#calderu

[rippersz]

𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (NSFW; Thigh-riding; Titles) (~4.7k words)

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“I think this is my favouritest place in the entire universe,” you admitted softly, your words slurred and muffled against the sweet-smelling skin of your lover’s neck. 

“I thought your favourite place was your bed,” she huffed, lips twisted into a smirk. 

“It is. But this is my most favouritest.” You moved your head, pushed your nose further beneath the curve of her jaw, and nuzzled closer into the corner of her shoulder and neck with a dizzy blissful smile. 

The urge to sigh took over quickly and as you breathed deep, utterly content with your soft witchy pillow, the mixed smells of wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, and gardenia filled your lungs. It was the most comforting combination, full of happy memories, a reminder of home, a staple of your Lilia, and when you breathed out, you caught the notes of the lemon shampoo clinging to her damp curls. Which, as beautiful as they were, were still incredibly unruly and slow to dry after a relaxing shower. They tickled your nose and chin, drawing damp streaks of water, and you reached up to tuck them away behind Lilia’s neck. 

“Quit it,” she nudged you gently, shifting you on her hip. 

“I’m not doing anything, your hair is getting in my way.” 

“Oh now she blames the hair,” your lover drawled, “What next? Is my lap not comfortable enough for you?” 

“It is. And it would be even more comfortable if you weren’t reading that stupid book.” 

She knew you weren’t being serious–you loved when Lilia got a moment to calm down and read peacefully–but she’d had her nose buried between the pages of the damn thing since the moment you settled. It was about flowers and sigils and ancient forms of casting and other things you didn’t care to remember because you were snuggled up on the right side of Lilia Calderu’s body and you would not move even if the Divine Mother herself had begged you to do so. She was simply too comfortable, simply too soft, simply too perfect. Braless, relaxed, matching your rare choice of pyjamas for the evening: Underwear and a T-shirt, the latter having been stolen from Lilia’s closet even though you had your own. It was flimsy, old, thin, and also the best thing you had ever worn as you’d straddled her thigh, wrapped your arms around her waist, and happily realised that you could still feel each warm part of her body through the two layers of cloth. 

That alone was a feat you had to accomplish together once upon a time—getting out of your comfort zones. It took a while before you were secure enough to open yourselves up intimately, to even think of getting undressed in the same room, to even kiss without skirting around each other first. You had your fair share of insecurities, but Lilia was a different story. She’d lived a life unlike any other, being a fugitive witch, skilled in divination, who travelled the waves of time as a skipping rock rather than a sailboat. Her upbringing wasn’t very liberal, much less accepting of homosexuals, and though she managed to get through life regardless, her preoccupied on-the-run mind steered her away from debauchery. All in all, that meant sex and intimacy simply was not as important to Ms. Lilia Calderu as it was to most of the population. She still felt the urge of course, she was a woman with such needs, but there was no time to desire a physical outlet - no time and no energy and no candidates. There was one girl in her youth, part of her original coven, and maybe a few flings in her mid-200’s, even something a little more long lasting toward the end of her 300’s, but the itch was never so persistent. It didn’t wait in the back of her head or lurk around right before going to bed, and it never came up in her thoughts when out in public. She was an adult woman with too many things to think about, focus on, and consider. She didn’t have time for desire. She didn’t have time to want.

And then you walked into her little shop on a rainy humid Wednesday afternoon, fuzzy-haired and wild-eyed, and the sight of you sent her careening into the future. She returned quickly, with an awed look, serious eyes, and the soft murmur of “The Wheel of Fortune”, and only after some time passed did you both realise that yes, change for the better was indeed in the cards. 

And Lilia found herself wanting that day. 

Then most of the days after it. 

For about three years, that was her normal. The sudden uproar of desire, not incredibly strong (for her subconscious would not let it get that far) but definitely noticeable. She found herself thinking about you often, about your skin, your hair, your hands, your fingertips, your legs, your smile. She found herself wanting to touch. To reach. To caress and to kiss and to bite. Once the two of you recognised your attraction, you quickly agreed that anything sexual or intimate would be postponed. It simply had to come at a time in which you were both ready, open, and uninhibited. And if it took a while, then it took a while.  

It took only two years, after which you finally gave yourself to Lilia and she gave herself to you. It was all very romantic; a dark evening, slow and desperate, wet and hot, quiet and needy. Completely unforgettable. It opened a gateway of sorts, a chance for you both to expand and explore, and after a lifetime of not being able to embrace sexual liberation, Lilia was finally given the opportunity. You encouraged her as best you could without overstepping boundaries, always willing to try what she wanted to try (even though she often found herself on the receiving end of your innovative thoughts instead of the other way around but nevertheless), always eager to do the necessary research if that’s what your time together required, never a complaint on your tongue whenever she admitted she wasn’t in the mood. No corners were ever cut when it came to the desire you had for your lover. 

Except when it came to book corners. Those were cut instantly. 

“What would you rather have me do, hm? Movie marathon? Bake a cake? Swim my way to Egypt? This is how I relax, now deal with it or get off,” Lilia snarked, moving her hand from the cover of her book down to your thigh to give you a small pinch. She was too quick for you to jump away. 

“Owch! Mean!” You flinched from the sting, dislodging yourself from your comfy drape over her shoulder to fix her with a playful glare. 

Lilia didn’t hesitate to meet you head on, taking her eyes away from her book to look up at you through dark lashes, right over the rims of her glasses. Glasses that she only wore when alone, when with you, with a little chain that held them in the place, with a shape that complimented her face so perfectly. They made her seem so… sophisticated. So… strict. A red candy-apple coloured body, slight cat eye details around the rims, and curved well enough to always be perched at a very specific angle on her nose at all times. You hated them. You really hated them. You wanted them gone. You wanted them away. You wanted them to stop being so tempting. She was already attractive enough - she didn’t need the fucking things setting your pants on fire every two seconds. And whether she knew about their effect or not, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter either way - her attention was excruciating, and to it you would never be immune. 

“Get rid of this book right now,” you started strong, straightening up in her lap with a haughty cross of your arms. 

“I’m busy with it,” she tightened her hold on her prized possession as if you were about to lunge forward and take it from her. 

“Yeah? Well I’m busy with you, so lose the book Calderu.” 

Her perfect lips pursed, displaying playful disdain, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow - just to be bratty. You watched as she considered her options, as she glanced down at her book, then back at you, then back at her book. And when she looked up for the last time, you changed your tactics and shuffled closer, moving up from her thighs to the curve of her torso - right by her lower belly. You pressed yourself there, dropped your eyebrow, and gave her the sweetest eyes you could conjure. 

“I just want to cuddle, Lili. Is that too much to ask for?” You sighed, moved your hands, and placed them on top of the book. 

Without fail, as you’d hoped, Lilia conceded. She almost always did whenever you addressed her like that, being so unaccustomed to pet names and terms of endearment as she was. To hear it from your lips was a tantalising thing, a sign of worthiness and ongoing love, and you saved it for your more intimate moments - just to coax her into doing something you knew she wanted to do but was simply too stubborn to go through with. Like putting her book down and giving you all of her attention. 

“I guess not,” she grumbled a few seconds later, melting into your efforts, and you grinned as she moved to set her book down on the bedside table. 

“See?” You hummed as you reached forward to gently pull the glasses from her face, being careful to first slide the chain from around her neck. “I knew you’d come around.” They were placed next to the book a moment later and you didn’t even wait a passing second before you were pouncing into Lilia’s arms. 

Like an overexcited puppy, your body went squirming and pushing into your lover’s, wiggling playfully as you worked your arms around her waist. She accepted you happily, letting out a sigh and a big eye roll before you tucked your face into her shoulder again and finally let the stress of the day properly wash off of your body. As Lilia’s muscles relaxed, allowing herself to give into the comforting weight of your clinging, she placed her lips to your shoulder and gave it a small kiss. 

“You’re going soft on me,” you murmured into her ear, delighting in the low hum that rumbled from her chest. 

“That’s the point,” she whispered, lighthearted and gentle.

Lilia couldn’t see the smile that spread across your face, but it was most certainly all soppy, soft, and loving. Utterly gormless, completely bewitched. She had you wrapped around every one of her fingers, oh her delightfully nimble fingers, and you never wanted to be unravelled. Not when paradise existed in her arms, flashing itself behind your closed eyes as Lilia began rubbing your back and tracing mindless shapes through the fabric of your shirt. Circles, squares, stars, triangles, trapezoids, words and phrases, squiggles and lines, suns and moons. Eventually, her pattern changed and she began following the same familiar loops and curves you’d seen her do a million times. 

From the top of your left shoulder blade diagonally to the plush fold of your right hip. 

L

I

L

I

A

A pause.

From the top of your right shoulder blade diagonally to the curve of your left hip.

C

A

L

D

E

R

U

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Lilia retraced her writing with the lightest press of her fingernails, going back over the loops of her ‘L’, the hills and dips of each letter, until she reached the tail of her ‘u’ and lingered there. One second. Two seconds. Until your skin began to tingle, and then she started to draw little circles, going from small to big in a slow spiral, and your skin began to buzz. Her caresses made it sensitive, bringing it to life, forcing the expectant attentiveness only an eager body could have as you sat in her lap and started to squirm. The circles quickly faded into nothing before the pattern reset. Back up to your shoulder blade, again across her name. 

“L-Lilia,” you breathed, feeling your body grow hot beneath her attention. 

“What?” Came her whispered response, soft like satin against your ear as she closed her eyes and placed her chin on your shoulder. 

She didn’t seem to realise what she was doing. All the warmth that she spread through you, continuously, while her traces turned to touches and she started pressing her palms to your back. She felt so good and gentle, so caring and calm, and when you took a deep stuttering breath to try and grasp your bearings, to delay the inevitable downfall of desire, you were once again overcome by her scent. It blanketed your lungs, purred within your soul, and the wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, gardenia, lemon, love… the smell of love… made you whine. It was just so Lilia. So nostalgic, gentle, light and intoxicating. 

She sparked a warmth—a stringy, viscous, thick warmth that settled in you. Like a pool in your abdomen, it burned and lapped. It called to her from the inside, reaching for the sweet kiss of her mouth, the gentle curl of her fingers, the way her tongue felt when it dragged along the inside of your thigh. You’d felt it before, yearned for it before, gone hours with and without the careful delicate heat Lilia always managed to coax from you. And it didn’t take much. It never did. All you needed was a thigh between your legs. Pressed up against a thin piece of cloth, the only thing separating your cunt from her skin. Hands on your back. Warm and grounding, the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. A mouth by your neck. Soft breaths fanning onto your shoulder, the only thing that broke your flimsy resolve.

“You’re making me horny.” It was blunt, soft, and said with such  tightness, you knew that it was obvious you were embarrassed.

You clenched your eyes shut. 

How pathetic was it, after all, to be incapable of lasting a few minutes on your lover’s lap, receiving all of her attention, without succumbing to an eager lust? How pathetic was it to be unable to focus when she felt so good beneath you? Was that how your mind worked? So one-tracked? Was that how your body worked? So easy and loose for Lilia Calderu? Like a slut?

Yes. Yes, exactly. 

You would do anything she asked of you. You’d be anything she wanted you to be. If Lilia woke up one morning and boldly decided that she always wanted you on top, that she wanted to stay in her pillow princess luxury and succumb to your tongue and hands until she couldn’t take it anymore, you’d do it. If Lilia decided that she never wanted you to touch her ever again, in history, and that she was the only one to harness any control in the bedroom, then you’d relinquish your own. If Lilia wanted you on a leash, if Lilia wanted you chained to a bed, if Lilia wanted you in a crate, on the floor, against a wall, against a table, against a ceiling, wearing nothing, wearing everything, wearing too much or too little, you wouldn’t stop her. You wouldn’t refute. Not because you couldn’t, but because you didn’t want to. She was a witch, a powerful witch, and a woman, a powerful woman, and the very second you looked into those neverending puppy dog eyes and saw the sadness and the strength, you were whipped. You were totally, absolutely hers. Lilia’s slut. No — Lilia’s girl. 

But even Lilia’s girl made mistakes sometimes. Even Lilia’s girl was, in certain moments, too greedy. And the moment the words were out of your mouth, your depraved confession, her touch stopped. 

It was excruciating. 

Your chest hit hers with every deep inhale you drew, growing deeper the longer you sat there, and it began to shudder as your heart crawled into your ears. She was so still, so rigid, that your mind descended into worry. Did you ruin it? Did you say the wrong thing? Should you have left it? Ignored it? Maybe she just wanted to cuddle. Maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself, tried controlling it better, and returned to it in the bathroom after she fell asleep. Maybe you screwed up the evening because you couldn’t cuddle with Lilia for one second without wanting to fuck her brains out. Maybe..

“Do you want me to stop?” 

You blinked. You didn’t really have a response. Of course the answer was God, no, but if Lilia wanted to stop, then you wouldn’t push her. You didn’t want her to feel obligated. 

Lilia breathed slowly through her nose, off put by your silence, and pressed her still hands harder into your back. 

“I- if-... if you want to,” you whispered quickly, terribly unsure with your wavering confidence but so desperate for her touch that you felt your mind grow hazy. Goodness, she was so close and she felt so warm. Your heart returned to your chest, eager to beat in sync with your lover’s as you felt her body slowly relax underneath you. 

She let out a steady breath, so quiet you could barely hear, and then shattered the peace a second later.

One of the lingering palms on your back shot up to your hair, wrapped a thick handful of it into the curl of a fist, and wrenched your head back. You squealed, eyes tearing up with the sudden sharp pain in your scalp, and your body went falling into Lilia’s other hand. She held you up with only a flex and kept you there, suspended, unable to move.

“Be assertive,” Lilia commanded, not even giving you a moment to recover. “Do you want me to stop?” Her whisper was gone, replaced with a quiet serious depth, and you shivered as you looked into her eyes. 

They were dark. Hypnotising. Swirling with chocolate desire, with the honour of love, and at the sight of her focus, her undivided attention, the knowledge that she knew — she knew you were dying for her – the flame in you soared into a blaze. It was a wicked sludgy sort of thing, intense and impulsive, and its hunger, its ache made you throb. Lilia’s hand twitched in your hair, feeling so much better the longer the sting settled, and the words were tumbling off of your tongue before you could catch them. 

“No, no please. Please don’t stop Lili…,” your chest heaved with breath, affected by the feverish way she handled you, and you could feel the sickening helplessness of your expression. Brows furrowed, eyes wide and glossy, lips licked and cheeks dark. Pure want for your lover. Pure desperation. 

“Please.” 

Lilia considered you, running her deep gaze over your face. She took in the look of you, the need, and you watched her perfect lips purse, her beautiful eyes narrow, her dark brows furrow - before she hummed, relaxed the hand holding your hair hostage, and went to cradle the back of your head. You let her do it all without worry, knowing she wouldn’t hurt you, and sighed with bliss as she put pressure behind her fingers and brought you forward. Your eyes closed as your body was returned to its previous position, propped up against her, forehead pressed to the curve of her shoulder. Your legs clenched at her gentleness, at the contrast of her touch, and you shuddered as you felt her thigh, thick and soft and heavenly, stop you from getting any friction. 

“Lilia-” you didn’t even know what you were going to say, if you were going to beg or if you were going to question or what you were going to do - but it didn’t matter. 

She cut you off like a knife through flesh as her hands moved to trail down your sides, from the swell of your breasts to the soft plush of your waist to the dip and bend of your hips. Her touch was sure, strong, certain, and your hands flailed to grip at the back of her shirt when she suddenly settled her fingers into the hinge of your thighs and slowly, slowly, pushed you back. Slightly, a few inches, enough to have your legs falling open, leaving you there for a quarter of a second……. and then forward, slowly, to erase the space she made, to close the distance, to drag your core along her thigh. Once. Twice. Until you got the memo and started moving with her, whimpering as the ache in your abdomen started to ebb and flow. 

Your forehead pressed further into her shoulder, lightly muffling the whimpers that dripped from your lips, and you moaned when she shifted herself forward to move her mouth up to your ear. It was velvet against your heated skin, teasing and sensitive, and Lilia took a soft breath in before she kissed the shell and whispered, quietly, like there were others in the room and she didn’t want any other soul on Earth to hear… 

“You look like a whore.”

Then she sped up the pace, grasping your hips with more strength, nearing the point of bruising, and began pushing and pulling with smooth, quick tugs. You couldn’t do anything but hold on and move with her, shifting your hips back and forth on her thigh, and shiver every time your clit caught the fabric of your underwear. Your body had no trouble reacting; throbbing for her, dripping for her, ruining your panties while you clutched at her back and eventually abandoned her shirt to run your hands up over her bare skin. She was smooth, perfect, she felt like a woman beneath your touch, a lover, and you squished your cheek into her shoulder as you moaned. Loud, desperate, and unashamed. 

“Lilia… oh god.” And she let out little pants for her efforts, lips parted and eyes hooded while she watched the way your hips moved for her, gliding with grace, slow like a dance, and the breaths quickly tumbled into soft groans as you shuffled closer and pressed your right knee up against her core. 

“You feel so good,” you turned your head to whisper hurriedly, raggedly, into her ear. “S-so good…” And Lilia shuddered, biting her lip to hold back a moan as you began lifting your hips every time you were dragged forward. 

Your sounds mixed so well, soft and loud and husky and whiny, twirling together in a lustful little symphony as your movements got faster and sloppier. And when your eyes fluttered closed and open in lazy blinks, you saw the tantalising skin of Lilia’s neck, shifting as she breathed, and you couldn’t resist. A strangled moan rumbled up from her throat at the feel of your tongue, wet and hot while you leaned in, closer, more, until your nose was also pressed to her neck and you could breathe her in. She tasted, smelled, felt like Lilia. Your Lilia. Sweet Lilia. Her head dipped as she pressed her nose to your neck, making you pant with desire at the closeness of her lips. You just needed them on you, painting you, opening up so she could be free to sink her teeth in and drink your life from your body if that’s what she wanted. 

“I love you,” she husked, her breath making her deep voice shaky, and you responded with a harder thrust of your hips against her thigh and an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. 

You were too far gone for words at that point, with her practically wrapped around you. Your mouth was open, your tongue was licking lazily, lolling like a dog’s, and your mind was fuzzy, dripping toward your cunt, only working to move you back and forth on your lover’s leg like a depraved little animal. A sickened beast. You couldn’t help it. Her thigh was the perfect surface, strong when she flexed, soft when she relaxed, thick and delicious, and shivers wracked your body as you followed the gestures of her hands. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A heavenly friction against your clit, leaving the desperate weep of your hole to ache. It felt neglected, throbbing for Lilia’s fingers, but riding her thigh felt so good and you didn’t want to get up, you didn’t want to stop, even when your panties began sticking to your skin. You didn’t want to stop, even when your head got so fuzzy, your belly got so warm, your body got so hot that your grinding started to slow. It was hard to keep the pace as you felt your muscles burn, but Lilia wasn’t having it. 

“A little longer,” she huffed, finally kissing your skin, melting you from the inside out with her soft lips. “Just a little.” 

You nodded, choking on a whine as you started up again and forced all your strength into your grinding. 

“Good girl,” Lilia hummed, pushing the hem of your shirt away from your neck with her chin so she could have more room to kiss. “Good girl…” 

“L- Lili-a- I’m… hngg… I wanna- mmmnnn….” Cum. You wanted to cum. You wanted to cum on Lilia’s thigh, you wanted her to help, to encourage, and you nearly fell apart instantly when her teeth started pressing lightly, gently, into your shoulder and her tongue began to swirl around your skin.

“Come on,” she moved her mouth to your ear. “Come on, baby,” her tone was soft, coaxing, and you could sense the tease in her words. 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. You were left on the burning edge, singing your fingers, whining to near tears in Lilia’s arms as you heaved, shuddered, whispered pleads and begs beneath your breath. The pool of desire only grew, glistening below you as you hung above, so close to falling, dangling by a thread, rutting your hips over and over like it would help. The friction was barely enough, pressing so deliciously against your swollen clit, but you were so wet that only the smallest thrusts, the littlest shifts, were all you could handle before the sensation slipped away. It was so frustrating, pulling a groan then a distressed whimper from your lips as your legs began to shake and your hands scratched at Lilia’s back. Not too hard, you didn’t want to hurt her, but the little red lines and the sting were enough to signal that you were having trouble. 

“Relax,” Lilia whispered, making you choke on a breathy whine. “Relax for me.” She spoke slowly, softly, and you breathed in deeply through your nose to calm your pounding heart. “Listen.”

You nodded and nuzzled into her shoulder, slowing the pace of your hips but pressing harder into her leg. It felt so good, so good, but not enough- not enough.

“You’re beautiful,” Lilia panted, making your thighs twitch, “My beautiful girl.” 

“Hmmpngg- Lilia- Lilia-,” you whimpered, letting out a little moan each time you moved. 

“I know. I know you need it,” she nodded, then pressed another kiss to your neck. “Can you let go for me?” Her voice was like warm honey drizzled over your bones and your skin. “Can you let go for Momma?” 

A thick, blinding bolt of heat flashed through your body, making you sweat and shiver against Lilia’s body. No no no- Momma’s body. You felt the desire bubbling, brimming, so close to falling into bliss that you could only close your eyes and go quiet.

“I know you can do it,” she spoke slowly, taking the reins back and using more force to speed up your thrusts. “Let go for me, sweetheart.” Her lips brushed your ear. “Be good and give in.” 

“M- Mo-” you were red-faced, vision blurred with tears, your lower lip quivering, and Lilia came to your rescue.

“Momma gives you permission.”

And just like that, saved by the same woman that tortured you, the thread was cut, the ledge crumbled, and you fell.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

BOO. - Rip x

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (17/20)

Hey!!! What's up??

Let's calm down a little? Haha I know how excited you are, but today chapter is to lighten my beloved ones who still had doubts about R being more than a source. She really is!

I really loved this chapter. So sad, but so beautiful...

And don't blame me, blame my pms! (mommy is needy 😢)

Warnings: angst chapter! Proceed with caution.

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio seek Lilia to give her answers.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

Amélie

At the beginning, you were just a project.

A source of energy, young and vibrant, ready to be drained to the last drop. Until your skin paled, until your breath turned into a faint whisper, and your eyes closed forever.

They prepared you carefully for this.

The plan was simple: seduce you, shape you, enchant you, make you more and more vulnerable. Make you fall in love with the illusion, lose yourself in their touch, surrender without resistance. And then, at the right moment, they would take everything.

Agatha and Rio had handpicked you, they had felt you. Wanda and Lilia agreed without hesitation. They knew what to do. They knew your last breath of life would be the sweetest.

The purest.

Rio would be the last to drink from you.

The last to hold your soul in her arms and carry it with her forever. Because that was her destiny.

Death.

The last touch, the last kiss, the last goodbye. Rio had always been there, at the threshold between the end and the eternal.

But now…

That simply can’t happen anymore.

They can’t let you go.

Now, you are not a sacrifice.

Now, you are theirs.

Only theirs.

Rio’s studio used to be a sanctuary of chaos and solitude, where she externalized the rebellious waves of emotions that devoured her.

Vidal’s fate had always been complicated.

She hadn’t asked for it.

Carrying the souls of others on her shoulders, feeling their stories, their pain, their last words embedding into her… it was too much. But death never has a choice. Only duties.

And even if Rio tried to escape, pretend she was nothing but flesh and bone, just a woman with paint-stained fingers and eternal dark circles under her eyes, she knew the truth.

Every stroke, every brush, every color carried something beyond reality. Her paintings wept. Whispered. Shattered in sighs and sins that weren’t hers.

It was a burden. A destiny.

Until you.

Most nights, she arrived home at dawn, hands and clothes dirty with paint, eyes tired, chest heavy. Agatha would already be asleep—or pretending to be. Always one step ahead, always distant enough to never be attached to anything.

It didn’t matter. Neither of them needed more.

Until you.

Until Rio discovered what it was like to come home and hear hurried footsteps on the wooden floor, feel arms wrapping around her waist before she could even drop her bag. The warmth of your body against hers, the soft sound of your voice saying, "You were late today."

She didn’t know she needed that.

Didn’t know how good it was to have someone waiting for her.

Agatha, on the other hand, never saw herself as someone who belonged to another.

She had always belonged only to herself.

To her intelligence. To her ambition.

That was how she survived for centuries. That was how she built her empire, stone by stone, blood by blood.

Evanora made sure of that.

Her mother forged her like iron in fire, breaking any weakness before it could even form.

Love? Love was a distraction. Love was a chain, an anchor dragging fools deep enough to surrender to it.

And Agatha would never be a fool.

She watched her sisters burn, saw mercy being punished, saw how those who loved too much always ended up in ashes.

So she made herself strong. Made herself unbreakable. And for a long time, she believed that’s exactly what she was.

Until Rio.

Because Rio didn’t court her with promises or ambition. Didn’t try to conquer her with power plays or seduction.

Rio was free.

And Agatha hated that.

Hated the way the woman laughed without guilt, how she spoke nonsense without fear of looking ridiculous. How she looked at her without fear, without the desire to control or be controlled.

Hated the way, beside her, Evanora’s words didn’t feel so heavy.

At first, Agatha wanted her just to spite her mother. To provoke. But then, without realizing it, she found herself lost in those brown eyes and silly smiles. In the warmth of Rio’s arms, in the way she expected nothing more than what Agatha already was.

She fought it. For two decades, she fought. Because she wasn’t capable of love.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

And then came the truth.

Because the woman who enchanted her with easy laughter and casual touches…

Was death itself.

The shock was paralyzing.

Evanora would have laughed. Oh, how she would have laughed!

The brilliant, ambitious daughter, heir to her legacy, seduced not by power, but by the one force in the universe that even magic cannot contain.

Agatha saw her break.

Saw the sweet and calm Rio obliterate everything around her in an instant.

Not out of rage.

But out of pain.

The truth burned, and as much as Agatha wanted to deny it… she knew.

Agatha loved Rio.

Loved the chaos that came with her, and over time, grew to love what she represented.

So when you entered her life, Agatha thought it would be easy and sweet, like strawberry cake.

She knew what to do.

Knew how to manipulate, how to shape, how to take whatever she wanted from you without you noticing. That’s what she did. That’s what she had always done.

And then you relaxed into her arms and called her mommy.

And for the first time in centuries, Agatha hesitated.

You weren’t supposed to unsettle her, but you did.

You weren’t supposed to make her heart pound in her chest, but you did.

You weren’t supposed to make her want more than just possession, but you did.

She felt ridiculous for liking it, but she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t deny the way her voice softened when you said it, the way you fit so naturally in her lap, the way your eyes shone when she praised you.

She tried to deny it. Ignore it.

But every touch of yours was different. Every time you looked at her, without fear, without reverence, something inside her trembled.

Control slipped through her fingers like fine sand.

The first time you called her that, it was a slip.

The second, a test.

Now, it’s inevitable and completely natural.

Now, she doesn’t want to hear you call anyone else that.

Before you… they were empty.

Now, they are overflowing.

And that changed everything.

[...]

The bedroom lighting was dim, and they prowled around you like wolves. Anger exploding in their hearts. Agatha knew that your shabby little friend was a young witch.

Lilia had already warned her.

That’s why, when you asked for permission to go out with Alice after class, it felt like a punch to the stomach.

She could have said no.

You would have obeyed without question.

Because you were good. The good girl of your mommies.

But Agatha didn’t want to.

Something inside her weighed on her, something unsettling and unknown. You were young. You had the right to have a life beyond them. Beyond this.

So, she let you go.

And she never regretted a decision more in her entire existence.

In mere minutes, Agatha explained the situation to Rio, the unease burning in her mind like an omen. Something was wrong. Something had been building up for weeks.

Wanda, always watching, always questioning, always wanting to know why they were taking so long to “lend” you to her and Lilia.

Why the delay?

The answer was simple.

It wasn’t going to happen.

That’s why, that day, when Wanda appeared at the mansion, sniffing the air and saying how much you reeked of Agatha and Rio—it was enough.

Sharing you with Wanda was out of the question.

Rio went back to Los Angeles; she knew Agatha might be right. She had seen this happen once before. And it didn’t end well.

So they cornered you.

Cruel. Sensual.

"Go on, pet. What else did that little whore say about us?"

The touch was gentle, but the words were chosen to hurt.

You weren’t supposed to believe other people.

You weren’t even supposed to question them.

"She said… you only want to use me." Your voice trembled in a whisper. "That I’m just a source…"

The words cut through the air like a sharp blade.

For a moment, the world stopped.

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

Agatha blinked slowly, brows furrowed, head tilted.

Rio remained still, her expression unreadable, but a muscle in her jaw twitched.

The room seemed to fold around you, suffocating, heavy.

Alice was a young witch. Inexperienced. An insect compared to them.

And yet, Alice knew about the sources.

Alice.

Not Wanda.

Not Lilia.

Alice.

But Alice wasn’t supposed to know.

Because that truth existed only between the four of them.

Rio, who had never shared the burden of fate with anyone beyond them.

Agatha, who held her secrets with firm hands and a cruel smile.

Lilia, sarcastic like Agatha but level-headed.

Wanda, intense, ruthless, loyal… Or at least, that’s what they thought.

One of them had betrayed. And the puzzle that had remained intact for centuries shattered right then and there.

Rio was the first to move.

Her dark eyes glowed like a black hole about to consume everything. She stepped forward, the scent of a storm rising in the air.

"Which one was it?" Her voice was a sharp whisper. "Who opened their mouth?"

Agatha’s gaze slid to you, your exhausted figure on the bed, your body still marked by the traces of last night.

She massaged the places where the whip had passed, her hands light and warm, like those of an ancient witch.

She caressed each mark with reverent touch.

"My love," she murmured, spreading a little more ointment on the inside of your thighs. "We’ve seen Wanda do this once before."

Rio paced back and forth like a caged animal.

"But that was centuries ago!" She said, arms crossed over her chest. "And Lilia said she forgave her." Rio pondered, avoiding her wife’s gaze.

"Lilia is too sensible." Your mommy’s hands were on your back. Massaging, caressing, and she smiled when you let out a small sound at how relaxed you were. "She has never put herself or her own will above us."

Rolling her eyes, Rio huffed. "Love…"

She had always been against Agatha’s desire for immediacy. If she suspected someone in a situation, Agatha wouldn’t stop until she had proof. Even if the person was innocent.

Agatha sighed, pulling away from you. The warmth of her touch vanished in an instant, and she got up from the bed, crossing the room with the lethal calm only she possessed.

"I’ll talk to Wanda tomorrow," she announced, her voice as sharp as glass.

Rio let out a brief, incredulous laugh.

"Talk?" She tilted her head, her eyes burning with something close to hatred. "And you really think she’ll admit it?"

Agatha turned to face her. "If it was her, I’ll know."

Rio studied her for a moment. "And if it wasn’t?"

The witch smiled, slow and sharp. "Then someone will pay all the same."

Rio ran her tongue over her teeth, crossing her arms. Her throat was dry. "I’m not like Lilia, Agatha. I won’t forgive."

The subtext was there.

Cruel and clear.

The last time this happened, it almost destroyed them. Almost tore them apart.

Agatha stepped closer, aligning her body with Rio’s, the candlelight shadows dancing over them like silent witnesses.

"I know, love. And that’s why you’re perfect for me."

Their eyes met, and in that instant, an understanding was sealed between them.

They had played this game for centuries. Survived every blow, every ambush, every broken alliance.

But this time was different.

This time, you were at the center of the board.

[...]

The set was alive with the sound of cameras, directors, and extras in their proper places. But Agatha heard nothing. Saw nothing. Time had flattened into a single thought: Where the hell are you?

Minutes before the break ended, a subtle unease made her check her phone. A habit. You always answered. Always came to her. Always obeyed.

Message sent. No response.

Her fingers slid across the screen, calling your name from the contact list. The phone rang four times before going to voicemail.

Agatha waited. Took a deep breath. Called again.

Nothing.

Her jaw clenched, and a weight began to settle in her chest, dense as molten lead. Irritation burned her skin like a persistent fever, but there was something else beneath it—something deeper, darker, something she refused to name.

She felt the tension in her shoulders when an assistant rushed past her. Without thinking, her hand shot out, gripping the woman's arm firmly.

"Where is she?" Agatha’s voice was low, but there was a sharpness to it, something that made the assistant blink in alarm.

"Who?"

Agatha’s patience was a thread about to snap.

She inhaled through her nose, teeth grinding as her mind processed the absurdity of the question. "The intern." The title felt weak in her mouth. Inadequate. "I need to review the script. And she’s not here."

The assistant hesitated, discomfort plain on her face. "I... I haven’t seen her. But I can find Yelena to review—"

Agatha dismissed her with an impatient gesture, her hand moving to her temple as her jaw locked even tighter.

The break ended.

The cast returned.

The extras returned.

The director returned.

But you didn’t.

The unease crept into her bones, replacing anger with something heavier, more unbearable.

That was when her assistant approached.

An uncertain gaze, hesitation in her steps.

She extended her hand. In the center of her palm, cold and silent, was your phone.

"The security guard found this..."

Agatha tore her eyes from her own screen, where she had been trying to call you for the umpteenth time.

The world stopped.

Her gaze fixed on the device, and something inside her tensed like a trap ready to spring. Her fingers wrapped around the phone, gripping it as if she could squeeze answers out of it.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

A second. Two. Her heart stuttered in her chest, erratic.

Fear.

The recognition of the emotion made her nauseous.

She lifted her eyes suddenly, her voice sharp as an ice blade:

"Where is Wanda?"

The woman’s agent barely glanced up from his phone, his expression vaguely distracted. "She went out for lunch."

And in that instant, Agatha knew.

Tension shot down her spine, a distant thunder before the storm.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles turning white.

"Fuck."

The sound was nearly lost beneath the ringing in her ears.

Her eyes darkened.

"Cancel today's scenes." Her voice didn’t rise, but the weight in it was undeniable. "Everyone is dismissed."

She didn’t wait for a response.

She didn’t notice the confused stares around her as she turned on her heel and stormed out, her purple coat billowing behind her.

Her fingers flew to her phone.

Calling Rio.

Her car was parked just outside, but the keys felt heavy in her hands.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the door.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Agatha gripped the steering wheel tightly, her breath quickening.

"Pick up, damn it."

The call was finally answered.

"Agatha."

Rio’s voice was steady, but Agatha recognized that hint of concern, as if she had been expecting this all along.

"Meet me at Lilia’s house."

There was a brief silence on the other end. No questions. No hesitation.

"I’m on my way."

Agatha hung up without further explanation.

Her heart pounded, her chest tight with a mix of fury and dread.

If Wanda had anything to do with this, Agatha was going to kill her.

Lilia was sitting at her desk, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of her nose as she graded her students’ exams. The tip of the red pen struck a firm line through an incorrect answer, and she sighed.

That was when the front door slammed violently.

The sound echoed through the house, rattling the windows.

Lilia closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling a slow breath before saying, without even turning around:

"That was a bit much, don’t you think?"

Rio’s boots echoed against the wooden floor, each step like thunder ready to crash.

"Where. Is. She?"

Rio’s voice was a low growl, something primal and dangerous.

Lilia pushed her glasses up, finally looking at the woman standing in front of her. Rio was tense, shoulders rigid, dark eyes burning, fists clenched at her sides as if holding back violence by a thread.

But Lilia didn’t look surprised. Or scared.

She merely tilted her head slightly, her gaze analytical.

"You’re breaking into my house for this?"

Rio’s jaw clenched. She stepped forward, her shadow swallowing Lilia whole.

"I’m not in the mood for games, Lilia." Her voice was quieter now, more lethal. "She’s missing."

Lilia blinked slowly.

"And you think I’m involved?"

Rio narrowed her eyes, moving in like a predator scenting its prey.

"I think… you know something."

Their eyes locked in a silent duel.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

"Rio," Agatha warned, urging her to step back.

She entered the apartment, noticing the broken door, but even so, she grabbed it and fit it back into place, using her magic to repair the damage her wife had caused.

"I didn’t know you were a carpenter as well as a witch," Lilia mocked, slipping out of Rio’s grasp to sit on the couch, irritated.

"I apologize for that. But you understand what’s happening here, don’t you?"

"Understand?" Lilia scoffed, lighting a cigarette with the lighter on the coffee table.

Long centuries and she had never managed to kick the habit.

"Understand that you two got more attached than you should have?" She pointed the cigarette at both women. "I understand. It’s happened before, hasn’t it?" Lilia let out a hollow laugh, something almost melancholic behind it.

Agatha and Rio both took deep breaths, sinking into the plush cushions.

"But you should know I have nothing to do with this."

"Lilia…" Agatha began. "Where is Wanda?" Her tone was patient, too calm. She knew yelling at Lilia would only slow things down.

Lilia took another drag of her cigarette before answering. The orange glow briefly illuminated her face before she exhaled the smoke slowly, eyes locked on Agatha.

Silence stretched.

Time pulled tight like a thread about to snap.

Rio moved first. Her body leaned forward, hands landing heavy on the coffee table with a dull thud. "Answer, Lilia." Her voice was low, carrying an unspoken threat.

The other woman merely raised an eyebrow, looking bored.

"And what if I don’t know?"

"You know." Rio growled.

The laugh Lilia let out was short, devoid of humor. Her gaze drifted briefly, landing on an invisible point in the room. As if she were seeing something the others could not.

It was Agatha who spoke first, not raising her tone, yet making it impossible to ignore: "I don’t want to play with you tonight."

Lilia finally looked at her.

Her eyes gleamed under the dim light of the room. "But you always know how to play, Agatha."

Her name, coming from Lilia’s lips, sounded like a sharp blade sliding against skin.

The air grew heavier.

Rio felt her shoulders tense. It wasn’t an explicit threat. Not yet. But the game was being set before them, and the scent of danger was palpable.

"Her phone was found on set." Agatha continued, ignoring the provocation. "And Wanda disappeared at the exact same time."

"Coincidence." Lilia murmured, tapping the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray’s edge.

"Coincidences don’t fucking exist." Rio shot back, her patience crumbling.

"You’re right." Agatha admitted, making Lilia and Rio stare at her in disbelief. "We got attached more than we should have. Honestly, I didn’t even know that could happen to women like us…" Agatha trailed off, her eyes lost in the ashtray on the coffee table, watching the gray smoke dance in the air.

"Yeah… it can." Lilia breathed, sadly.

Agatha lifted her gaze, her eyes now firm and unyielding. "I don’t want the same thing that happened to Amélie to happen to her."

Oh.

The name was a punch. A dry crack in the air. A weight settling in Lilia’s chest, constricting each heartbeat.

Her face changed completely. The closed expression, the mask of disdain she always wore, shattered in an instant.

"Don’t say her name." Lilia’s voice was cutting, but there was something fragile beneath it. Something even she couldn’t hide.

The silence that followed screamed. It filled the room, creeping between the three of them, suffocating like an invisible presence refusing to leave.

Amélie’s name wasn’t just a name. It was a specter. A painful memory that had never found rest.

Lilia ran her tongue over her teeth, impatient. She took another cigarette, lighting it with the tip of her fingers. The flame flickered before dying, but the name still echoed in the heavy silence.

Amélie.

Agatha noticed the tremor in her friend’s hands as she brought the cigarette to her lips. "You still feel it, don’t you?"

Her voice came low, almost soft.

Lilia exhaled the smoke slowly. "What?"

Rio crossed her arms, her expression hard. "The absence. The guilt."

Lilia laughed. But it was an empty sound, dry, devoid of humor. "Guilt?" She repeated, testing the word on her tongue, as if it were something bitter. "Every single day."

She closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself to feel. And then, the memory came.

The golden hair—half blonde, half brown. Lilia never really knew for sure.

The soft texture.

The scent of eucalyptus shampoo, a common aroma, but on her, it was different. Unmistakable.

The white veil pinned to her head.

White.

Pure.

Amélie was light.

And Lilia?

"But no amount of guilt I feel. No stupid regret for not fighting for her, for us… will bring her back."

Agatha didn’t reply immediately. Her gaze landed on Lilia’s cigarette, on the way she held it, as if it were a shield. But it was useless. The past always found a way to reach them.

"Did you forgive her?" Agatha asked.

Lilia laughed again, but this time, there was pain in the sound. "Did I have another choice?" She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. "I was the one in the wrong. I betrayed you all. My family."

Agatha leaned forward. "Is that really what you think?"

For a moment, only silence answered. Then, finally, Lilia spoke, and her voice was a rough whisper:

"Fuck... of course not. I loved Amélie."

Her throat tightened, her lips trembling, but she kept going:

"I loved her."

Tears streamed from Lilia’s tired eyes. She had seen so many things, met so many people. But no one, no one, had ever compared to her Amélie.

"Of course you did." Rio spoke, her voice mirroring something she understood all too well. "You were never the same again, Lilia."

Lilia shook her head, letting out a shaky sigh. "She was so young. It was unbelievable that someone like her would waste her years inside that damned church. But fuck that." She shut her eyes, a weak chuckle escaping at the memory of the girl and how devoted she was. "I’d give anything to have her here with me."

Agatha blinked slowly, absorbing every word. It was like looking into a mirror.

If she let Wanda destroy everything… she’d end up like Lilia.

Or worse.

Because this time, she would watch Rio fall apart along with her.

Agatha took a deep breath. "Lilia…"

It was a plea. A silent request.

The older woman sighed again, her chest still heavy, but something in her seemed different. Maybe it was the weight shared between sisters. Maybe it was the unspoken understanding that their support for each other was non-negotiable.

Lilia stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, watching the ember die.

"Wanda has too many dealings in WestView." She gave them an answer, but lifted her head to look at the women already at the door.

"Do you really think you can stop Wanda?"

Lilia studied the two women before her. The intensity in Agatha’s eyes. The ferocity in Rio’s.

The love and loyalty they shared, binding them in a way that neither time nor darkness could break.

For an instant, she saw something she thought had been lost long ago: hope.

Rio growled. "If she thinks she can touch her, she’ll have to go through me first."

Lilia smiled—a small, almost imperceptible smile, but genuine.

"Then good luck."

And with that, Agatha and Rio left, leaving behind the smoke of Lilia’s cigarette and the sweet memories of a name whispered in the air.

Amélie.

~*~

And who is Amélie? Well... I can tell you this story someday.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[confused-bisexual]

[itberice]

Agatha All Along I Death's Hand in Mine

[mioakem]

the imagery in this part of the ep was actually insane like this is genuinely beautiful

[kidovna]

The Seer’s Timeline

[movietimegirl]

That wasn't supposed to happen.

[stevenrogered]

AGATHA ALL ALONG | 1x07, "Death's Hand in Mine"

[gaypalz]

LMAOOO his full name, and like even after they know his real name

[cosmichahn]

it's so beautiful finding out that the ballad of the witches' road began between agatha and nicholas and their bond, and earlier on we find out that lorna wu created her version in order to protect alice I AM ABSOLUTELY DESTROYED.

[dsmsix]

Heartbreak, Sorrow, Grief.

[livingfandomly]

Shocking that when you focus on quality and give the story to actual writers they can successfully cement a character, give you her entire backstory, make you fall in love with her and make you cry when they kill her off, all in a span of 30mins.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (18/20)

So.... Are you guys ready for it??? Haha 😆

Remember that nothing is black and white! Feelings are complexes and and they don't always need a justification to be felt. okay?

And yes... our series is ending, so please, enjoy it <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: magic torture, attempt energy drain, fighting and angst. Proceed with caution.

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After finding Wanda's whereabouts, the women fight and Lady Death decides to appear.

Love

The room seemed smaller each day. The walls, once familiar, were now invisible bars keeping you there, isolated, lost in endless, spiraling thoughts.

On the first day, your mind was restless. Wanda’s words hammered in your head, an infinite cycle of uncertainty and confusion. What was true? What was a lie?

You felt anger.

Not just toward them, but toward yourself for not being able to understand, for not knowing what to believe.

The echo of Wanda’s voice still vibrated in your mind. Every word she spoke was an open wound, bleeding doubt into you.

"They made you their little whore."

No, that didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. You knew them. You knew their touch, their heated gazes, the way they said your name.

It couldn’t be false.

But… what if it was?

You got up from the bed, pacing around the room like a caged animal. The cold floor beneath your bare feet was the only point of reality you had in that moment. You tried the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Your heart pounded with a mix of desperation and irritation.

You knocked on the door, called for Wanda, demanded answers. But your voice echoed emptily in the room, unanswered.

The silence was the worst part.

Over time, your anger began to dissolve into something more dangerous. Something sticky, dense—madness turning into a poison that seeped through your mind.

"What if it’s true?"

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to hate Wanda. For planting those thoughts in your head. Believing that your mommies were the villains of this story was painful, but it seemed… obvious.

And yet, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Agatha adjusting the collar of your blouse, Rio patting your bottom to lull you to sleep.

If it was a lie, it was the best lie you’d ever lived.

Night came, and the room was dark, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You curled up in bed, hugging your knees, feeling the cold creep into your skin.

You missed them.

And that hurt more than any doubt.

On the second day, anger turned into doubt.

"What if they’re doing all this to protect me?"

The question repeated itself, over and over, an insistent echo inside your chest. You tried to push it away, to throw it aside, but it always came back, crawling through the corners of your mind, taking up space among your already chaotic thoughts.

You wanted to hate them. Wanted to feel only betrayal. Wanted to cling to the simplest version of the story—the one where none of this happened. Where you were still in their mansion in Pacific Palisades, in their garden, in their kitchen, in their bed.

Disappointment dragged you down into the mattress, your stomach twisting with nervous nausea. You just wanted to forget. Forget them. But you couldn’t. Because even in disappointment, you still thought of them.

Still missed them.

The emptiness was a constant reminder. It was in your empty hands, once always intertwined with theirs. In your lips, which no longer knew who to call for. In your chest, which felt too small to contain the longing.

You forced yourself to eat some of the food Wanda had left in the room, but everything tasted bland. The food sat heavy in your stomach, as if your body rejected it. As if their absence had drained not only your will but even your most basic needs.

So, you tried to distract yourself.

Wandering the room, you touched objects, searching for something—anything—that could bring comfort. Your high school photos were still there.

And you smiled, remembering how horrible it was to wear braces, how weird you looked. Your trophies and first-place certificates from competitions and tournaments.

But none of it was enough. No happy memory could replace their warmth.

It wasn’t until nightfall, when the room was once again swallowed by darkness, that you realized what was really happening.

You weren’t just confused.

You were lost without them.

On the third day, you could no longer think.

Your body ached as if something was breaking inside you. Your breathing was weak, your lips chapped, and your skin, both hot and cold, burned like embers.

Something inside you was shattering.

It wasn’t just longing.

It was a deep desperation, an expanding void sucking everything around it. You trembled, an unbearable cold consuming you as your mind fixated on a single thought, a single obsession.

Them.

Their scent, the sound of their voices, the warmth of their touch.

Them.

You no longer knew where you ended and they began. No longer knew who you were without them. And deep down, you started to wonder if you even wanted to know.

Your cracked lips parted weakly, your voice nothing more than a whisper.

"Mommies..."

The plea escaped before you could stop it, almost unconscious. A hopeless call, floating in the empty air.

Then, the door opened.

Wanda rushed in, her gaze scanning the room urgently, her expression carrying the weight of someone who had anticipated trouble. But she wasn’t prepared for what she found.

The tray of food she had left untouched. The scent of sweat and fever in the air.

And you.

Curled up in bed, your eyes open yet unfocused, your breath shallow. Your body looked fragile, thinner, exhausted. You trembled, even beneath the covers. Wanda quickly approached, sitting beside you, her brows furrowed.

"You need to eat," she said, trying to keep patience in her voice.

But as she leaned in closer, as she really looked at you…

Her heart stopped.

She touched your forehead and felt the burning heat of fever. Your pupils were dilated, your lips trembled, and even in your delirium, your mouth kept moving, murmuring something faintly.

Wanda leaned in, trying to understand.

"Mama... mommy..."

That was all you could say.

A shiver ran down Wanda’s spine.

"Hey, look at me," she tried, pressing your cheek between her fingers, but you didn’t even react to her touch.

Your gaze wandered, lost, as if you were somewhere else.

"Wanda..." your voice came out weak, barely a breath. "Will they come back for me?"

The question hit her like a punch.

Wanda clenched her jaw.

"They’re not good for you," she said firmly, almost irritated.

Your eyes welled up, your chest tightening as if those words had truly hurt you. You curled up deeper into the sheets, your fingers clenching into trembling fists.

"But… I don’t know how to exist without them. I can’t—" The confession was a pained whisper.

Wanda remained silent.

She shut her eyes, analyzing you.

Something in the air, something in the very structure of your existence felt off to her.

She pressed two fingers against your wrist. Your pulse was erratic, weak, as if the very thread of your life was unraveling.

Panic began to creep in.

"It’s not possible…" she murmured to herself, her eyes widening in realization.

Her fingers trailed to your chest, where your heart beat faintly, shakily.

Bound.

They had bound your heart.

This wasn’t just any spell.

It was the Erebus Bond.

Wanda held her breath.

An ancient, forbidden spell. An unbreakable tie that intertwined someone’s essence with another’s.

And then, she saw it.

You, pale, fragile, calling for them.

Like before.

Panic flared inside Wanda.

They had done the impossible.

And now… you were paying the price.

[...]

The night in WestView was cold and silent—the kind of silence that precedes a storm.

And the storm came.

The front door exploded inward with a deafening crash, shards of wood flying through the air. Rio entered first, her presence radiating pure violence, her eyes burning with a predatory glow. Her hand still carried the trail of destructive magic she had used to clear the way.

Behind her, Agatha walked in with eerie calm, her heels striking the floor in a rhythmic cadence over the wreckage.

The house smelled of beer, sweat, and the past. A place that was never a home.

Never for you.

A scream echoed from the kitchen. Rushed footsteps. A figure emerged in the hallway.

Your father.

The years had given him wrinkles, but they had not erased the brutality in his eyes. The same brutality you knew. The same that shaped you.

"Who the hell are you?!" he growled, moving toward the dresser near the TV.

Rio tilted her head, a twisted smile on her lips.

"Oh. He grabbed a gun," she murmured to Agatha, almost amused.

The click of the shotgun echoed through the room, his hands steady on the grip, the barrel aimed directly at the two women.

"I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get off my property before I—"

Before he could finish, Rio snapped her fingers.

The gun was ripped from his hands by an invisible force and crushed mid-air as if it were made of paper.

Your father barely had time to react before Rio flung him backward with a single gesture. He flew across the room like a ragdoll, colliding against the wall, knocking down frames and shelves as he crashed to the floor.

One of your brothers appeared at the top of the stairs, alarmed by the noise.

"What the fuck is—?!"

Agatha lazily raised a hand, and he was silenced in an instant. His feet lifted off the ground, his body arching into an impossible position, as if invisible hands were twisting him from the inside out.

"Where is she?" Agatha asked, her voice low, almost a whisper. But laced with steel.

Your father coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he tried to crawl away.

Rio kicked him hard in the chest, pinning him to the floor.

He gasped, spitting more blood. "I... I don’t know what—"

Rio crouched, her fingers dripping with green energy as they grazed his skin.

He screamed.

"Lying," she murmured, tilting her head like a predator analyzing its prey.

Another brother appeared at the doorway, wielding a knife. But before he could take a single step, Agatha closed her hand in the air.

He fell to his knees, eyes wide, his skin beginning to darken.

"Let’s try again," Agatha said, crouching beside your father, her eyes glowing with something cold and cruel. "Where is she?"

Your father coughed again, trying to laugh. "I don’t know who you’re talking about. But she sure as hell isn’t here…"

Agatha sighed, standing up slowly.

She looked at Rio.

"What a shame for you."

Rio smiled.

The house was still trembling with the remnants of magic when Rio finally released your father, letting him collapse onto the floor like a broken doll. He was still breathing—barely.

The green witch snapped her fingers, then your father and brothers were send to another place—to hell, maybe, to pay for everything they did to you.

Agatha took a few steps back, her eyes scanning the room, her brow furrowing in confusion. Something was wrong. Something didn’t fit.

"She was supposed to be here," she murmured.

Rio wiped her hands on her coat, still riding the adrenaline of violence, but Agatha’s tone made her pause.

"What is it?"

"I felt it. You did too. She was here. I could hear…" The witch bit her lip, her eyes closing for a moment. "Her heart… was here."

Rio frowned. Now that Agatha mentioned it…

She had felt it too.

A call, an echo of pain and despair. As if your presence was imprinted on the walls, in the shadows, in the heavy air of the house.

"But that makes no sense," Rio growled. "If she’s not here, how can we feel her so strongly?"

And then the answer came.

Sudden.

Cold.

Agatha gasped, her eyes widening as the truth revealed itself.

Wanda.

Wanda was manipulating their emotions.

Creating a false bond.

"That bitch…" Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with hatred. She looked at Rio, and for the first time that night, there was something in her eyes beyond cruelty.

Panic.

They were wasting time.

Your body was falling apart without them.

"We have to go. Now," Rio declared, already spinning on her heels, fists clenched.

The two exchanged a look.

There was no time to lose.

If they took any longer, you wouldn’t be alive for them to find you.

The streets were swallowed in an unsettling silence. The moon cast distorted shadows through the alleys, and every step Agatha and Rio took echoed through the empty city.

They were desperate, frustrated, and every second lost was a knife plunged deeper into their chests.

Then, Agatha saw you.

The world around her stopped.

You walked down the sidewalk with a woman at your side. The same shape of the eyes, the same curve of the smile.

Your mother.

Your eyes shone as you looked at her, and a soft smile adorned your lips. A smile Agatha knew well. A smile that belonged to her.

You looked… complete.

Her blood boiled.

She didn’t think. She didn’t rationalize. She just acted.

"You bitch!" Her voice cut through the night like a blade, filled with fury and something even more dangerous—jealousy.

The hatred was immediate, intense. A feeling that burned through every inch of her skin. Her heart roared in her chest, her steps turned rapid, wild, as she charged toward the woman at your side.

The same woman who abandoned you and forgot you, while all she did was love you.

How dare you?

How dare she be there, at your side, smiling, when you should be begging for her?

Agatha raised her hand, her magic seething at her fingertips, ready to tear that woman apart until nothing remained—

But a strong arm held her back.

"Agatha, stop!" Rio shouted firmly, using all her strength to keep her in place.

Agatha turned her face in fury, but then she realized.

Something was wrong.

The woman’s gaze.

Empty.

Yours too.

The smile on your lips… wasn’t yours.

Wasn’t real.

A shiver ran down Rio’s spine. Her eyes scanned the street, her heart pounding.

And then she saw it.

Other versions of you.

With your mother.

Walking. Smiling.

Spreading through WestView like a damn plague. Repeating like a damn loop.

Rio felt rage boil inside her. Her fists clenched, and she wanted to kill. She wanted to destroy.

"Wanda…" Agatha spat the name like poison.

It was a game.

An illusion.

A cruel provocation.

"That bitch is toying with us," Rio hissed, spitting on the ground, her eyes burning with fury.

Wanda wanted them like this.

Lost.

Consumed by anger.

But what Wanda didn’t know was that there was no emotion Agatha and Rio didn’t know how to use to their advantage.

"So she thinks she can toy with us? With what’s mine?"

Agatha took a deep breath, her eyes blazing violet, her hands warming with the power gathering there.

The woman was ready.

[...]

Your room was shrouded in crimson shadows. The energy pulsed around you, pressing against your body, invading your mind like sharp claws trying to tear something away—something that couldn't be taken.

You screamed.

It felt like your skin was unraveling in invisible flames. Every nerve burned, every thought was crushed beneath a brutal force.

But even as the torment spread like an overwhelming wave, something inside you remained untouched.

Your heart.

Bound to them.

Wanda’s energy intensified, her eyes glowing with desperation and frustration. She stepped closer, teeth clenched, hands hovering over you, trying to find the exact thread to pull—

But there was no thread.

The bond wasn't something that could be undone. It wasn’t a common curse, a crude tether that could be severed with brute force.

It was something deeper.

Older.

Stronger.

And it didn’t belong to her.

Your body arched as a new wave of pain tore through you, your nails digging into the sheets, your vision blurring, your mind fracturing.

You could feel Wanda inside you, searching, trying to rip out any trace of them. But every attempt only made the bond tighten, made your chest ache harder, made your soul rebel against the intrusion.

“Why?” Wanda murmured, her voice trembling. “Why did they do this?”

You couldn’t answer. You could barely breathe.

“Why can’t I?”

The question echoed through the room, laced with something Wanda would never admit—jealousy.

She, the Scarlet Witch, the most powerful sorceress to ever exist, couldn’t touch what Agatha and Rio had done.

And it consumed her.

Her hands trembled as she pulled back her magic, looking at you with something that teetered on the edge of despair.

You were wrecked. Almost lifeless.

But still, you didn’t belong to her.

And Wanda hated that.

She sat on the antique-textured sofa, the spellbook in her lap as she searched desperately for something—anything—that could break the bond between you.

The room was an exact replica of the house you grew up in, but the air inside was thick, charged with magic.

When Agatha and Rio stepped through the door, their instincts were already on high alert, ready to tear apart anything standing between them and you.

Until they saw their younger sister, her eyes red—not just from the glow of her magic, but from something deeper. Something more human.

Pain.

Rio unsheathed a deadly dagger, moving like a predator about to slit its prey’s throat. But before she could strike, Wanda’s voice cut through the air—raw, devastated:

“Why can’t I touch her?”

The words were spoken with anger, yes. But also with desperation. With a sorrow that made Agatha hesitate for just a fraction of a second.

Wanda stood slowly, her breathing unsteady, her eyes locked onto the two women.

“Why can’t I use her?” Her voice cracked, and then, as if her soul was unraveling, tears fell. “Why?”

Rio gripped the dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Because she’s ours, not yours.” The growl left her lips, thick with fury.

Wanda shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her, her eyes glistening with tears.

“This is all so ridiculous.” She swallowed hard, struggling to keep herself composed. “You cast a spell that even I can’t break. You tied her soul to you. Her heart.”

“You don’t understand.” Agatha folded her arms, her voice cold as steel. “You never could.”

“Then make me understand!” Wanda exploded, stepping forward. Her magic crackled, red and alive, as if every cell in her body was on the verge of implosion. “Tell me, Agatha, Rio. What is this?”

Agatha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her disheveled hair, while Rio still trembled beside her. Whatever was boiling inside her was about to spill over.

“This is belonging,” Agatha said, her voice low, firm, cutting.

For a moment, Rio said nothing. Her fingers loosened around the dagger, her breathing turning uneven. Then, as if every wall inside her collapsed at once, her voice came out in a raw, trembling whisper:

“This is love.”

The confession hung in the air like an irreversible spell.

Rio’s green magic dissipated around her, yielding to the weight of the truth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her eyes shining with something Wanda had never seen in her before—vulnerability.

Wanda laughed again, but it was a broken sound. She ran a hand over her face, as if trying to peel this reality off her skin.

“Love? You think this is love?” Her tone was a mix of disbelief and agony.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, cold as ice.

“You’ll never understand because you’ve never loved anyone but yourself.” The words struck like a dagger—precise and cruel.

Wanda’s face twisted as if she’d been punched. The air seemed to leave her lungs. Her own name, her own history, weighed on her like invisible chains.

She closed her eyes, her voice coming out in a shattered whisper:

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“My family,” Wanda murmured, and the pain bled through her voice like an open wound.

Agatha took a deep breath, closing her eyes. And she saw her—

That young redheaded girl, green eyes trembling with tears and fear. That little child who was too young to understand what she was and how to deal with it.

Agatha had always been there. Helping Wanda tame her demons.

Perhaps she could even risk saying she knew Wanda better than anyone.

“This twisted shit isn’t love, Wanda!”

The silence stretched across the room like a thread about to snap.

Wanda stared at the two women in front of her, her breathing unsteady, tears streaming down her face.

And then, something inside her seemed to crack.

“Oh. And do you know what that is? Binding a poor girl’s heart? Keeping her for yourselves. Shutting me out.”

The word lingered in the air like an unspoken curse.

Rio scoffed, but the sound was tense, filled with something even she didn’t want to name.

“Grow up, Wanda! You’re not a fucking child!”

The Scarlet Witch trembled, her power flickering around her. She felt the weight of those words, felt the weight of the truth she refused to accept.

Because deep down, she knew.

She had always been alone.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Wanda trembled, her eyes red and swollen, her power still crackling in the air but aimless. She didn’t know what to do anymore.

“You talk as if you know what loneliness is. But you have each other. You always have. And now, you have her.” Her voice broke when she mentioned you. “And me? What do I have?”

Rio clenched her teeth, feeling her head throb with what she considered nothing more than Wanda’s tantrum.

“Fuck you. This isn’t about you.”

But Wanda stepped forward, her anger flaring once more.

“Isn’t it? Then why do I feel like this? Why does it hurt? I did everything right! I did everything I was supposed to! And yet… I’m still alone!”

Agatha rolled her eyes, crossing her arms impatiently.

“She isn’t a prize to be won, Wanda.”

"No?" The redhead laughed, bitter. "But she can be an object? A toy, ready to be controlled by you, right?"

The words fell between them like a sharp knife. The air in the room grew heavier, as if the world had held its breath.

Agatha remained still, her eyes widening for a brief moment before turning as cold as ice.

Rio, on the other hand, reacted instantly.

"Shut. Up."

But Wanda didn’t stop.

She never did.

She had always had strong opinions, ready to be spoken no matter who they hurt.

"What’s wrong? Don’t want to debate how cruel I am now? Don’t want to talk about how I’m evil, controlling, when that’s all you ever do?!"

Rio stepped forward, grabbing Wanda’s pale throat, fury seeping through her amber eyes.

"You know what? I’m done playing the big sister. Now. You’re going to pay."

Wanda, her eyes glowing scarlet, remained rigid, fists clenched at her sides. On the other side, Agatha and Rio stared her down like predators guarding what was theirs.

"Do you really want to do this?" Wanda broke the silence, her voice laden with exhaustion and something deeper. Something wounded.

Agatha tilted her head, blue eyes glinting with an icy shine.

"Honey… this was never a choice."

A crackle in the air.

Wanda didn’t have time to react before a purple blast struck her chest, hurling her backward. Her body crashed into the wall, cracking the plaster around her.

She groaned but had no time to catch her breath before strands of green energy coiled around her wrists and ankles.

Rio.

The artist—or the green witch—walked toward her, eyes burning like blazing amber stones. Her hands were raised, wrists rotating in elegant circles as the magic tightened around Wanda’s body, pulling her to the floor.

"You never knew what it was like not to be in the spotlight, did you?" Rio whispered, her voice heavy with old resentment. "You always had to be the favorite, the special one, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff. And now... now you finally know what it’s like to be cast aside."

Wanda gritted her teeth, her eyes burning crimson.

With a scream of fury, a surge of energy shattered the green bindings, dissipating Rio’s spell.

Wanda lunged forward, her scarlet aura pulsing like a furious heart. With a flick of her hand, Agatha’s purple magic began to unravel, sucked into the crimson sphere vibrating between the Scarlet Witch’s fingers.

Agatha felt the drain, her bones growing heavy as if her very essence was being torn away. She gritted her teeth, raising her hands to weave ancient symbols in the air, trying to seal the energy Wanda was pulling—but it was like trying to contain an ocean with her hands.

Rio didn’t hesitate. Moving in a blur of green, she wove ethereal chains around the redhead, attempting to trap her inside a circle of runes—a spell designed to contain cosmic forces.

But Wanda already knew this trick.

With a mere blink, she shattered the magical prison in a wave of pure chaos, the symbols dissolving like broken glass.

The force sent the brunette witch crashing into the wall, the concrete cracking from the impact.

Agatha seized the distraction to strike.

Her fingers moved swiftly, shaping violet formulas in the air. A blast of energy shot toward Wanda, but the redhead dodged at the last second, throwing herself to the side and launching a sphere of chaos at her mentor.

Purple and red clashed, creating an unstable dimensional vortex. The air crackled, the ground trembled, as if the very universe hesitated before such a battle of primordial forces.

But Wanda didn’t stop. She was hungry. She was absorbing Agatha, consuming her magic, growing stronger with each passing second.

Rio, still recovering, watched it all with weary eyes. Wanda was stronger. There was no denying it. If things continued like this, Agatha would fall.

She couldn’t lose her.

And they couldn’t lose you.

Closing her eyes, Rio abandoned resistance.

She let the shadow in.

Her body went rigid. An inhuman heat coursed through her veins.

And then, green gave way to absolute black.

The room seemed to darken. The atmosphere grew heavy, suffocating, as if space itself was folding around Rio.

Her eyes opened—but they were no longer hers.

They were endless abysses, black voids that devoured any trace of humanity. Her jaw had turned entirely to bone. Small horns sprouted from the top of her head.

The laughter came low, almost tender. A funeral melody, sharp and cruel.

Wanda hesitated. Something inside her screamed to stop.

"Wanda Maximoff," the voice of death was calm and serene. "We met so soon, didn’t we?"

Terror crawled up Wanda’s spine, something primal inside her screaming to run.

She had faced cosmic entities, manipulated the laws of reality…

But this?

This was different.

The figure before her was not just Rio. Not just a witch.

It was something older, hungrier, more inevitable.

Lady Death raised a hand, and the snap of her fingers echoed like the last breath escaping condemned lips.

"You had so much left to live for… What a pity."

It was a whisper drenched in delight, as if death savored every moment of her dance with the living.

The world around Wanda shrank. The red wavered.

For the first time in a long time, her own power felt small.

She tried to fight back. Scarlet flames flared in her hands, but Lady Death’s darkness coiled around them like venom, draining their heat, their chaos, her very existence.

The pain was cold as a blade.

Wanda gasped, staggering back.

She felt like she was dissolving. Like she was being erased from reality itself.

The air felt nonexistent. She struggled to breathe. To fight for her life.

Agatha, who had been watching with fascination and a latent care, felt her stomach turn.

She knew this version of Rio.

In the past, the woman had wiped out an entire village just because Agatha had discovered her true essence.

Lady Death feared Agatha would abandon her. But how could she? If the woman in front of her was the most beautifully dark.

Agatha knew.

Lady Death didn’t negotiate.

Had no mercy.

Obeyed no one.

She was sovereign over being and non-being.

And now, her gaze was fixed on Wanda.

"Darling," Lady Death murmured, raising a hand in an almost affectionate gesture. "You can’t cheat death."

The smile that followed was a hollow promise of compassion.

"Shh, just let go."

Wanda gasped, her body already beginning to dematerialize.

But then—

A spell cut through the air.

Ancient runes glowed gold, spreading like chains around Lady Death.

Lilia’s presence filled the room.

"Stop."

Lady Death’s eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and amusement. She turned slowly, as if assessing the intruder.

"How dare you?"

Her voice was pure condemnation—the fury of something that should never be defied.

But Lilia didn’t back down.

She simply took a deep breath and pointed directly at Agatha, as if to say, "handle this."

And Agatha, with a sudden tightness in her chest, knew it was now or never.

Dealing with her wife in this form was like walking on eggshells—as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Lady Death remained motionless, darkness pulsating around her—a ravenous vortex ready to consume Wanda whole.

But Agatha ignored it all.

She ignored Lilia, ignored Wanda gasping for air, ignored even the crushing weight of death that enveloped the room.

All she saw was Rio.

The woman who had bewitched her long before any magic.

The woman with whom she shared eternity.

The woman who needed her now more than ever.

With delicate care, Agatha stepped forward. Her movements were slow, measured. She could feel the tension thrumming through the entity before her, feel the raw power that made Lady Death something beyond mortal comprehension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because beneath that mask of bone, beneath those abyssal eyes and that suffocating presence—she was still Rio.

Her Rio.

The witch lifted her hands, unhesitant, and touched that inhuman face with a reverence that ached.

Her fingers brushed against the chill of death.

And she did not recoil.

“You need to come back to me, my love.”

Agatha’s voice was a thread of silk, a whisper slipping through the veil between realities.

She felt it when Lady Death tensed, sensed the exact moment the sovereign creature hesitated.

But she did not stop.

Agatha’s fingers glided tenderly over ossified skin, her gaze locked onto the bottomless voids that sought to devour everything around them.

The woman who terrified and fascinated her all at once.

“For me...” she repeated, her voice turning into a hoarse murmur.

And then, the final blow:

“For our little girl.”

The darkness wavered.

The hollow eyes flickered, as if something within them trembled between the present and a distant time.

The chaos around them shuddered.

Death hesitated.

Because there, at the heart of eternal night, on the threshold between destruction and return, there was something stronger than any power Lady Death could wield.

There was love.

There was the memory of sleepless nights whispering magical rites at the bedside.

There was the touch of tiny hands clutching their fingers—trusting, demanding.

There was the sound of her laughter, echoing like music in the depths of Rio’s mind.

And Lady Death, so absolute, so unyielding, faltered before it.

The bony jaw quivered.

The sharp fingers, which held Wanda’s fate in their grasp, trembled.

The shadow of a name formed at the edge of her consciousness.

Your name.

And then, like the tide retreating, the pitch-black abyss began to unravel.

First, the shadows around them.

Then, the eyes.

Brown.

Rio’s deep chocolate eyes shimmered back to life beneath the darkness, like a reborn constellation.

Her body swayed, magic dissipating in silent spirals.

And then, with a trembling gasp, Rio collapsed into Agatha’s arms.

Agatha held her close, heart pounding, her forehead pressed against Rio’s, as if anchoring her there. As if ensuring she would never lose Rio to herself again.

Behind them, Wanda panted, her lungs ablaze as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes still glowed scarlet, but the spark of her usual confidence dimmed with every passing second.

Her hands trembled as they instinctively went to her neck, massaging the skin as if she could erase the sensation of Rio’s fingers—or rather, Lady Death’s—squeezing, crushing, consuming.

She swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood.

Then, a voice shattered the moment.

“Argh. For God’s sake. Go get the girl already.”

Lilia.

Her lazy drawl cut through the air like a whip crack.

Agatha blinked, the abrupt return to reality fogging her thoughts for a moment. She still held Rio against her chest, feeling her breath—warm and shaky—against her collarbone.

The familiar scent of her skin was still there, hidden beneath the aura of death. The weight of her body was still real, still human.

The world settled back into focus.

And there was Lilia, watching it all with a bored expression before rolling her eyes and throwing herself onto the couch with irritating elegance.

“And what are you doing here?” Agatha finally managed to ask, her voice still raspy from the energy drain Wanda had inflicted on her.

“Helping, obviously,” Lilia retorted with a smirk.

“You could’ve arrived a little earlier, don’t you think?” Harkness shot her a cynical smile.

Lilia shrugged, irreverence dripping from every movement. “I like to make an entrance.”

Agatha huffed, too exhausted to argue, but before she could respond, a movement caught her attention.

Wanda, still wrestling with her wounded pride, forced herself to stand. Her body protested the effort, her muscles screaming as if each fiber were being torn from the inside out.

But nothing hurt more than the humiliation.

They had won.

They had shattered her illusion.

The redhead clenched her fists, grasping at the remnants of her conviction.

“You can’t!” she burst out, frustration and desperation lacing her voice. “She must be used as a sacrifice!”

The word hung bitter in the air.

Sacrifice.

As if it were simple. As if it were inevitable.

Rio, still trying to reorient herself after being consumed by Lady Death, lifted her gaze to the youngest.

What she saw made her falter.

Wanda didn’t look like a vengeful goddess, nor even a formidable enemy.

She looked like...

A child.

A lost child, desperate to cling to something that made her feel less alone.

A shadow of a tear shimmered in her green eyes. Wanda shook her head, fiercely, denying it even to herself.

“We’re supposed to stay together. No one can come between us. We are family,” she insisted, but her voice wavered on the last word.

She tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes.

Lilia exhaled slowly, as if trying to dispel the weight of something that had long since settled in her chest. Her eyes—normally filled with irony and indifferent charm—were dull, tired.

“Wanda.” Her voice was firm but not cruel. “You need to understand that we are different people, okay? We disagree with you. We can all be happy, the four of us, and still have separate lives. And you should be happy about that.”

Wanda blinked, as if struggling to process the words. Her gaze darted between them, searching for something—anything—to prove that it wasn’t true.

“But I am!” she cried, urgency spilling from her voice. “I swear! I would never truly hurt any of you. You know that, don’t you?”

There was something painful about the way she sought their validation.

Her face was paler than usual, her green eyes wide, her breathing shallow.

She looked desperate.

Afraid.

Like a little girl who, after letting go of her mother’s hand in a crowd, suddenly realized she might never find her again.

Lilia bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze flickering away for a moment.

She looked thoughtful.

The silence between them grew heavy, thick. The air felt warmer, suffocating, as if something unseen were pressing against their lungs.

Then, at last, Agatha broke the silence.

“Sometimes, you hurt us... indirectly.”

The older witch didn’t raise her voice, but each syllable cut Wanda like a blade.

Wanda blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Agatha hesitated for a brief moment. Her gaze softened, but there was an underlying firmness in her posture.

“Wanda... What you did to Améli—”

“Agatha, don’t you dare!”

Lilia interrupted abruptly, her voice laced with something she rarely let slip: vulnerability.

Agatha looked at her, her own expression weighed down by an old ache.

But Wanda didn’t want silence.

She wanted answers.

Her eyes burned with fury, and a surge of scarlet energy crackled around her fingers.

"No. Speak! Tell me!" Her voice trembled. "I want to know why you think I’m a monster who hurts you when all I’ve done is protect us!"

Silence.

Then, Lilia murmured.

"Amélie."

The name was spoken with a weight that Wanda didn’t immediately understand.

But Lilia did.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if the name itself were a physical blow.

"She was mine," Lilia continued, her voice thick with longing and pain. "And you took her from me."

Wanda’s stomach twisted.

Her heart, which had been pounding until then, gave a strange thud inside her chest.

Suddenly, breathing seemed difficult.

Wanda looked up at the ceiling, trying to connect the name to a person.

Oh.

"The nun?" she asked, a mixture of disgust and confusion in her voice.

She remembered the girl and her robes. She remembered how devoted she was to the place that stood against everything they were. So when she saw Lilia interested, she thought it was for something greater.

For a bigger plan.

But no.

Lilia loved her.

A nun.

A love forbidden in infinite ways.

Lilia blinked slowly, her eyes shining with something Wanda didn’t immediately recognize.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fury.

It was pain.

Raw, throbbing, suffocating pain.

The silence that followed was worse than any outburst of screams.

Then, Lilia laughed.

Not a laugh of mockery, nor one of irritation.

It was the sound of something breaking.

Of a heart that had been shattered so many times it no longer knew how to stay whole.

She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

"Is that how you saw her?" Lilia continued, her breath becoming uneven. "As a symbol of something you despised? As an enemy that needed to be eradicated?"

She took a step forward, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Because to me, Wanda," her voice cracked, but Lilia didn’t stop. "To me, she was everything."

Wanda blinked, feeling something bitter rise in her throat.

She wanted to respond.

Wanted to defend herself.

But she couldn’t.

Because, for the first time, she really looked at Lilia.

At the way her body trembled, at the way her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back something on the verge of spilling over.

And then, as if she couldn’t hold it back any longer, Lilia broke down.

Thick tears streamed down her face, and she ignored them completely.

"You killed her," Lilia whispered, her voice heavy with the weight of resentment. "You took her from me without hesitation. Without even wondering what she meant to me."

The air in the room grew dense, oppressive.

Lilia took a deep breath, her trembling fingers running through her graying hair. The tears escaped without permission, hot and thick, tracing a salty path down her skin.

Wanda couldn’t look directly at her.

"I… I didn’t know, Lilia. I—" Her voice faltered, eyes burning. "God. I would never hurt anyone—" She wiped her face with the backs of her hands, desperate, as if she could erase what she had done.

But the truth was, she had hurt.

So deeply.

For a girl.

For a girl who had meant nothing to her.

Wanda didn’t understand.

"Then what was it?" Lilia asked, her voice choked with nearly unbearable pain. She struck her own chest hard, as if trying to tear away the emptiness Amélie had left behind. "Why does it hurt so much?"

Her eyes met Wanda’s, but there was no love in them anymore. Only a chasm of grief and disappointment.

"She was my happiness, Wanda."

Wanda felt her chest tighten, her lungs failing.

"And you ripped her away from me."

The silence that followed was mourning in itself.

She ran her hands through her red hair, trembling. Despair crawled inside her, draining any remnants of control.

"Alright. I can fix this." Her voice sounded rushed, almost childlike. "I can fix this. Tell me anything, Lilia. I’ll do it. Let me make it right."

Lilia laughed.

Low, bitter.

"Make it right?" Her voice rose into a scream that made Wanda flinch. "Do you really think you can make it right, Wanda?"

Wanda faltered, her heart begging for a way out.

"Please, Lilia…"

But Lilia no longer heard pleas.

She exhaled deeply, wiping away the last of her tears with her fingertips. There was an eerie calm now, something resolved, definitive.

"We should stay away from each other for a while." Her voice was firm but not cruel. "I am so angry at you right now… Fuck. Like I’ve never felt before."

Wanda held her breath.

Lilia had loved her.

And precisely because of that, the pain was so overwhelming.

She didn’t know if she would ever be forgiven.

And that was the sentence that broke Wanda.

Panic flooded her red, swollen eyes.

"Please, Lilia." Her voice trembled, thick with despair. "Hurt me. Curse me. Hate me. Give me any punishment you want."

Her shoulders shook.

"But don’t leave me."

It was the end of the world for Wanda.

She had tried to avoid this fate at all costs. Had done everything, everything, to prevent being abandoned.

But in the end, all of her choices had led her to the same place.

Lilia looked at her for a long time.

A time that felt like an eternity. In a hoarse, exhausted voice, she replied:

"I don’t need to punish you, Wanda."

Lilia took a small step back, her gaze soft but unwavering.

"You know, leaving is also a way of loving. You helped me learn that."

She took a deep breath.

"Today, it’s my turn."

And without another word, Lilia turned and walked out the door.

The silence left behind was deafening.

[...]

In the next room, your trembling, almost lifeless body gasped for air, and your eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking against the soft light bathing the space.

Alive.

You were alive.

…or just dreaming?

Your breathing came in small tremors, your body heavy, weak, but your senses picked up something your mind had yet to fully grasp.

The warmth of hands caressing your skin, a gentle, reverent touch, as if afraid you might dissolve between their fingers.

Soft whispers, tender, words barely reaching the world but wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket.

"Finally, my little girl."

The sound of the voice was melodic, filled with a love that made your chest tighten.

Your trembling body finally began to relax under those touches. You blinked slowly, your vision still blurry, and saw their silhouettes. Their forms right there, so close, so real…

You tried to murmur something, but your lips felt too heavy, and all you managed was a shaky sigh.

It didn’t matter. You didn’t need to say anything.

Warm arms wrapped around you, both fierce and tender at the same time, holding you as if trying to protect you from the world itself.

And maybe from themselves.

"Mommies are here now, sweetheart."

The sound of those words made something inside you release.

Everything would be okay.

The answers could wait. The questions didn’t matter anymore at that moment.

Now, you just wanted to enjoy this.

So you melted into their embrace, sinking into this warm feeling.

So… so warm.

It felt like you were delirious — and maybe you were, given your current condition.

But something deep in your mind guessed this is exactly how a person feels when they are loved.

~*~

Ufff, it seems we have a family case over there, huh... (call Cristina Rocha, pls)

Btw, this chapter is the need to you know that you will have a spin-off of Wanda Maximoff in Woven Fates :)

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

Rio: *appears*

The Entirety of Team Witches' Road:

[daisyssousa]

chaos protection divination life&death reality spirit healing

[blackhillverse]

they said this is the cheapest marvel series ever produced. see, this is what happens when you focus on storytelling instead of unnecessary stuff no one cares about. i loved this episode so much. please, give me more low-budget marvel shows that care about the plot, the characters, and their target audience. i don't need another rdj blockbuster marvel movie. you can have that. give me meaningful stories with a low budget, made by people who truly believe in what they're creating.