permanent end.

The only thing you can focus on?

Agatha.

Her body under yours, solid and warm. Her ribs expanding with each breath.

You hold on tighter. Her hands never waver on the broom, steady as a blade. But after a few minutes—when your death grip doesn’t loosen, and she feels your fingers tremble against her sides—she laughs.

Low and amused, her voice cutting through the wind. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says, far too casually, “if you wanted to hold me like this, you could’ve just asked.”

You groan—muffled into her back. “Shut up.”

“Mmm.” She leans slightly into your touch. “No, really. I don’t mind. Very flattering. I just didn’t realize nearly plummeting to our deaths would turn you into such a koala.”

You growl—softly—but your grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. Agatha just chuckles again. Smug. Then—without a word—she slides one of her hands from the broomstick and brings it back to cover yours , where your fingers are clutching at her ribs.

She gives your hand a soft, grounding squeeze.

You breathe.

In.

Out.

The wind is still howling. But your panic starts to ebb. The burning in your side has dulled to a faint ache. The pain from the rune breaking, the beast’s proximity—it’s fading, like the sky is diluting it as you rise higher.

You still can’t look down. But you can breathe now. Agatha’s thumb strokes gently along your knuckles. You don’t know how long you stay like that.

Pressed to her back, fists clenched in the fabric at her ribs, feeling every rise and fall of her breathing like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

But eventually— Eventually, the dread ebbs. Not all at once. It unspools slowly, like threads of adrenaline unwinding in your blood. The smell of rot is gone. Your side only pulses faintly. The wind is cold, but it’s clean. Sharp. High.

And Agatha? Agatha is still here.

Still flying like it’s nothing. Like she does this all the time . Your grip softens slightly, but you don’t let go. Not yet.

You crack one eye open. Your stomach lurches . The world below is a watercolor blur of trees and fog, vanishing into clouds so thick you can’t tell where the sky ends and the air begins. “Oh god,” you whisper.

Agatha glances back over her shoulder just slightly, lips twitching. “There she is. I was wondering if you’d passed out.”

“I kind of wish I had,” you mutter.

Her smile widens, just barely. “You’re doing better than most.”

You squint at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s supposed to make you feel alive,” she says, and you can hear the smug little smirk in her voice. “Big difference.”

You huff—still not quite laughing—but it’s closer.

You shift slightly behind her, loosening your death grip just enough to stop cutting off circulation to your own fingers. Your hands stay on her ribs. Her hand doesn’t leave yours.

“So where are we going?” you ask, your voice softer now. Still hoarse. Still worn.

Agatha doesn’t answer right away.

She adjusts the broom beneath you, guiding it higher with a subtle shift of her body. You feel the muscles of her back tense against your chest. There’s an elegance to it—even now. Even after everything. Like this is just another Tuesday.

“A place the beast can’t follow,” she finally says. “A real safehouse. Not a protected house with ruined runes.”

You wince. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you.”

“Oh, no. That’s going on your headstone.”

You rest your forehead against her shoulder with a groan. “You are so annoying.”

“Tell that to your grip, darling.” You go quiet again. Not because you don’t have a comeback—though, fine, your brain is still mush—but because being here…like this…?

It’s insane. But it’s also strangely, impossibly beautiful.

The clouds part slightly as you glide through them, sunlight breaking over the tops like a crown. The world is silent, save for the rush of air and the occasional low hum of magic vibrating under the broom.

And you’re still here. Alive. Breathing. Wrapped around a 381 year old witch you may or may not have also burned in a past life.

You shut your eyes again and exhale slowly.

You don't let go. Not yet. And Agatha doesn’t ask you to. “This is fucking insane,” you breathe. The clouds below you shift like seafoam, breaking in places to reveal the dark, endless green of forest beneath.

Your stomach flips again.

You grip Agatha harder, your nails accidentally digging into her side—and she definitely feels it.

She doesn’t say anything at first. But you can tell. Her back tenses slightly, then relaxes with intent, her hand gently squeezing yours again in quiet warning.

It’s not enough.

Because you can’t see her face. Can’t watch her expression. Can’t read her like you’ve gotten used to. All you’ve got is wind and cloud and height and the weight of what just happened.

And you spiral.

“I don’t know how to process this,” you mutter into her back. “Like—I’m clinging to a literal witch—flying on a goddamn broomstick—and there’s a hellbeast stalking me and I’m probably cursed and my ribs feel like they’re going to split open and I can’t see your face, Agatha, and that is really not helping right now.”

There’s a pause.

Then “…You really are dramatic.”

“Agatha—”

“Okay, okay,” she breathes, clearly holding back a smirk. “You want a distraction? I’ll give you a distraction.”

You tense. “History. You like history, right?”

“…I’m a historian, Agatha.”

“Same difference.”

You huff into her shoulder, but she doesn’t wait. “So. Did you know during the Salem witch trials, the very first woman tried—Bridget Bishop—was accused of wearing black lace and having too many opinions? Scandalous.”

“I know,” you say automatically, frowning. “I wrote three chapters on her.”

“Of course you did,” she grumbles.

You blink. There’s a beat of silence. Then, softer: “I knew her.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“I knew Bridget,” Agatha says, her voice quieter now. Less performative. More like memory. “She was stubborn. Loud. Never married again after her first husband died. Kept her tavern open late. Used too much rouge. They hated her for being free.”

You’re quiet. Agatha keeps going. “Rebecca Nurse—kindest woman I’d ever met. Had eleven children. Spoke like the Bible was written in her bones. They hanged her anyway. Mary Eastey… she braided my hair once, after I fell in the river. I was sixteen. She said no one should ever drown alone.”

You press your cheek tighter to her back. Agatha’s voice doesn’t break. But it soften . Gets older somehow. Tired around the edges. “They were all innocent. Every single one of them. But the thing they feared most was a woman who knew herself.”

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. You just hold her a little tighter. Her ribs shift under your hands with every breath. The clouds keep moving. The broom hums beneath you like something alive.

Agatha doesn’t say anything else for a moment after Mary Eastey.

You think that’s it.

But then— “1734,” she says, almost casually. “I saw a man get thrown out of a tavern window in Edinburgh because he said the wrong name in bed.”

You blink against her back. “What?”

“I wasn’t even in the room,” she adds. “I was just there for the stew. But honestly, worth it. Excellent show.”

You snort—just barely. “1776,” she goes on, ignoring you. “American rebels kept trying to drag me into it. I told one of them if they misquoted Locke one more time I’d turn him into a toad.”

You pause. “Did you?”

“No. But I cursed his libido. Close enough.”

You choke on something between a laugh and a wheeze. Your grip loosens—just slightly.

Agatha keeps going. “1852. I lived in Paris. Worked in a dress shop. A man tried to rob us, so I hexed his shoes. He couldn’t stop dancing for three days.”

“Okay, that’s amazing.”

“I was very proud of that one.”

The wind howls softly around you, but it doesn’t sound threatening anymore. More like the sky’s listening in.

Agatha hums, thinking.

“1915. I got into a screaming match with another witch on a train platform in New York. Whole platform thought we were arguing about prohibition. Really, she stole my familiar.”

“She stole your what ?”

“My cat,” Agatha mutters. “Named him Bartholomew. Smug bastard. Picked her over me.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. A real one. Small. Rough. But real. Agatha says nothing. She just shifts the broom ever so slightly, guiding it gently through a thinner patch of cloud. You see a sliver of land far below. Trees. Rivers. Maybe a town.

And somehow, you don’t panic this time. “…1973,” Agatha says, almost like she’s talking to herself now. “I taught at a college for a few years. Under a fake name. History department, obviously.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I was bored. I liked the tenure.”

You rest your chin lightly against her shoulder, breath warming her skin. “What was your name?”

She huffs. “Margaret Ashwood.”

“…You sound like a haunted tree.”

“I was a haunted tree.”

You laugh again, breathless. “Okay. Your turn,” she says. “Talk to me, historian. Keep me from turning this thing around and feeding us both to the beast.”

You hesitate. Then “…Did you meet anyone cool in the ‘80s?”

Agatha grins. “Oh, sweetheart. The '80s were chaos." The next two hours pass in a haze of wind and stories.

Once your panic fades fully, the flight becomes almost... surreal. Cold air rushes around you, the clouds thin to wisps, and the landscape below rolls by in golden autumn hues—forest, farmland, the occasional glittering river. Somewhere around the New Hampshire border, you even catch a glimpse of the ocean again.

Agatha talks. About the 1980s.

Apparently, she hated the fashion but loved the music. She had a stint working at a record store in San Francisco "under a name I stole from a soap opera villain", dated a drummer in a New Wave band for a while "she had incredible arms and no brain", and—somehow—found herself arrested at a feminist protest in D.C. for “inciting chaos with suspicious materials,” aka enchanted glitter.

You laugh so hard at that story you nearly fall off the broom. Agatha reached back and wraps an arm around your waist without even thinking.

“See?” she mutters. “Much more dangerous than demons. Glitter.”

You’re talking more now. Easily. You’re asking questions, teasing her back, piecing together the life of someone who’s lived too long and still somehow remembers all the best, weirdest parts.

It feels... weirdly good. Until your stomach growls. Loud.

You freeze, pressing your forehead to Agatha’s shoulder. She snorts. “Finally.”

You groan. “I haven’t eaten at all today.”

“Well, I have a demon marked passenger, flying above state lines on a handcrafted broom, and my ass officially no longer has circulation,” she says dryly. “So how about we land, get some food, and pretend this is a road trip instead of a horror novel.”

You lift your head. “Where even are we?”

She points downward. You glance—and see green, rolling hills and a sign in the distance as they pass a quiet town below:

Welcome to Vermont.

The broom dips lower, the clouds thinning until the green fields of Vermont roll open beneath you like a painting come to life.

Agatha scans the horizon with a critical eye and mutters something under her breath. Then, without warning, she tilts the broom sideways and guides you both into a slow, spiraling descent.

Your stomach flips all over again.

You land in a wide open field just outside a sleepy little town—tall grass brushing your legs as you stumble off the broom, legs weak, ribs sore, hair a complete disaster.

You stand there for a second, swaying.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, rubbing your face. “Are we seriously just gonna… walk into town?”

Agatha stretches with a long, satisfied groan, rolling her shoulders. “Mhm.”

You gape at her. “Okay. And then what? What’s the plan, Harkness? We find the local Denny’s and hope they take hellbeast refugees? Are we staying here tonight or what?”

Agatha shrugs and tosses the broom over her shoulder like she’s been doing this for decades. Which, you remind yourself, she has.

“I’m hungry,” she says simply. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

You blink. “That’s it? That’s the plan?”

“That’s the current plan.”

You groan and start trudging after her through the field, one hand on your stomach. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that,” she muses. “And yet, you clung to me like a backpack for two hours straight.”

You glare at her back. She glances over her shoulder with the faintest smirk. And keeps walking.

The bell over the diner door jingles as you both step inside, the warm scent of grease and coffee hitting you like a wall. It’s one of those small town spots that hasn’t changed in fifty years—vinyl booths, wood paneled walls, and a waitress who looks like she’s smoked through two world wars.

You and Agatha slide into a booth near the window.

Neither of you speak at first.

The menu sticks slightly as she opens it, laminated pages squeaking between her fingers. She hums under her breath—light, casual. Like she’s flipping through a spa brochure, not deciding how to reintroduce her body to food after flying halfway across New England on a broomstick.

You’re just staring at her.

Like Seriously?

She glances up over the menu, arching a brow. “What?”

You blink. “What do you mean what? We just crash landed in Vermont. We’re being hunted. You made a broom out of literal twigs. And now you’re deciding between pancakes and a western omelet?”

Agatha gives a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes. Because I’m starving, and I nearly bruised a tailbone I haven’t had in two centuries.”

You gape at her. “I—”

She flicks her eyes back down to the menu. “Do you think it’s too early for onion rings?”

You flop your menu open, rubbing your temples.

The waitress arrives a moment later with two waters, her eyes flicking briefly to the streaks of dirt on your Legs and Agathas mussed hair still in PJs. She doesn’t comment.

Agatha smiles politely. “Give us a minute, won’t you, hon?” The waitress nods and disappears.

You stare at the table. “…Are we seriously just gonna pretend everything’s normal now?”

Agatha doesn’t look up. “Do you want me to start chanting in Latin and lighting candles on the syrup rack, or would you prefer I wait until after we eat?”

You throw your head back with a groan. She just hums again, utterly content. And, somehow, soothingly familiar.

You watch Agatha scan over the options on the menu, your eyes narrowing slightly, biting your tongue. How could this woman infuriate you to no end, yet you couldn’t help but long to be next to her? What the hell were you—or whatever past life version of you— thinking, trying to get with this one? With her smug little smirk and her annoying nicknames and her—

Hey?!

Did she just call the waitress hon ?

What the hell?!

“So…” you drawl, trying to sound casual as you rest your elbow on the table. “What’s up with you and the waitress, huh?”

Agatha slowly looks up from her menu, eyebrows raised in that tired, bemused way that makes you want to both kiss and slap her. “Me and the waitress?”

She sets her menu down, murmuring something to herself about the Denver omelet.

You glance around, giving a subtle sniff, nose in the air like you’re the picture of indifference. “Yeah. Like—calling her hon and stuff.”

Agatha blinks once. Then a slow, dry smirk curls across her lips—classic Agatha entertained and entirely unfazed.

“Mm,” she hums. “That’s what’s got you fidgeting over there like a jealous housewife?”

Your eyes snap to hers. “I am not jealous.”

“No? Because I don’t remember you grilling me this hard when I called you hon.”

You scowl. “You were trying to distract me from a life threatening curse and the fact that we were flying on a stick, that doesn’t count.”

Agatha leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. Her smile is soft, but it gleams with mischief. “Sweetheart, I call everyone hon. I’ve lived long enough to know it’s better than calling them what I’m actually thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, trying to ignore how warm your cheeks feel. “And what were you actually thinking?”

Agatha’s smirk twitches. “That I was starving and hoping to get fed before my very dramatic companion decides to interrogate me mid menu.”

You narrow your eyes.

She winks. And just like that— again —you’re equal parts annoyed and completely, stupidly enamored.

God, she’s the worst. And somehow, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The waitress comes back, pen in hand, and looks straight at Agatha. She doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the Denver omelet. Extra cheese. Black coffee, please.”

The waitress nods, scribbles it down, and then turns to you. You blink—eyes going wide, your brain suddenly a static mess. You’d spent the last five minutes being weird and flustered about the whole hon thing and not reading the menu, and now you’re staring at it like it’s written in Latin.

“Uh—maybe the… well, shoot…” You squint, flipping a page like it’ll magically help. “I was thinking of something with—uh—maybe eggs? Or pancakes? Or—”

But Agatha’s voice cuts in, smooth and bored, not even looking up from her water glass. “She’ll have the pancakes and a side of fruit,” she says plainly. “Oh, and can I add potatoes to my order? Thanks.”

The waitress nods, jots it down, and walks away like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You just stare at her. Agatha raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You blink slowly. “Did you just order for me?”

“Would you have preferred I let you suffer through a public breakdown over hash browns?”

You open your mouth—then close it. Your ears burn. You should be annoyed. But instead, you feel… weirdly warm. You fidget in your seat, muttering, “I could’ve picked something…”

“Could you?” she deadpans, sipping her water. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked like you were about to ask for napkins and a breakdown.”

You glare. “You’re such a—”

She leans in slightly, not breaking eye contact. “Careful.”

Your breath hitches. She doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t have to. Because that look ? That dry, sharp, don’t start what you can’t finish look?

Yeah. You’ve seen it before. And now you’re sitting in a Vermont diner, wondering if pancakes are really the safest thing on the table.

God, you wish you were on the table.

Laid out right there between the silverware and the syrup, your back arched against the polished laminate, bathed in morning light and Agatha’s undivided attention. Her nails scraping the inside of your thighs as she slowly— so slowly —devours you like you’re her last goddamn meal. Her coffee going cold. Your pancakes untouched. The world quiet except for your breath hitching and her mouth murmuring mine.

Your fingers twitch against the table now, just thinking about it.

She’s across from you, sipping her black coffee like it’s holy, eyes scanning the diner absently—but you can feel it. That energy. That pull. She hasn’t looked at you in two whole minutes, but you know— you know —she’s fully aware of how tightly you’re squeezing your thighs under the table. She probably likes it.

You imagine her voice low and dark, teasing against your ear:

"Up. On the table, pet. Be still for me."

You’d listen. Of course you would. You’d do anything she asked.

Let her drag you down and apart with those wicked fingers. Let her whisper centuries of need into your skin, telling you all the ways she’s imagined this, waited for this. That soft growl in her throat when you squirm too much, the gentle edge in her grip when she reminds you who’s in charge.

Agatha Harkness doesn’t ask.

She claims.

And you…?

You’d open your mouth and beg her to.

Because no one else has ever made you feel like this—like a storm sitting in a teacup, like worship and ruin all wrapped in one trembling body.

“Lost in thought?” Agatha purrs, finally catching your gaze over the rim of her mug.

You jolt. Your pulse skips.

You scramble to grab your water, taking a long sip just to distract yourself from the way your face burns. Her smirk curves, slow and knowing.

And God.

God —

You’re never going to survive pancakes with this woman.

“Just, uh—thinking of the beast. And… stuff,” you mumble, eyes flicking up to meet hers for half a second too long.

Bad idea.

Because Agatha’s gaze catches yours, pins you there—and your cunt clenches, entirely uninvited.

Seriously?!

You had an orgasm last night. An out of body, thigh riding, soul wrecking orgasm. What the hell is wrong with you?

Agatha’s tongue swipes slowly across her bottom lip, casual, deliberate. “Stuff, huh?”

She leans back in her seat just slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You haven’t been this silent since after my thigh.”

Your soul nearly leaves your body .

Your face goes hot—scorching— burning as you sputter, “You—hey! That wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she interrupts, voice all lazy silk and sin. “Your fault?”

She takes another sip of her coffee like she didn’t just crack your spine open with that sentence.

You gape at her, your mouth doing the goldfish thing, eyes wide. She just smiles into her mug, then murmurs without looking up, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I quite enjoyed it.”

You make a sound that could only be described as a choked squeak, sliding lower in your booth like the vinyl seat might absorb you whole.

You huff, cheeks flushed, eyes darting around the diner like someone might come rescue you from this god awful hot woman who just keeps winning. “You’re the one that started it!”

“Started what?” she says smoothly, setting her mug down. “Because I distinctly remember you making the first move to kiss me.”

Her voice is all calm amusement—lazy, smug, and devastating.

You sputter. “I—okay, well—!”

Your arms cross over your chest in a huff, but then they fly right back out in the world’s most dramatic hand flail, pointing directly at her like you’re making a case in court.

“Well! You’re the one who decided to deepen the kiss with your big, fat, stupid mouth to— to ravish me! Or… stuff.”

Your voice trails off like a dying engine.

Silence.

Agatha just stares at you for a second—then her lips twitch. Her shoulders shake. And you realize she’s holding back a laugh.

You groan, bury your face in your hands, and whisper, “I wish the beast had killed me the first time.”

“No, you don’t,” she says, far too pleased. And God, she’s right. Because even as your face burns and your dignity crumbles into the booth cushions, you can feel it again—that pulse beneath your skin. That ache. That hunger.

The waitress returns with the plates balanced on her arm, setting down your pancake stack and fruit bowl with a clatter, and Agatha’s omelet and crispy potatoes right after.

You nearly thank the gods out loud.

“Here we go, enjoy,” the waitress says with a polite smile before strolling off to another table.

You don’t even wait—you just mutter a breathless “Thank you” and instantly dig in, stabbing a piece of pancake like it personally wronged you.

Agatha watches you for a moment, one brow arched, then slowly, calmly cuts into her omelet.

“Dramatic and ravenous,” she murmurs, amused. “Multifaceted.”

You point your fork at her without looking up. “One more word and I’m putting syrup in your coffee.”

She hums, sipping said coffee anyway, unbothered. “You’d still drink it if I told you to.”

You pause, mid bite.

Choke.

And proceed to inhale your fruit like you’re being timed in a competition. Agatha just smirks and returns to her breakfast—quiet, composed, and smug as hell .

You shovel another bite into your mouth to distract from the fact that she’s probably right. And that you’re still thinking about her ravishing you. Agaths takes a bite of her food and you two eat in silence for a few minutes before she speaks again. “We need to stop by a clothing store or something.”

You look up confused “Huh? Why?” chewing onyour sweet pancake god your mood just did a 180.

“Because youre still in sleep shorts and im still in my PJs. not to mention thanks to your move of rubbing my runes we had to flee before grabbing anything.” Again quirks a brow at you before taking a bite of her potatoes. And you watch the way her mouth wraps around the fork.

Agatha just sighs at you and you blink a few times. “Uh right! Is there one in this small town?”

You finally stop gawking at her mouth and refocus on your pancakes, cutting into them with unnecessary force as you clear your throat. “So… what kind of store are we looking for?” you ask, quieter this time.

Agatha leans back in the booth, crossing one leg over the other. “Somewhere we won’t get stared at walking in like this.”

You glance down at your sleep shorts and -shirt, then over at her shirt and drawstring pants. Both of you look like you rolled out of bed—which, to be fair, you did. After fleeing from a death demon. On a broom.

“Fair,” you mutter, taking another bite. “Think this town has anything like that? Or are we stuck hoping the gas station sells jeans and trauma wipes?”

“There’s a place on the corner,” she says, already pulling her wallet from somewhere deep in her pants pocket. “Did a quick sweep on the way in. They sell actual clothes. Nothing fancy, but clean. Neutral.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You scoped out the town while we were flying in?”

She shrugs, like that’s not wildly impressive. “I’m thorough.”

You hum, finishing the last of your food. “Okay… clothes first. Then what?”

Agatha exhales slowly and taps her fingers on the mug. “We’ll check into a local inn. Something small. Quiet. The beast won’t follow this far north—not immediately, at least.”

You glance up at her. “You sure?”

“Positive,” she says with a certainty that settles something in your chest. “We’ll get a few hours to regroup. Sleep. Think.”

You nod, letting out a small breath. “That sounds… good, actually.”

“It’s the best we’ve got,” she says, tone level, practical.

No teasing now.

Just strategy. you feel the weight of what’s ahead—not the panic or heat or spiraling lust—but the reality. You’re on the run. In Vermont. Wearing sleep shorts. And yet… you’re with her.

Agatha glances out the window, eyes scanning something only she can see. “Finish your fruit. Then we move.”

You do.

You and Agatha move through town, your feet scuffing lightly along the sidewalk as you hum under your breath—nothing specific, just something to fill the quiet. The sun's risen higher now, casting soft golden light over the brick storefronts and creaky wood porches. It's the kind of town that still has a post office with a bell on the door and flower boxes outside the bakery.

Agatha walks beside you, her eyes flicking across every storefront, every alley, every slow moving car. She’s calm, but you can tell she’s tracking everything.

Always reading the room. The world. The air. “Do you always look this suspicious when you walk down the street?” you ask, half a grin pulling at your lips.

She doesn’t break stride. “You’re lucky I’m not in a cloak.”

You snort. “You do give off strong mysterious librarian who owns too many candles energy.”

“I give off energy that gets us out alive,” she mutters, but you catch the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

The two of you pass a small bookstore, a hardware shop, and a faded antique store before Agatha suddenly stops. “There,” she says, nodding at a little building up ahead.

It’s nothing flashy—just a clean cream-and-green storefront with a simple sign Forged Outfitters. Mannequins in neutral layers sit in the window, surrounded by racks of scarves and boots. It smells faintly of cedar when you get closer.

You peer through the glass. “They’ve got jeans, jackets… definitely not haunted.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Agatha murmurs, pulling open the door.

You both step inside. It’s quiet. Soft indie music plays faintly through the speakers. A girl behind the counter looks up, gives a polite nod, and goes back to folding sweaters. Agatha turns to you, eyes sharp but tone casual. “Let’s grab what we need. Something you can move in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Planning another broom escape?”

She glances at you, deadpan. “Planning to not be chased in sleepwear next time.”

“Right,” you mutter, heading toward the jeans rack. “Got it.”

Agatha moves off toward the coats.

About ten minutes pass before you settle on a pair of jeans, two soft long sleeve shirts, and a little canvas crossbody bag that you know Agatha would roll her eyes at—but it’s cute, damn it, and it has pockets.

You gather your stuff, arms full, when it hits you. Your stomach sinks. Your duffel bag. Your laptop. Your notebook.

Shit.

All of it. Still in Agatha’s house. A house you fled from mid apocalypse. All your research. Your annotated trial transcripts. The cemetery maps. Your thesis rough draft. All of it. And your wallet. “Oh my god,” you breathe, frozen in place. “My wallet.”

Agatha paid for breakfast because she’s Agatha, and of course she wasn’t going to let you argue—but now you’re standing here, about to try and buy clothes with absolutely nothing but sleep shorts, a growling stomach, and vibes.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m going to have to beg her to go back. Or I’ll just sell a kidney. Maybe I can start a—”

You step out of the dressing room mid spiral, still in your old clothes, clutching the new ones against your chest—and stop short.

Agatha’s already at the counter.

Already paid.

Already dressed in her new outfit: a soft blue checkered flannel layered over a fitted gray t-shirt, cargo pants hugging her ass just right, and boots that make you want to reconsider your entire moral compass. She’s holding a bag full of her new things, completely unbothered.

Meanwhile, you’re still standing there in your sleep shorts and slippers, holding your shirt like it’s a security blanket and feeling like a character in the wrong genre of movie.

She doesn’t even look at you—just signs the receipt and hands the bag to the cashier with a smooth, “Thank you.”

Then she turns. Raises a single eyebrow. “You coming, or should I have them install a bench for your existential crisis?”

You gape. “You—wait, you paid for mine too?”

Agatha shrugs. “You left your wallet in the house, so.”

You stare. “You didn’t even ask what I picked—”

“And yet, you picked exactly what I expected. Plus I grabbed a few extras for you.” She gestures to the bag now waiting at the counter. “You’re painfully predictable.”

You open your mouth to argue—then stop. Because… yeah. You did pick the soft colors. The simple stuff. The cute bag with the little brass zipper. You sigh, shutting your mouth. “I hate how well you know me.”

She’s already halfway to the door. “Change. You’re not walking to the inn looking like a lost camp counselor.”

You groan through your nose and turn back into the dressing room.

When you finally step out of the dressing room, dressed in your new jeans, a soft fitted shirt, and the bag slung across your chest, you find Agatha leaning against a display, checking her nails like she has all the time in the world.

But when she looks up, her eyes scan over you once—slow, deliberate. And then she smirks. “You clean up nice,” she says, pushing off the display. “Let’s go.”

You don’t bother responding. Mostly because your brain short circuited for half a second under her gaze. You both head out, walking down the sidewalk again, boots crunching softly over the cracked pavement. It’s warmer now. Brighter. But your mood dips just a little the second your thoughts spiral back to everything you left behind.

“I can’t believe all my research is gone,” you mutter, eyes flicking across the street. “My whole notebook. My laptop. Everything. Months of notes. Cross referencing. Grave markers. And the timeline . I can’t redo that. Not from memory.”

Agatha glances at you sidelong. “There’s a library in town. We’ll stop by. You can sign into your Google account and pull your files.”

You frown. “No, it’s not—no. All the important stuff is in my notebook.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t digitize it?”

You shoot her a withering look. “I handwrite all my fieldwork notes. I’m not a robot.”

Agatha hums, unconcerned. “Dramatic. Fine. I’ll help you rebuild it.”

You stop in your tracks. “You’ll help?”

She turns, one brow arching slowly. “Yes.”

You squint at her. “What would you even know?” The second it leaves your mouth, you regret it. Her lips curve— slow .

That dangerous, delighted smirk she wears when she’s just about to ruin you emotionally. “What would I know?” she repeats, stepping closer. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I lived through the actual Salem Witch Trials?”

You blink. “Okay, but—”

“Maybe the fact that I personally knew half the women you’re writing about. Maybe the fact that I watched your ‘primary sources’ get rewritten, misquoted, and sold in paperback for centuries.”

You cross your arms. “I didn’t mean—”

“I’m over three hundred years old,” she says flatly. “Sweetheart, I was there. I could dictate your thesis in my sleep.”

You open your mouth—then shut it again. She keeps walking like nothing happened, hands in her coat pockets, utterly unfazed. You jog to catch up, scowling. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

“I did,” she says breezily. “Because you were being a brat.”

You glare. “I was panicking. ”

She smirks. “You can be both.” And you hate— hate —how that actually shuts you up. You walk together for a bit, the town quiet in that small, sleepy way where the loudest thing is the wind moving the trees.

Agatha gestures subtly toward a narrow brick building with a crooked sign hanging above the door: RiverBend Library.

“We’ll stop by later,” she says simply. You nod, trying not to let your mind wander back to your cursed, abandoned notebook.

A few more turns, and you reach a two story building with white trim and a porch, ivy curling up one side. A sign in the window reads Evergreen Inn–Vacancy in faded paint.

Agatha pushes the door open, and you follow her inside, letting the warmth of the lobby wash over you. The place smells like pine and old wood, and the receptionist—an older woman with wire rimmed glasses—looks up with a cheery smile. “Welcome! Checking in?”

Agatha steps up. “Yes. Just for the night.”

The woman clicks something on the screen, then glances up again. “Would you like two beds? One for you, and one for your daughter?”

Your whole soul leaves your body.

You open your mouth, ready to grumble something defensive and awkward—

But Agatha elbows you lightly in the side.

“Just one bed,” she says smoothly. Not even phased.

The receptionist nods like that makes perfect sense and starts typing again.

You, on the other hand, are spiraling .

One bed?!

Okay, yes, you kissed her. Yes, you humped her thigh to an orgasm you’ll never recover from. Yes, you shared a bed last night. But still! She didn’t even look at you when she said it. Just dropped it like it was fact. Like of course she was sleeping next to you again. Like this was the plan all along.

You’re blushing so hard you might combust. Agatha casually signs the paperwork, takes the room key, and turns back to you with a perfectly innocent: “Coming?”

You nod mutely. You are not okay. You follow after her like a lost puppy up the creaking stairs, trying desperately not to stare at her ass in those new cargo pants.

You fail. Spectacularly. By the time you reach the top of the stairs, your brain’s a scrambled mess of what are we doing, what does this mean, and how the hell am I supposed to sleep next to her again without combusting ?

Agatha slips the key into the door like she’s done this a thousand times, and the lock clicks open with a soft thunk. You follow her in.

The room isn’t bad. Actually, it’s nice —definitely better than the place you stayed at in Hollow Wood. Clean. Quiet. A queen size bed sits in the middle of the space with a thick, warm looking quilt. There’s a small dresser, a soft reading chair by the window, and a lamp with a slightly crooked shade.

You hover awkwardly near the door while Agatha steps inside, setting her bag down on the dresser like this is just another Tuesday.

She glances over her shoulder. “You gonna stand there like a ghost, or…?”

You shut the door behind you and mumble, “Just… taking it in.”

She hums and kicks off her boots, stretching slightly—just enough to make the hem of her shirt lift a fraction, revealing a flash of skin.

You swallow.

Hard. And now you’re just standing there in your clean new clothes, staring at the bed like it might explode. You’re not sure if you’re nervous because of what might happen… or because of what already has.

Either way, you're doomed.

Agatha sits on the edge of the bed, casually pulling a hair tie from her wrist and gathering her dark waves into a loose knot at the base of her neck.

You look away.

You really shouldn’t have looked away, because now all you can picture is last night—her hand on your waist, her mouth on your throat, her voice whispering that’s it, good girl—

You clear your throat violently. Agatha looks up at you, one brow arched. “You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Yep! Just… tired. Yep.”

“Tired?” Agatha teases, one brow arched. “It’s barely 2PM.”

You grumble under your breath as you walk further into the room, casting a look around like the walls personally offended you. “You snore horribly. Worse than my grandma. Must be the old age catching up to you.”

Agatha just smirks, leaning back on her hands atop the mattress, utterly unfazed. “I do not snore.”

“You do. You sound like a freight train getting strangled.”

She hums, still smirking. “Strange. You didn’t seem to mind when you were drooling on my shirrt.”

You blink. “I was not— ”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, voice soft and syrupy. “You were out cold. Practically purring.”

You scowl and turn away before she sees how red your face is, muttering, “You’re so full of yourself.”

You groan and flop face first onto the bed, letting the quilt swallow you whole. Agatha chuckles behind you—low, warm, and maddening. You feel the bed shift near your legs, the mattress dipping slightly, and your body tenses like it has a mind of its own.

Then— yank.

You grumble, lifting your head just enough to glare over your shoulder at her. “Ow.”

She raises her brows, not even pretending to be sorry. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. We need to get some toiletries from the store.”

You groan dramatically and flop your face back into the mattress. “You do it. Or just ask the front desk. They probably have little shampoo bottles and stuff. I’m not moving.”

Agatha just hums, completely nonchalant. “We still need more than they’d give. Toothbrushes. Razors. Actual soap.”

“Mmmph,” you mumble into the comforter. “Sounds like a you problem.”

You feel her shift again, the bed creaking slightly. Then a pause. Then a sharp smack to your ass. “Hey! ” you shoot upright, scandalized, hair a mess, cheeks burning.

You refuse— refuse —to acknowledge the sharp jolt of arousal that just shot through you like a lightning bolt. Nope. Didn’t happen. Doesn’t exist. You’re a rational human being who doesn’t get turned on by a woman smacking you and walking away like a smug sorceress.

Agatha just shrugs, completely unfazed, and steps off the bed with that same fluid, unhurried grace that makes you want to scream.

“I’ll see what they’ve already stocked,” she says, crossing to the bathroom.

You blink as the door swings open behind her, revealing soft towels, small soaps, and the faintest scent of cedar from the complimentary basket on the counter.

She surveys the supplies like a general preparing for war. You watch her from the bed, trying to will your heart rate back to normal, but she’s just… there .

Commanding the room.

Owning it. She doesn’t even have to try. “Hmm,” she hums from the doorway, eyes scanning the little complimentary basket. “We’ve got two toothbrushes, tiny toothpaste, and… something that claims to be body wash.”

“So a full spa experience, then,” you grumble, sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, still faintly steaming from the earlier incident .

You hear her footsteps before you see her.

Then she’s there.

Agatha stalks toward you with that look on her face—the one that says she’s absolutely up to no good. That signature smirk pulling at her lips, knowing, easy, lethal.

You blink.

Too late.

Her hands come down on the mattress on either side of you, palms bracketing your thighs. She leans in—close enough to feel the brush of her breath against your cheek, her dark eyes flicking over your face with lazy precision.

You freeze, like prey caught in the crosshairs.

“You’ve got a mouth on you today,” she murmurs, voice low.

You open your mouth—whether to argue or babble, you’re not even sure—but nothing comes out. Your brain has short circuited somewhere between her thighs brushing yours and the smell of her shampoo, smoky and faintly floral, like lavender crushed in a fire.

You don’t move. Neither does she. But the air between you hums, thick and electric.

Her gaze dips to your lips. Then back to your eyes. “Say something clever now,” she whispers.

You can’t. You just can’t. So you tilt your chin up—barely. Just enough.

Her mouth is on yours in the next breath.

It’s slow. Intentional. Not rushed or wild, but firm —a kiss that knows exactly what it’s doing, what it wants. Her lips move against yours like she’s testing the shape of you again, reminding you she already knows how to unravel you.

Your hands twitch in your lap, then slowly rise—fingers brushing her forearm, curling into her sleeves. You lean into her. Helplessly. Hungrily.

She deepens the kiss, tilting her head, and you gasp softly into her mouth—and that seems to please her, because her hands shift to your hips, fingers pressing just enough to ground you there, right beneath her.

And just like that, you're kissing her back—open, wanting, already gone.

The heat crackles low in your belly. When she finally pulls away, her lips linger, barely brushing yours.

You blink up at her, dazed. She just smiles. “I really do like when you shut up,” she says softly. And then she’s gone again, standing, smoothing her shirt like she didn’t just leave you completely unraveled.

She smirks. “I’ll be back in twenty.” And just like that, she turns and disappears out the door again, leaving you alone with your thoughts—

—your very dangerous, very horny thoughts.

You roll onto your stomach and bury your face in the quilt.

You’re not gonna make it.

Next Chapter

Taglist- @morgananyx @xblinkx2

(If You want to be added just leave a comment)

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 year ago

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⋆·˚˚°✦ Masterlist ✦°˚˚·⋆

ι wrιtᥱ for mᥲrvᥱᥣ womᥱᥒ, ιᥒᥴᥣυdιᥒg wᥲᥒdᥲ, ᥒᥲtᥲshᥲ, kᥲtᥱ, ყᥱᥣᥱᥒᥲ, ᥲgᥲthᥲ, ᥲᥒd rιo

ι wrιtᥱ for fᥱm!rᥱᥲdᥱr, gᥒ!rᥱᥲdᥱr, ᥲᥒd ᥲmᥲb!/ιᥒtᥱrsᥱx!rᥱᥲdᥱr

ι'm ᥲυtιstιᥴ ᥲᥒd wιᥣᥣ wrιtᥱ ᥲυtιstιᥴ!rᥱᥲdᥱr

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ᥒo bᥱstιᥲᥣιtყ, ρᥱdo, rᥲᥴιsm, or homoρhobιᥲ

thιs ιs ᥲᥒ 𝟷𝟾+ bᥣog. mᥱᥒ ᥲᥒd mιᥒors dᥒι. ᥲgᥱᥣᥱss ᥲᥒd/or bᥣᥲᥒk bᥣogs wιᥣᥣ bᥱ bᥣoᥴkᥱd!

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°ᥲᥒoᥒ ᥱmojι ᥣιst~˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°kιᥒktobᥱr 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺 mᥲstᥱrᥣιst˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°ᥣᥱყ's moodboᥲrd dᥱᥴᥱmbᥱr mᥲstᥱrᥣιst 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

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˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°oᥒᥱ shots˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°drᥲbbᥣᥱs˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°hᥱᥲdᥴᥲᥒᥒoᥒs˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°moodboᥲrds˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

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natashasvixen · 8 months ago

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Bunny love

Summary: As much as she may try to hide it from her Rio knows that Agatha gets lonely when she has to “work” and while away she finds what she hopes may be the perfect companion for her wife.

Tags: Pure fluff, married Agathario, soft Rio, soft Agatha, baby Señor Scratchy, pet names (mi amor, angel) , pre Agatha all along?

💢Spoilers if you don’t know Rio’s identity yet💢

Author’s note: Hi hello, I genuinely don’t remember the last time I wrote anything but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head and I just love them so much, we aren’t going to talk about how much research I did into rabbit breeds being introduced to which countries and in which years, it’s embarrassing…. Enjoy!

Scotland 1953

It was late into the night, maybe even early morning judging by the pitch blackness outside the windows as Agatha sat next to the fireplace she’d been tending with a blanket thrown over her lap and one of her many spell books balanced neatly on the arm of the couch. The Scottish winters were harsh but the little cottage nestled away in the highlands that her and Rio shared fared well and it was more than worth it for the beauty of the landscape that surrounded their home. Here she and her wife almost felt closer to their witch roots than even that of being back in Salem and Agatha certainly didn’t miss the reminders of her Mother and Coven everywhere she looked, here in the forest surrounded by only nature she knew they were safe to live their life together, not having to hide their magic or their love for one another.

With a slight sigh Agatha pulled herself out of her little daydream and focused her eyes back on the pages of the book in front of her, her head was starting to hurt from the jumble of Latin and other languages, Agatha reached forward for the piece of paper she was jotting down notes on, grabbed her pen and wrote down a few more things that could be of help for the spell she was trying to create, Rio said she was mad trying to make a child of magic that would be both of theirs equally but Agatha would go to the ends of the earth to make it true, she wanted nothing more than a family with the love of her life and deep down she knew Rio wanted it too, she didn’t care if it was against the laws of magic to do so and for hours upon end every day she would read every spell book and grimoire cover to cover trying to find all the answers and incantations she may need to finally make her and Rio’s dream a reality.

The Netherlands (somewhere)

To be perfectly honest Rio wasn’t sure where she was, the Netherlands that’s for sure but she’s not sure which city she is on the outskirts of, you’d think after hundreds of years of transporting souls of the dead to their final resting place all over the world she would be better at her geographical knowledge but it wasn’t really important when you always had the same destination to reach in the end. It had been a tiring trip, yes she was death personified but that didn’t mean what she had to do got any easier over the years, this time it had been a young family and while at least they could stay together it still drained her to think of the life they could have had. Gently she lowered herself to sit on a frosted log and took a moment to collect herself before heading home to her beloved. As Rio rested her head in her hands she heard a faint rustling in front of her, she narrowed her eyes and looked forward, faintly bringing her green magic to the surface, even now the memories of the witch trials hung over her head and she was always ready to protect herself if need be.

Much to Rio’s amusement a small rabbit emerged from the undergrowth, “wow lady death being spooked by a bunny rabbit that’s a new low” she mused to herself as she watched the rabbit tentatively move closer to her. “Well you certainly aren’t meant to be out here, you’re definitely not a wild rabbit” Rio spoke to the small creature slowly lowering her hand out for the bunny to sniff, the little thing was as far from a wild rabbit as you could get, bright white with speckles of light orange and black spots and the floppiest ears you’ve ever seen also far too tiny to be out wandering alone.

Being a green witch and yet also lady death was a confusing combination for nature to comprehend sometimes, Rio was drawn to nature and it often returned the same feeling towards her, that included the living beings that inhabited its world and this baby rabbit seemed no different, hopping over after a quick sniff of her hand and settling down under Rio’s cloak to shield itself from the cold breeze that washed over the countryside, she chuckled at its actions and flicked her wrist, her green magic making some dandelions sprout from the icy ground which the rabbit happily munched on.

As the witch watched the small rabbit eat she pondered to herself, “can’t exactly leave you out here can I? And Agatha has been going on about getting a familiar” the tiny ball of fluff stood up on its back legs resting its front feet on the side of Rio’s leg barely reaching above her boot and looking at her intently. Rio smiled to herself and scooped the rabbit into her arms who settled down instantly into the warmth, “she’s going to say I’ve gone soft” she scoffed to herself as she prepared to transport herself and her new little companion home.

Agatha’s research for the night was becoming increasingly exhausting and she knew she should have been in bed hours ago, this was made abundantly clear when she felt the familiar pull of her wife’s magic that was so intertwined with her own she knew when she was close, meaning she was in fact home from helping another soul pass on through the veil.

Rio always transported herself home outside of their cottage when she was late not wanting to wake her wife from her slumber however as soon as she found herself on the snow dusted doorstep of their home she could feel Agatha’s magic humming with life and clearly not sleeping, gently tucking the little bundle of fluff she was carrying further into her cloak both to keep him warm and hidden so she could surprise her lover she gently eased the wooden door open and slipped inside quickly to not let the heat of the fire out.

Slipping off her boots and easing down the hood of her green cloak she moved her way into the living area where she saw her wife smiling tiredly at her from her comfy position on the couch, “mi amor what are you still doing awake” Rio asked quietly as she raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Just doing some more research” Agatha sighed, motioning to the still open spell book, “I didn’t realise the time, how was your trip angel?” She questioned softly. Rio scoffed as she always did at the pet name Agatha had bestowed upon her all those years ago when they met for the first time, quite fitting being called an angel when she was literally death itself. “Tiring” she mumbled leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her wife’s head, as she did Agatha noticed movement beneath Rio’s cloak and a quick hiss came from her wife’s mouth, Agatha noted that she still had one arm tucked away behind the fabric. She tilted her head quizzically at the green witch, “what are you hiding from me?” She questioned reaching to grab at her cloak, “ah ah ah” Rio tutted, pulling away, “it’s a surprise” she said, holding up her other hand to wave a finger at her wife mockingly.

“Oh come on Ri you know I hate surprises” Agatha said getting up on her knees to try get a better look over the back of the couch at what her wife was concealing underneath her cloak. Rio rounded the couch and Agatha turned to follow her movements now sitting crossed legged as Rio stood in front of her with both her arms now tucked back inside her cloak, “you’re going to make fun of me” the green witch said as she became uncharacteristically shy and turned her body slightly away.

“Well that depends what it is but I promise I’ll try not to tease” Agatha said with a smirk reaching her hand out to beckon Rio closer to her.

Now Rio stood right in front of Agatha and the purple witch gently took hold of the arm that her wife had been hiding and noticed that there were scratch marks, “you think I’m going to make fun of you for getting scratched?” Agatha questioned looking confused “why haven’t you healed it these are hardly anything” right as she finished her sentence from Rio’s other arm and behind the fabric of her cloak hopped the tiny bunny landing straight in Agatha’s lap. “Well now you’ve ruined the surprise” Rio glared at the bunny making Agatha burst out laughing.

Rio pouted and crossed her arms over her chest “told you you’d make fun of me” she whined. Agatha’s laughter died down wiping a tear from her eye as she looked up at her wife who looked like an annoyed child, “I’m not making fun of you love he just took me by surprise” she giggled as she pulled her wife to sit next to her and started to pet the bunny who sat happily in her lap like nothing had happened, “and what pray tell made you take me home a sweet baby bunny?” She asked leaning over to press a kiss to Rio’s cheek.

Rio sighed leaning into her wife’s side, “well you haven’t let up about wanting a familiar recently and besides he found me not the other way around” she smiled reaching over to boop the bunny’s nose.

Agatha looked down lovingly at the bunny as she continued to pet him, “I was thinking more black cat or raven you know but hmmm I think I can train him up to be a scary bunny” Agatha cooed as she snuggled the bunny under her chin, not long after he kicked off his back feet jumping onto Agatha’s lap before further hopping down to the floor and flopping himself in front of the fireplace leaving Agatha with matching scratches on her arms, “te veo señor” Rio laughed and her and Agatha fell into each other giggling at the rabbits antics, “scratchy little thing” Agatha said examining her and her wife’s arms before looking back at the rabbit clearly making himself at home, “that’s what I’ll call you” she said placing a kiss to that back of Rio’s hand, “Señor Scratchy” she said looking into her wife’s eyes “thank you my angel” she said softly before leaning in and connecting their lips in a soft kiss, when they parted Rio started placing kisses on Agatha’s arm, “now let me fix the little devil’s marks” she smirked at her wife before starting to gently lick at the superficial wounds, “I missed you amor” she sighed against her skin, “I missed you too angel” Agatha said gently kissing her wife’s head.

Their perfect little family was almost complete.

#vixensfics #agathrio #agatha x rio #rio x agatha #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha all along #marvel drabble #agathario fanfic #agathario fic #Agathario fluff #vidarkness #señor scratchy

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idkwriteshitdown · 2 months ago

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Vidal stares at her and Agnes stares back. She doesn't say anything. Can't say anything. Words form in her brain but get lost before they reach her mouth.

Vidal leans forward, arms hanging loosely over her knees. Her eyes narrow, just the slightest and her head cocks to the side. Agnes feels the sudden desire to move her tongue pokes out to lick her lips and fingers drum against the arm of her chair. Agnes wonders, briefly, what she sees.

"You can be in control if you want," Vidal says. She speaks softly, voice low and sultry and Agnes shivers as the words curl around the room and sink into her skin.

Vidal stands and walks across the room. She moves slowly, and with every step Agnes feels herself shrink, slouching down in her chair, hands tightening around the armrests.

Vidal stands before her, a small smirk on her face.

"But I don't think you really want to." Vidal leans over, trapping her. Her fingers reach out, brushing gently against the flannel of her shirt before heading down.

A whimper leaves Agnes' throat.

"Do you?"

#agatha all along #agnes o'connor #rio vidal #agatha harkness #drabble #agathario #agatha x rio #leighanne gifset #sub agatha truther #sorry not sorry #listen. it just fits alright #marvel #butch!agatha #agnes of westview

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avengerscompound · 3 months ago

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She Courts Death

Character Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal Word Count: 347 Rating/Warnings: M (mentions of sex)

She courted death.

The warmth of her embrace. The fierce possession of her kiss. The cool soothing touch. Agatha dreamed of her. Longed for her. Loved her. She sent her gifts and Death took them and held onto them forever.

Death called to her. Beckoning her in close. Her embrace, loving and kind. Death favored no one, except Agatha. Agatha was her heart. Her soul. Her love. Her wound. Nothing loved more potently than death. Nothing could claim another the way that death claimed them. Death’s love was eternal. Intense. Inevitable.

She courted death.

The press of her body, skin to skin. Long nimble fingers touching all the right places, bringing her climbing to that very pinnacle of bliss that no one else had ever managed to do before. How she longed for her, needed her, wanted her with every fiber of her being.

Every part of her ached for death. Every part of her. Even the kiss that Death refused her, she wanted it. She wanted to feel that soft brush of her lips, loving her and claiming her forever. She never wanted to let go.

Rio was the love of Agatha’s life. Yet as much as she loved her, she hated her too. Death loved deeply but that love came with pain. She took and took and took even when Agatha didn’t want to give - even when it was her son.

Yet even with all that grief and betrayal, Agatha courted her. She loved her. She wanted her and hated her all at once.

It would be so easy to give in, to let death take her, to finally feel those lips on hers, cool, soft, and claiming. She could see Nicholas again. She could be at peace.

It felt too easy, not as fun, too permanent.

Or maybe it was just that grief and anger were intoxicating. Death’s embrace was forgiving and peaceful, and while she courted death, she did not seek forgiveness.

So she continued the game, drawing in close, circling around, but never committing. She loved death, but sometimes love wasn't enough.

#marvel #avengers #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness/rio vidal #agathario #marvel fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #prose #she courts death #drabble

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jubshead · 3 months ago

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I´ve been working on my Calderess fanfic all day, I want to keep writing, but my brain is not working in terms of that universe anymore 😭

Can you guys send me some drabble ideas or just random phrases to incorporate on a small one shot, pretty please?

#maybe a headcanon you´d like to see in a drabble #whatever really #i'm bored and tired #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #lilia calderu #teen agatha all along #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver

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citrus-library · 1 month ago

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I genuinely need some people who would be up for beta reading my smut sometimes. I’m struggling! If there are any volunteers, please send me a DM/ask ♡︎.

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stayevildarling · 8 months ago

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May I please request Agatha x reader where reader was kicked out of her family for being a witch. She ended up on the streets, and Agatha finds her cold and alone. She takes reader in originally to steal her powers under the guides of training her, only for Agatha to actually fall for her?

Agatha Harkness x Reader- Dangerous together

A/N: Honestly, I was considering to make multiple parts of this, angst, smut, hurt and comfort. But I settled for a slightly longer fic. I hope this does your request justice 🫶🏻

tw/tags: mention of toxic family members, mention of abandonment, mention of power play, slight nfsw mentions (no smut), hurt, angst, comfort/fluff

word count: 5k

taglist:

The night is freezing, the wind feeling like a thousand icy knives as you try and wrap your thin coat closer. The city had become so cruel to you that you ended up walking aimlessly for hours, passing some landscape and woods before making it to the next town, so lost in your thoughts you miss the sign that reads Westview.

„Dirty witch“ the voices of your so called family linger on your mind as they had kicked you out earlier in the day, the arguments growing more intense. „You are a disgrace to this family“ they said, disgust evident in their voices. All you manage to do is shiver in the dark alleyways, the words echoing in your mind and growing louder in the cold silence.

You had always been somewhat of an outcast, your emotions often bubbling over and causing strange things to happen around you. None of your friends and family noticed during your childhood or teenage years, your powers only seeming to increase and become obvious a few years back. Suddenly candles turned into big flames around you, lights began flickering and furniture would begin moving whenever you would be angry, upset or hurt. You knew they would eventually kick you out, the people never feeling like family either way and only homing you. And now you are on your own, the only belongings the very clothes on your body.

It doesn't take long until you feel a presence behind you, your magic alerting you and causing the thoughts and flashbacks to stop for a moment. You can feel a shiver down your spine, someone watching, observing you. As you turn around you notice the frame of a woman stepping into the dim light of the streetlamp, her eyes gleaming in the dark. She‘s wearing some dark clothing, a confident smirk on her lips, causing you to feel a little uneasy.

„Now, what‘s a poor little thing like you doing out here all alone?'' she asks, her voice smooth, laced with a dark amusement. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stand a little taller. „None of your business“ you mumble, though the shiver in your voice due to the cold and exhaustion betrays you. She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. „Oh but I think it is“ she replies, taking a few graceful steps closer to ypu. Her eyes never leave yours, and for a moment you feel caught, unable to look away.

„A witch should know better than to be wandering around like this. Especially.. when she could be… useful“ your eyebrows furrow, confused as to how she knows you are a witch. „How do you.. know?“ you ask quietly before she chuckles lowly. „Oh sweetie, I can spot a fellow witch when I see one“ she explains and you suddenly feel a little more at ease, realizing you two are both witches. A flicker of interest sparks in her gaze and something about the way she looks at you, almost predatory, if you could think clearly, makes your pulse quicken.

You take a shaky breath, the chill settling deep in your bones as she continues warching you with her piercing gaze. Despite every warning bell going off in your mind, a flicker of something sparks inside you, remembering her words. „Useful how?“ you question. She tilts her head, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips, as though she is savoring your curiosity. „Come with me. I‘ll teach you how to control that power of yours. Something tells me“ she leans closer, her voice lowering „It‘s the reason you‘re in this mess, isn‘t it?“

You shift, the weight of her words sinking in, she was right of course. It was your power, clumsy and chaotic and dangerous, that made everyone you cared about turn their backs on you. They saw you as a threat, something to fear and discard. And the realisation causes your heart to ache in that way it had all day, some tears pricking at your eyes. But here is this woman, offering you guidance and help, a chance to be something more.

„Why would you help me?“ you ask, your voice wavering. She seems so sure of herself, so far from the helplessness you feel in this moment. „What‘s in it for you?“ you question. She chuckles softly, the sound of her voice brushing over your skin. „Let‘s just say I have a knack for.. finding potential in the most unexpected of places“. She offers her hand to you, her gaze softening just a little. „My name is Agatha, what do you say?“

You look at her hand, then back at her face, searching for any hint of a lie. And maybe it‘s foolish, reckless even but something in her eyes feels safe. Slowly, you reach out, feeling her warm fingers close around your own. The insant her skin touches yours, a shiver runs through you, the hum of power in the air between you both. „Oh dear, you are freezing, come on“ she invites and you follow the strange woman blindly, not caring about the consequences of your recklessness, yet.

Agatha‘s grip around your hand is firm, guiding you with an ease that almost seems natural, as if she had been waiting for this moment. She leads you through the quiet town, some alleys, past closed storefronts until she reaches her home. With a quick flick of her wrist, the door creaks open, revealing her dimly lit home, a cozy living room filled with the faint scent of herbs and wax.

„Make yourself at home“ she says, stepping into a room and pointing at the large sofa. The room feels alive somehow, brimming with a strange energy that you had never felt before. „Help yourself to one of the blankets, I‘m gonna make you some tea“ she offers and you reluctantly take a seat, wrapping your legs around a blanket and instantly feeling warmer. „Here you go sweetie“ she offers a few minutes later and you take the warm mug into your hands, instantly wrapping your hands around it and soaking in the warmth.

You watch as she takes a seat beside you, sipping on a cup of tea, her eyes occasionally darting to you. With a slight smirk she looks at the fireplace, then you, before clicking her fingers, a fire igniting and leaving you gasping from surprise. „Better?“ she asks and you nod shily, feeling the weight of her eyes on you and the feeling of safety this stranger is giving you. „Wanna tell me what happened?“ she asks and your eyes travel to the floor, the woman noticing your discomfort before she pats her legs and gets up. „Sorry, I assume you are tired. Let me show you to the spare room“ she offers.

The stranger leads you through her home, up the stairs and to a guest room, it feels warm and comfortable and she disappears for a moment, leaving you standing there before she comes back, bringing you some clothes and towels. „There is a bathroom through that door“ she points out as she passes you the pile of clothing and towels „And you are welcome to help yourself to anything from the kitchen“. You nod weakly, the exhaustion heavy on your mind before she leaves you be, turning her head once more before whispering „And my room is down the hall if you need anything else“.

With that, she leaves you standing in the middle of the room, both startled by her words and what had happened tonight, never expecting anyone to take you in, let alone another witch. Nevertheless, you are quick to change and shower yourself, finding the necessary things in the ensuite bathroom before collapsing onto the bed, the events from today and the whirlwind of your emotions swirling in your mind for a little longer before exhaustion takes over, sleep consuming you much quicker than you expected.

The following morning, the soft sound of cutlery wakes you as well as a heavenly smell, forcing your tired bones out of bed and following the scent, pulling the clothes a little closer to your body. You find the witch who had taken you in standing in the kitchen, placing food on the small table and smirking upon seeing you, liking the thought of seeing you in her clothes. „Good morning, slept well?“ she asks and you nod a little shily before taking a seat. „Eat up, you must be starving and we have a lot to do today“ she encourages and you dive right in, your stomach rumbling at the sight of the food in front of you. She eventually leads you into her basement and it takes your breath away, countless potions, magic objects and books, the whole place causing your magic to run through your veins.

„So what happened to you?“ the brunette asks as she prepares some things to get a better understanding of your magic. You swallow, the weight of the past few weeks heavy on your mind. „My family.. they made me feel like a freak- I didn‘t think there were other‘s- they made me feel like I was..“

„Dangerous?“ she finishes for you, her tone suddenly soft, almost sympathetic. She steps closer, her gaze searching yours. „Well, maybe you are. But that doesn‘t mean you can‘t control it“. Her fingers brush your shoulder, sending an unfamiliar warmth through you. And something about the way she looks at you, her expression hovering between care and calculation makes your pulse quicken. „Why .. would you go out of your way for me?“ you ask, the words barely a whisper.

She shrugs in response, her smile softening. „Call it.. curiosity“ her fingers continue to trail down your arm, lingering just a little too long. „And maybe a bit of interest. You got something special, something raw“. She leans in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. „Now, are you ready to start?“. You nod, unable to tear your gaze from hers, feeling the electric pull between you both. Agatha‘s smile widens as she leads you to a small table cluttered with candles and crystals that seem to hum under your fingertips. She watches you carefully, her eyes never leaving your own.

„Alright“ she begins, her tone suddenly instructive and guiding. „Let‘s see what you can do“. She holds her hand above a candle, the small flame flickering. „Focus on the flame, try to make it move“. You stare at the candle, the tiny flame barely casting warmth and take a deep breath. Your features filled with concentration, thinking back to all the things your family had ever said to you. As you raise your hand the flame trembles, growing larger and almost errupting into a fire, responding to your emotions and the fire of emotions inside you.

Agatha‘s eyes light up, a shocked but satisfied smirk on her lips. „Good“ she murmurs, her voice low. „You‘re much stronger than you realize dear.“ Her hand rests on your shoulder as she makes the flame smaller again, noticing how uncomfortable you are. „That was.. good?“ you ask, your voices filled with doubt and insecurities. „Yes.. sure we need to do a little training on controlling your powers but imagine what w- you can do“ she encourages, easing the doubts in your mind a little.

Over the next few days, Agatha pushes you further, her training intense. She would have you summoning sparks from your fingertips, control the wind with a single breath and even draw shadows to cloak your form. Each time you succeeded, her praise is subtle but, a small smile, a quick nod or a touch that lingers a little longer than necessary. At night, you would collapse onto your bed in the room she had set up for you, exhausted but relieved, your mind filled with excitement how much you had larned. Each evening your minds would think about each orher, Agatha slowly replacing the painful memories of your past with happy ones, secure ones. And the woman found herself caught in the whirlwind of her own game.

She didn‘t have the best of intentions, feeling your energy through the entirity of Westbrooke and upon seeing you knowing you are an easy target. She wanted your powers, so raw and uncontrollable, knowing you would eventually thank her as you could return to your family, cured. But over the weeks she had grown rather fond of you, having you around in her home, someone she could practice magic with and she couldn‘t deny how you replaced any feeling of loneliness, how your proud shy smile after working on your magic and succeeding caused her heart to beat faster. But she couldn‘t, she needed your magic and to stay on her path.

But the weeks passed and the woman found herself falling deeper for you, giving you breaks from training, taking you outside more, showing you the town and her favorite places, taking you shopping to get your own clothing and books and supplies that you wanted. She was falling for you and she knew it, and despite trying to keep her walls up high and stay on her evil game she couldn‘t, not with your beautiful smile, not with your beautiful eyes locking with her own. She had fallen for you and if she read the signs right, so had you, captivated by the woman from the first moment you ever saw her in the darkness of the night.

One night, after an especially tense session, you sink into the armchair by the fire, feeling the warmth soothe your aching muscles. Agatha sits beside you, staring into the glass of wine in her hands. Her gaze pierces through you, trying to fight her feelings but knowing it‘s hopeless. „Agatha?“ you whisper, barely audible and she instantly tears her gaze from you „Yes?“ she asks, the two of you much more familiar by now. „Why do you still keep me around?“ you ask „I made progress now, just like you said earlier, don‘t you want your life back?“ you ask, your voice filled with insecurity. And the woman wants to chuckle, wants to tell you that she didn‘t have much of a life before you stumbled into hers. How you made her nicer, made her happier. „I like having you around, I care about you“ she admits, her mouth reacting way quicker than her brain or heart could.

„I care about you too“ you admit, your eyes locking with her own and you see something in her eyes then that you had never seen before. „Maybe I care more than I should“ she admits, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion. But her words are enough, enough to confirm what you had asumed, enough to feel relief as you had been feeling the same way all along. In a brave attempt, your body shifts closer to the woman, glancing at her briefly before your faces are inches apart. And then she takes the initiative, her lips meeting yours, igniting a fire within her that she had never felt before. A possessiveness takes over as she grabs you by the collar, her lips never leaving yours, fireworks spreading through the both of you, your hearts beating in synch and your magic uniting.

That night, Agatha made you hers, instead of returning to the lonely beds of each other, returning to hers. She claimed you, marked your body as hers, making you feel things that neither of you had felt before. All the longing from the past few weeks replaced by a feeling of closeness. That night she held you, her thoughts trailing to her intentions from the beginning upon finding you and relieved she never ended up taking your magic, assuming you may be useful first, even thinking she could use you as her pet but you had captivated the woman, making her heart beat for you and it brought out a strange feeling in her chest, love. And so she held you close to her body, watching your chest rising and falling ever so slowly.

„Good Morning sleepyhead“ she greets you the next morning, the light drawing in through the curtains and causing you to squint your eyes a little. „Morning Aggie“ you mumbled sleepily before your eyes closed again, still exhausted from the night before. And right there and then she knew she loved you and that she wasn‘t going to let you go again ever.

The two of you found your own rhythm, still working on your magic but exploring life together over the next few weeks, you never returning back into the old room, staying with Agatha from now on. One night after some more sessions, your magic so much stronger now, she glances at you with pride in her eyes. „You‘ve come a long way“ she murmurs, her voice soft as she presses a kiss to your lips. You smile into the kiss, a warmth spreading through your body at her words. „Thanks to you“ you reply, holding her gaze „I owe you everything“ you murmur before resting your head on her shoulder.

You missed her expression shifting, guilt spreading through her at your words, feeling the weight of her intentions and the temptation of telling you the truth, not wanting to lie to you, you showing her an entirely different side of herself she had never felt before. She was dark before, only ever keeping her own intentions at bay but you turned her soft and she was beginning to like this side of her. She remained silent, not wanting to risk the intimacy of your connection and so she opts to hold you close instead, shushing you to sleep before eventually taking you to her bed.

It takes another week for the truth to finally come to the surface, Agatha out doing some errands for you both, you not having any bad intentions and wanting to tidy her basement a little, the two of you having made quite a mess due to her teaching you, working on each other‘s magic together and the night before when the two of you got so overwhelmed by each other‘s desire that you couldn‘t make it to bed. You didn‘t think anything bad when you found a small book on the floor, wanting to place it neatly on the shelf when your magic tingled in your veins again. Not thinking much, you opened the book, innocently enough assuming this was simply some spell your magic felt drawn to.

It didn‘t take long before you realized it was some sort of diary, the womans handwriting filling the pages. At first there wasn‘t anything unusual until you stumbled onto the pages about you „She‘s perfect, her magic so strong, she can make my powers so much stronger“ and finding the spells she had intended to use to rob you of your magic. Your hands tremble as your eyes read over the words, tears filling your vision as you dont even read further, dropping the book clumsily as tears pour down your cheeks. You thought she was genuine, the things she had shared and showed you real but the reality of it all being a lie hits you so much harder than your family abandoning you, the pain you had been going through before getting here.

The first thing you do upon getting upstairs is run, you don‘t care about your things that you had collected over your time with Agatha, your own belongings that she had mostly gotten for you, you run. Through the streets of Westbrooke, into the forest, not caring about the consequences anymore. Your tear stained face is puffy by the time you collapse into a tree, your vision blurry from the crying, running and hyperventilating. This feels like a nightmare, wishing so badly you could wake up in Agatha‘s arms and this all not being real. But the reality of it all hits you hard, your entire body hurting, your heart shattering into a million pieces. You stay right there, the middle of the forest with the sun slowly beginning to set, nowhere to go.

When Agatha returns, cheerful as ever, she sets the shopping bags down, unknowing of what had unfolded so far. She is confused not finding you anywhere, having checked all the rooms when she sees light creeping in from the basement. „Darling, I have finally found those crystal“ she begins but stops when she notices your absence. Upon some inspecting, she finds the book on the floor, taking it into her hands before seeing the open page and closing her eyes. She knows what this means, knows you had found her secret, having forgotten about her diary with having you beside her.

The witch wastes no time in rushing upstairs, practically running to your shared bedroom and finding a piece of your clothing. She uses her magic, concentrating while closing her eyes and it doesn't take long or much for the brunette to find your whereabouts, quickly teleporting in your direction, leaving behind a cloud of purple. She finds herself deep in the forest, the air chilly and the darkness of the night blinding her a little. ,,Y/N'' she calls out, almost screaming as she feels a little hysterical, scared for your wellbeing. When she hears a nearby noise, she makes her way over, finally exposing your tired and beaten form, your head in your hands as you sob quietly to yourself, not even having registered the woman being near you. ,,Oh thank god'' she mutters but her heart breaks at the sight, knowing she caused this pain when she promised herself to keep your heart safe and never hurt you, ever.

,,Y/N'' she calls out again as she kneels in front of you, her hand moving to your shoulder but you instantly freeze, escape her grasp as you somehow make it on your feet, realising she had found you. ,,Leave me alone'' you choke on a sob, walking a few steps away from her, still blinded from the tears and your blurry vision but needing to get away from her. You couldn't trust her, not after what you had read, understanding by now how truly dangerous she was and just why some of the residents of this town had given the woman side eyes when walking past, despite her seemingly friendliness to others. Tonight you learnt her true intentions and maybe it wasn't as bad, wouldn't have hurt as much considering you had been foolish, accepting a strangers help and walking into her home but she had been your first, captured your heart and changed you forever.

,,Please'' she begs, her voice raw and vulnerable, a side you had never seen before and if you could look at her or think clearly, you would see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice, the genuine remorse. ,,Listen baby I know what you must feel right now but please let me explain'' she begs as you continue walking away but she follows you either way. ,,I never meant to hurt you I promise and if you read the book further you would have-'' but you cut her off. ,,Seen what? more of your twisted plans? you hurt me Aggie, you used me, wanted to take my powers'' you scream, your emotions getting the better of you as tears still run down your cheeks. ,,Please just give me chance'' she pleads, running a little ahead of you to stop you from walking away. ,,Look at me'' she whispers as her hands travel to your arms, stopping you from storming off. ,,Y/N look at me please'' she begs and you do despite ever fibre of your being wanting to run.

,,Give me a chance to explain please'' she begs again and when your eyes meet her own you see the genuine remorse, the urge to explain but something within you holds you back, knowing she had manipulated you from the beginning, knowing you couldn't trust her anymore after this. ,,No.. I can't'' you mumble as you pry your eyes and body away from her own, continuing to storm off despite having no idea where to go. Agatha sighs, following you either way as she doesn't want you to get lost or hurt. For minutes on end you walk and she follows before you turn to look at her ,,You don't need to follow me, we are done! you hear me?'' you scream, having enough of this by now, your past catching up with you. You turn around abruptly, missing the huge tree stump ahead of you, tripping over it but before your body can hit the ground, her hand grabs your arm, keeping you from falling. ,,Are you okay? are you hurt?'' she whispers.

But there is something about her touch, the intensity of the situation and your emotions putting your powers on high alert, suddenly seeing a vision, little flashbacks as if watching the past few months through Agatha's eyes. You watch her true intentions, seeing how they quickly changed when she got to know you, that those intentions had been forgotten long before you shared your first kiss, how she had felt guilty ever since, how she would never hurt you and yes she may be dark and dangerous but she would never do anything to you. And when that realisation hits your eyes widen, Agatha not understanding what just happened as only you saw the vision, felt your magics reunite and show you what you so desperately needed to see. ,,I saw it all'' you mumble, her eyebrows furrowing, still not understanding.

,,A vision of the past'' you whisper as your eyes meet her own. She can see the hurt in your eyes replaced by guilt, feeling bad for how this night blew up, now realising you should have given her a chance to explain. ,,May I take you home and explain?'' she offers as she holds out a hand to you, feeling relieved for what your powers had done. ,,Yes'' you mumble and she takes your hand, teleporting you both back home. The first thing she does is fetch you some water and blankets, feeling your shivering still from walking aimlessly for hours. Right now, she cares more about your wellbeing than explaining, wanting to make sure you are fine first. After making you some tea, she settles beside you crosslegged, her hands on your knees and her eyes locking with your own.

,,Darling.. it's true'' she begins ,,I did want to take your powers but then I liked having you around and then well... I.. I love you'' she blurts out, knowing this may be too soon after everything but she had never been more sure of anything before in her life. Your eyebrow raise in surprise, not having expected that confession from the woman you had equally fallen for. ,,Aggie.. I love you too'' you confess, your eyes locking and speaking a silent language. ,,And I'm sorry you found out like that, I should have told you but I..'' she begins but struggles as tears fill her vision ,,I was scared you would leave, be scared of me'' she confesses, a rare vulnerable side. ,,No one has ever been kind to me like you have and no one has ever .. loved me'' she admits, the woman never having shared her full past with you and there is something in her eyes telling you that your pasts may be more similar than you initially believed. Your hands wipe her tears, hating to see her sad, despite appreciating her honesty, needing to hear those words in this moment.

,,I promise I'm not scared of you Aggie'' you explain and she sighs in relief, some more tears swelling in her eyes. ,,But may I ask you something?'' you whisper and the woman nods before mouthing ,,Anything''. It takes you a few seconds before you whisper ,,Are you a dangerous witch Aggie?'' and if it wasn't for the seriousness of it all, she would have chuckled at that. ,,I am a witch yes, and I may have done some terrible things in my past and yes maybe I am a little dangerous'' she admits, realising there isn't any point in lying to you anymore, knowing her magic wasn't exactly light at times. You can see the fear in her eyes, and her hands instinctively hold onto yours closer, scared you would slip through her fingers again and leave her.

,,If that isn't what you want or if that scares you, I understand'' she confesses, realising right there that no matter how much she wanted you to stay, your wellbeing, consent and happiness mattered more to her than her own. There is silence as you weigh your options, thinking about her words and despite your brain sending you some alerts, your heart ends up winning, your feelings too strong for her, believing her every word tonight and your magic having confirmed her honesty. ,,I want to stay Aggie'' you confess and at that she almost sobs, pulling you into her arms as she plasters kisses all over your cheeks and face.

After pulling away, she mouths the words thank you and you smile, wrapping an arm around her before saying ,,Let's be dangerous together''. Agatha chuckles softly, her arms tightening around you as a smirk creeps onto her face. ,,Together darling'' she murmurs, her lips brushing yours, sealing the promise between you.

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