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#house of harkness
cissa-calls · 1 day
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Countdown to Agatha: Day 754
Agatha: “Who ever said: “an apple a day keeps the doctor away!” is a huge frickin liar.”
Wanda: “Why? They’re a good source of vitamin C and fiber - among other things.”
Agatha: “Well, I just threw one at Y/N, and now they need to go to the doctor! Thus, proving the phrase is counterproductive. Boom.”
Wanda: “…”
Wanda: “Should I get the car warmed up for the drive to the doctors office?”
Agatha: “Yeah, you do that and I’ll get Y/N an ice pack”
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thestarlightforge · 8 months
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The rage. The confidence. And finally, after 2 seasons, the color scheme.
It’s giving Billy Maximoff preview, out for post-MoM revenge.
And I’m so here for it
Follow-up:
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Prom outfit’s the right color scheme, too—primary blue with accents of scarlet and white :))
(Plus Kit in Hulkling Pink in the first batch 😆)
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And Kit grinning at him beneath a poster with a scarlet-red illustration captioned “DOUBLE VISION”
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chaosvillainy · 2 years
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Wanda & Agatha Getting Chased by Police
Y/N: *starts taking her clothes off*
Wanda: What are you doing???!!
Y/N: The police are chasing you guys, so I'm going to create a distraction in the pool.
Agatha: How dare you do exactly what I'd do if I were you!
Wanda: Y/N, please stop.
Agatha: No, no. Don't stop, listen not to her! Carry on.
Y/N: *jumps into the pool and starts fake drowning*
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Wanda: I saw her ankles *smiling like an idiot*
Agatha: You'd have seen a lot more if you keep your cakehole shut.
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ifnotlovepersevering · 4 months
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ohh the obsession is coming back hard
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ty @shinkomiii for sharing 🥰
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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 months
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Idk what it is but something about people and the last name Harkness just makes me want to go absolutely feral
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I mean just look at them. Mommy and Daddy right there
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p-taryn-dactyl · 4 months
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i get liking a character a lot but if yall shit on the agatha harkness show bc of the chance wanda won’t be on it- that’s just stupid. it’s not wanda’s show, not everything is about her alright? if she does show up, that’s cool but im watching for agatha bc she can bring so many new things to the mcu
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make me behave//like an animal
Ship: Agatha Harkness x Reader
Summary: Agatha comes home after a long day, looking for a release.
Word Count: 7.3k
Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY minors dni
Warnings (not in order): smut, a little fluff, degradation, praise, choking, spanking, magical strap-on use, heavy use of pet names (bunny, little one, little love, etc.), heavy use of slut/whore, spitting, collars, vibrating butt plug, unrealistic fisting, mommy kink, mistress kink, pet play, bondage, mouth fucking, oral sex (Agatha receiving)
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Agatha comes home in a dark mood, her anger and frustration immediately alerting you that something is wrong.
“Long day?” You ask from the kitchen counter, where you’re preparing a cup of tea.
“You don't even know the half of it.” Agatha mutters darkly.
You pick up the teabag by its string and shake it gently to get off the excess liquid before tossing it into the garbage.
“Is there any way I can help?” You ask, well knowing what you’re offering.
Agatha sweeps her eyes over you, her face still stormy. “Strip.” She commands.
You bite your lip as you slowly set down the mug you had been about to take a sip from, bringing your hands to the hem of your shirt.
“Now, slut.”
You sharply inhale at the name as you pull your shirt off, dropping it to the floor as you quickly unbutton your pants.
Evidently, it isn't fast enough for Agatha, because her hand finds its way around your throat.
“You can't even follow simple instructions, can you?” She demands.
The lack of oxygen is making your head spin in an entirely pleasant way and you can't help the moan that makes its way out of you.
“Look at you, such a dumb little whore. I should have known better than to ask so much of you.” Agatha tsks, her unoccupied hand snaking its way behind your back in order to unclasp your bra.
“Atha.” You whine.
You realize your mistake as soon as Agatha's face darkens.
“What did you just call me?” Her voice is dangerously low and it sends a throb of arousal straight through you.
She clearly wants an answer as she steps back, allowing you to breathe properly.
“I’m sorry.” You whimper. “I'm sorry mommy. I didn't mean to.”
It's not the answer she's looking for.
“I think you did.” She says, tight anger lacing her voice. “And here I thought you wanted to be my good girl.”
“I do! I promise! I'm your good girl, mommy!” You cry out, desperate to avoid whatever punishment she has decided is fitting.
Agatha slowly shakes her head, her eyes focused on you.
“No, no! Please, mommy! I just want to make you feel good, I just want to be your good girl! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I swear!”
“That's all you want? To make your mommy feel good?” She inquires softly, her face unreadable.
You nod eagerly.
“Very well. But not in here.” Agatha decides, and you can't help the sense of relief that floods through you. “We'll do this on the couch.”
You move to follow her when she turns around and raises an eyebrow.
“Is that how good pets are supposed to walk?”
Realizing you've made yet another mistake in your eagerness to please, you violently shake your head and drop to your knees.
There's a moment of stillness before Agatha snaps.
“Well? You don't seem so desperate to apologize as you were just a few seconds ago.”
Your eyes are cast downwards, and you swallow hard.
“I forgot.”
“You forgot to say you're sorry?” Agatha asks, eyebrow raised.
“No. I forgot that good pets crawl.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you can feel yourself on the verge of tears. “Sorry isn't enough.”
There's a pause, and then you let out a yell when Agatha's fingers harshly twist into your hair, yanking your head viciously upwards.
“You're right.” She hisses. “Sorry isn't enough.”
Her other hand comes up to your face, the palm of it coming to rest right below your chin as her fingers squeeze your cheeks in a painful manner.
“Stick out your tongue.”
You comply, and you watch with wide eyes and growing arousal as Agatha spits onto it.
You can feel it, an almost burning sensation where it rests on your tongue.
“Keep it there.” Agatha orders as she detangles her fingers from your hair and drops her hold of your face.
She flicks a hand and you shiver at how you're suddenly fully exposed to the cool house air. 
You watch as she walks around you, and you can't help the whimper that finds its way out from you as you hear ceramic and granite clink against each other.
Agatha's drinking the tea you've made, and knowing her, she'll purposely take a good long while.
Which means you'll have to stay here, kneeling on the hard kitchen tiles, entirely naked with your tongue sticking out for who knows how long.
You feel a shot of fear go through you when you realize it's a distinct possibility that by the time Agatha decides she's finished, the spit that's soaking your tongue will have dried out.
You must've let out another whimper, because the next thing you know, Agatha's boots are filling the space of floor you had been staring at.
“Is something wrong?”
Her tone is cold, and you feel a shiver go down your spine as you realize she's setting you up to fail. She wants to punish you.
She doesn't care if you're trying to be her good girl, because it simply won't be enough. Not at this moment. Not when she's looking to take her frustrations out on you in a way you hadn't anticipated when you offered to help her relieve some steam.
You look up to meet her eyes, noting how wide her pupils are blown.
You make a decision.
You swallow her spit.
You can see the way Agatha stills, can sense that you've surprised her with your sudden bratty behavior.
It's very rare that you act up like this.
“I want you to think very carefully.” Though Agatha's tone hasn't shifted, her voice sounds rougher. “You have one chance, one opportunity to apologize, to make this up to me.”
“And if I don't?” You defiantly ask.
“Stand up.” Agatha softly commands, a dangerous edge to her words.
You stand.
“Turn around and bend over the counter.”
You open your mouth to ask if perhaps she'd like to do that for you instead, when you’re suddenly reeling backward, your head ringing from the force of her slap.
“Counter. Bend over. Now.” Agatha bites out.
You comply, shivering as your nipples and chest is pressed against the cool surface of the counter.
“I come home from an awful day.” Her voice fills up the kitchen, anger dripping from every word. “And you offer to make it better.”
You let out a gasp when her hand smacks your ass hard.
“But instead, what do you choose to do?”
Another angry smack.
“You choose to be a fucking brat.”
You let out a cry when she directly slaps your throbbing cunt, your knees buckling slightly from the force of it, pain mixing with pleasure.
“Spread your legs.”
When it takes a second too long for you to understand what Agatha is saying through the fog that is steadily seeping into your mind, she roughly does it for you, harshly digging her nails into the soft skin of your thighs in order to do so.
“Look at how wet you are, getting off on being such a bad girl, being disrespectful, and disobeying mommy.”
A moan catches itself halfway out your mouth as Agatha brutally shoves two fingers into you, pumping them in and out harshly once, twice, three, four times before stilling them while they're buried deep into your dripping hole.
“Squeeze.”
You don't even realize you're obeying her instruction as you do so, your mind growing fuzzier and fuzzier.
You let out a pained gasp when Agatha pulls her fingers out, your pussy still clenched hard around them.
You hear Agatha hum, causing you to whimper, knowing she must be sucking your essence off of her fingers.
“You taste so fucking good. It's a pity you chose to misbehave, I would have loved to bury my tongue in that tight little cunt of yours.” Agatha comments.
You inhale sharply at the thought, starting to regret your bratty antics.
“Yes, you should have thought twice before acting up, but evidently it was too much to expect such a dumb little thing like yourself to know better.” Agatha says, having heard you take in a breath. “Clearly, you can't be trusted to even think for yourself, you're obviously too much of a stupid slut to be.”
A soft whine leaves you as you can feel Agatha's presence invade your headspace, furthering the fuzziness that had started to cloud your thoughts.
“There, isn't that better?” Agatha asks. “Letting mommy do all the thinking for you?”
You nod as you feel your eyes glazing over, struggling to grasp at words that now float on the edge of your consciousness.
“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” Agatha chides, her tone dangerously soft.
Arousal at the sound of her voice throbs through you.
“Y-yes.” Your voice hitches, it's a struggle to get out the single word and you shiver as you feel Agatha's fingers dance across your backside. 
“Yes, what slut?”
You whine. Words are far too difficult to wrangle even within your own head right now, and Agatha knows that, she's the reason for it.
“Yes, what slut?”
She sharply smacks you again, and it leaves you feeling even more lightheaded and dizzy.
“Yes mommy, it's much better when you do the thinking for me.” You somehow manage to gasp out.
“That's what I thought. Dumb whore.”
Agatha's hand returns to your backside, this time to gently rub at the irritated skin.
You press your head further into your arms that are still folded against the countertop.
“Please punish me.” You beg, unable to take the way Agatha is causing your guilt for disobeying to skyrocket. “I just want to be your good girl again.”
Agatha stills her hand against you.
“Say that again.” She orders.
“Please, please mommy.” You feel something wet against your arms and realize you've started crying. “Please punish me. I want to be punished, I need to be punished so I can be your good girl again. I wanna be your good girl, wanna make mommy proud and feel good.” You babble, words that had just been so hard moments ago now freely flowing as you admit to needing correcting, longing for it even. You hate it when your mommy is upset at you. “Just wanna be good.” You sob.
“Oh, bunny.” Agatha sighs. “You are good, but sometimes you do bad things, and then mommy has to punish you so you know better. You have to make things up to me, otherwise, how will I know if you're sorry? That you'll stay good? Mommy doesn't like making her little bunny cry, but sometimes you don't leave her a choice.” Gentle arms tug at you, bringing you up from where you're bent over the counter and turning you around.
You stumble into Agatha's front, hands covering your face as you quietly cry into her.
“I'm sorry, I don't mean to.”
“Usually I'd be inclined to believe that.” Agatha says as she soothes a hand over your back. “But that wasn't the case just now, was it now, little one?”
You shake your head against her.
Agatha sighs as her hand moves up to gently card at your hair.
“I suppose you can't be fully to blame. It was unfair of me to come in and take my anger and frustration out on you, when it's not you who I'm displeased with.”
“Just wanted to make you feel better.” You agree, your tears slowly drying up as Agatha presses a soft kiss against the top of your head.
“How about I make it up to you? Hm? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for mommy to make you feel good after acting up, what do you say my love?”
Agatha's offer draws your attention back to just how turned on you are, how wetness practically drips from your aching, empty cunt, and a sudden longing to be filled by your mommy floods you.
“Please make me feel good. I'm sorry for disobeying mommy.” You plead, pulling back just enough to be able to meet her eyes.
Agatha's hand is gentle as it comes up to cradle your cheek, her thumb swiping at a stray tear. “I know you are, bunny.”
You turn your head in order to nuzzle Agatha's palm and press a soft kiss into it.
“I'm sorry I couldn't help make you feel better the way you wanted.” You whisper.
Out of the corner of your eye you see the way Agatha's face suddenly turns guilty. “That’s not something to be sorry for little love.” She says. “I never want to feel better about something as a result of treating you poorly.”
You look at her, blinking. “I would have safe worded if I really thought I couldn't take it.”
Agatha stares at you.
“I would've.” You mumble.
“Would you?” Her voice is small, and it's such a drastic change to how she sounded mere moments ago.
You nod. “I… Probably enjoyed the way you were treating me a little too much.” You can feel your cheeks flush. “I guess it's just… Overwhelming. You haven't- I haven't-” You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Your mind still feels fuzzy around the edges, the lure of subspace strong. “We haven't exactly done something like this before.”
“Oh.” Agatha's eyes are slightly rounded, shocked. “What about it did you like?”
If your cheeks weren't red before, they definitely were now.
“It was the… It's the disregard.” You bury your face back into Agatha's front, this time from embarrassment.
“Disregard?”
“I like being used.” You clarify. “Wanna just be your fuck toy.”
Agatha sucks in a breath, causing her chest to heave against you as she releases it.
“Mommy likes that?” You ask as the sensations of subspace come flooding back, giving in to the desire to be in that floaty headspace, pulling back once more so you can look at your partner.
“Mommy likes that very much.” Agatha rasps, a dark gleam in her eye. 
You shiver.
“Please use me mommy.” You beg. “Just wanna be a good fuck toy for you. Just another plaything to use.”
“That's a big word for my little bunny.” Agatha notes.
You blink at her. “Mommy uses that word all the time.”
And Agatha throws back her head and laughs at that, the last of the tension between the two of you draining away.
“So I do, little one. Come, let's get you all comfortable so mommy can use you.” She gestures for you to move back, but you remember earlier and give her a big smile as you drop to your knees in order to get on all fours, wiggling your ass a little, proud of yourself for remembering how to be a good pet.
“Someone's missing her cute little tail in her cute little hole.” Agatha says with a soft smile.
You can feel yourself clench around air at the statement, can practically feel the exact plug your mommy is describing, how it fills you up so well, how good it feels when she also fills up your other hole with one of her strap-ons.
You gently bump your nose against her leg. “Can I please wear it?”
Agatha looks down at you for a few long moments before nodding. “Yes, I think you can. You also may wear it.”
You're too happy at the prospect of your request being granted to be annoyed about Agatha correcting your grammar.
“Thank you, mommy! You're the best.” You declare.
Something flickers in her eyes, her soft smile briefly disappearing before returning to her face. “Only the best for mommy's good little bunny.”
You beam up at her, and she melts, just a little bit.
“Let's get to our bed, hm? I bet you're just dripping at the thought of mommy using you little one.”
You whine in agreement, following Agatha like the good pet she's come to expect.
“First,” she says once you're sitting on your knees on the bed. “I think you're missing something around that pretty neck of yours.”
You're overcome by a wave of lightheadedness as Agatha dangles your collar from her fingertips.
It's a pretty purple and black thing, a gold front piece that hangs the tag that reads Property of Agatha Harkness on it, where your mommy will sometimes clip a leash to.
You hold still as Agatha puts it on you, tapping at her arm when she attempts to close it one hole too tight.
“Is this better?” Her breath ghosts the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver.
“Yes mommy, much.”
Agatha hooks two fingers under it and tugs experimentally, jerking your head back slightly in the process.
“Alright bunny, be a good little pet for mommy and lay on your tummy so we can get that tail of yours into you.”
You eagerly comply, slightly pushing your ass into the air, as if to tempt Agatha to do more than insert a plug into you.
“Greedy little thing, aren't you.” Agatha comments as you hear the snap of a bottle cap being opened.
“Only for you, mommy.” You reply seriously.
Agatha laughs softly. “Only for me? Are you all mine then?”
Her fingers suddenly are on you, teasing your hole, the liquid on her fingers causing you to flinch a little from how cold it is.
“Mhm.” You hum, struggling once more to find your words. “All mommy's.”
You bite your lip as you feel her fingers retract, holding back the whine that threatened to come out at the loss.
Agatha pushes the plug into you.
Your mouth falls open as you moan loudly while she holds it at the biggest part, stretching you out, a pleasurable burn sweeping through you.
“You look so cute like this bunny, your littlest hole being all stretched out for mommy's amusement. Maybe instead of plugging your greedy hole up, I should fuck it instead, hm?”
You aren't certain what noise you make, just aware that you're suddenly being flipped over with Agatha's blazing eyes meeting yours as you feel the plug sink all the way into you.
You don't think when she presses three of her fingers against your mouth, gladly taking them in, licking and sucking at the blackened digits.
And then she thrusts them, hitting the back of your throat, and it causes you to convulse around them, making you gag hard.
Your hands come up, attempting to wrap around Agatha's wrist and force it back, but she only laughs, a dark sound, as she flicks her unoccupied hand, forcing your own to jump at her accord above your head, bound in purple light.
“Awww… Pretty baby only wants to be used when it's her pretty pussy getting stuffed?” Agatha mocks you patronizingly, fake pouting as you struggle to take in oxygen.
You can feel your eyes tearing as she continues to pull back just enough to give you slight relief before thrusting them in deeper again.
“Too bad little one, you're going to take whatever I give you. Stupid slut didn't think that this would be about her pleasure, did she? When she offered to help her mommy out? Silly bunny. I thought you wanted to be my plaything.”
You somehow manage to whine around the digits that are still gagging you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and it's like flicking a switch inside of Agatha, she immediately starts thrusting more viciously into your mouth.
You're dizzy from lack of oxygen, and your thoughts have long turned into the same incoherent sounds your mouth is making.
You lose track of the time you lay there on the bed, mouth stretched wide around Agatha's fingers, lost in a haze as degrading praise falls from her lips, utterly focused on the way her digits feel, thrusting in and out, in and out. You begin to get lost in its steady, if fast pace rhythm, head entirely empty as your thoughts are swallowed into the fog of sensations before you could even be aware of trying to think them.
You don't even notice at first when she finally pulls her fingers all the way out of your mouth, aren't even conscious about how loudly you're whining, begging for her to shove them back into you.
“You're so pretty like this.” Agatha says, slipping off the bed. You lazily track her across the room as you pant, only just now realizing that this entire time Agatha was still fully dressed as she unlaces her boots and pulls her shirt off. “So fucked out from mommy only using your mouth, so desperate for anything I'll give you. I'll bet you’re so focused on mommy's fingers you've completely forgotten about that little tail of yours, haven't you?”
Agatha flicks a hand.
The plug buried deep in your ass suddenly starts vibrating, causing your eyes to screw shut as you let out a series of loud moans. You start bucking your hips upwards, attempting to hump the air, chasing friction that you know won't be granted to you.
“Keep that slutty mouth open for me.” Agatha's voice cuts through the intense fog of nothingness that clouds your mind. Not even thinking, you obey, and moan when wet fabric meets your tongue.
“You like tasting how wet you make mommy, I know. You're going to be a good little pet and keep that there until your mistress says otherwise.”
The word mistress echoes around your head. Agatha rarely uses the term, vastly preferring her usual title of mommy, unless making a point, normally one of ownership.
She owns you entirely, a fact you sometimes forget and you feel lucky she takes the effort to remind you.
You force your eyes open, wanting to convey you understood what Agatha was telling you, and are met by the mouthwatering temptation her body is.
“Does my slutty little bunny want to touch her mommy?” Agatha coos, condescending as she sees the way your eyes roam over her.
You whimper, knowing that you won't be allowed, no matter how badly you wish to make your mommy scream your name as she allows you to bring her to ecstasy.
“You know, mommy isn't always mean.” Agatha fake pouts, mocking. “I'll let you touch.”
A thrill of excitement goes through you before it's immediately overtaken by desperation as purple magic glows around your lower body, fading away to reveal a strap-on, thick and dark blue.
“What's the matter, I thought you were my cockwhore?” Agatha teases, purposely misusing the term. “Don't you want to feel it as mommy stretches herself around you, bouncing on your pretty dick?”
You moan around the wet panties that are in your mouth, your hips bucking.
“I'll take that as a yes.” Agatha grins wickedly as she forces your body to stay still, strong hands gripping your thighs as she moves to straddle you. “Maybe if you make me cum, I'll consider taking that gag out of your mouth and riding your face.”
There's a brief moment of silence before you groan in unison with Agatha as she slowly sinks down onto your length, her magic enabling you to feel how warm and tight she is around you.
It isn't very difficult to admit how beautiful your mommy looks with her pussy stretched around you, head thrown back as she attempts to breathe through the initial sensation of being so full, the exposed column of her throat so cruelly tempting.
You feel your eyes roll around in your head, and your hips, having been freed of Agatha's grip, buck upwards into her, causing her to moan loudly as the rest of the synthetic cock is forced into her.
“Be a good girl and stay still, you fucking slut.” Agatha breathlessly orders, a hand coming to wrap its way around your throat, pressing your collar forcefully against your neck in the process.
And you do try so very hard to listen, but the utterly overwhelming pleasure that shoots through you as Agatha steadily starts bouncing up and down on you makes it impossible to not squirm or move in some capacity. You're not thinking, not anymore, not with this entirely pleasurable fog filling your head. You move on instinct, carnal desire and pleasure overtaking everything else, so much so that you don't even think twice about how vigorously Agatha starts to match your rhythm as you thrust upwards into her, lost to the sensations flooding your body. It feels beyond good the way utter pleasure pulses through you, how warm and tight and stimulating Agatha's dripping cunt feels wrapped around you, how it starts to clench as she nears orgasm, and your entire body tries to leave the ground, your back arching almost painfully upwards, thrusting your hips harshly and suddenly as your head remains thrown back in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut. You're right there, right on the verge, can feel how release is just another second away and Agatha moves back up in order to slam back down onto you when–
Your eyes fly open, a loud noise of protest leaving you as you watch Agatha purposefully stills, slowly sinking back down in order to deny you orgasm, her eyes slightly glazed over as her chest heaves so temptingly as she catches her breath.
What takes away yours is the smirk that stretches across her face, somehow managing to look condescending even when Agatha looks entirely blissed out.
“Awww…” She coos a bit breathlessly as she reaches a hand out to remove her panties that she had stuffed into your mouth. “Is my little bunny upset that mommy helped her not to cum without permission? Silly girl, if you had only controlled yourself mommy would have came herself and rewarded you for helping her. Instead she now has to punish you.”
You whine, but it's not out of fear, not when Agatha is looking at you with that fond look in her eyes.
“Thank you, mommy.” Your voice is hoarse, and you swear you can see how Agatha's blue, blue eyes darken as her pupils dilate significantly.
“You're not really a bad girl, are you? Just a sweet thing that's sometimes too dumb not to break a few rules.” Agatha says.
“I'm a good girl.” You agree.
“Well, since you're my good girl, I suppose I can give you a choice of punishment.” Agatha smiles, a sharp thing that tells you there's little choice in the decision she's going to allow you to make, how she's thinking of the pleasure she'll receive from punishing you. “I can edge you until you pass out.” She leans down, so her lips gently brush against your ear. “Or I can turn you over my lap and spank you until you've dripped a puddle onto the floor.”
You shiver at how soft and low her voice is, gently closing your eyes as you try to think, a task more difficult than it should be. 
A few brief moments of silence pass before you give up and impulsively blurt out, “spanking. I want to be spanked please, mommy.”
“That wasn't so hard to pick, now was it, my cute little slut?” Agatha purrs, making your head swirl with how lightheaded her tone makes you feel.
She moves, shifting herself off of you and sitting at the edge of the bed, flicking her hand to release you of the magical bonds that kept your hands above your head.
“Come here and lay across mommy's lap.” She orders.
You carefully shuffle yourself to her, doing as instructed so that your bottom half is draped across her.
Agatha gently tugs on the plug still buried deep in your ass, and in doing so causes you to realize that at some point she had turned it off.
“What do you think, bunny? Should I keep this cute tail of yours in you, or would you rather it come out for your punishment?” Agatha teases, tugging at it with more strength before letting it sink back in.
You whimper. “Keep it in, mommy. Please. Feels good.”
She hums in response. “Ready for mommy to start?”
You nod your head, heart starting to race in anticipation of the first blow.
“Count for me.” Is all the warning you get before Agatha smacks your ass, hard.
“One.” You gasp out, the stinging pain flowing through you. “Thank you, mommy.”
Agatha doesn't bother to soothe over the afflicted area, barely waiting a few seconds between your words and the next blow.
“Two.” Your voice catches. “T-thank you, mommy.” You wonder how long it'll take before you're a moaning, squirming mess, given how hard Agatha is hitting you.
“I wish I didn't have to punish you so often, slut.” Agatha comments between the sounds of your counting and thanking her as she rains the blows down. “As much as mommy likes seeing you a crying, begging mess, she'd much rather have you on your knees serving her like a good little pet.”
You whimper at her words, and she continues to spank you roughly.
It goes on like that for a bit, her smacking you and you thanking her as you count when you suddenly let out a small scream when she spanks you particularly hard unexpectedly.
“Aren't you going to thank me?” Her voice is hard, angry at your silence as you brace yourself for the next hit.
“T-twen-twenty.” You force yourself to say. “Than-thank you.”
“Thank you, who, brat?” Agatha hisses.
“Tha-thank you, mom-mommy.” You start crying, a release of emotion that you hadn't been aware of welling up and overflowing. “Thank-thank you for correcting your st-stupid sl-slutty bunny.”
“I'd call you a good girl if you weren't currently being punished for being so bad.” Agatha says, and you cry some more at that.
“I'm sorry mommy for being bad, I'm sorry for being a bad bratty bunny trying to cum without permission, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
You let out a little louder scream than the last when Agatha's hand sharply meets the sensitive flesh of your backside.
“Twe-twenty-one.” You're sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks earnestly. “Thank yo-you, mommy.”
Agatha doesn't acknowledge your words this time, simply opting to continue in your punishment.
You lose track of what you're saying at some point around the thirty-fourth spank, pleasure starting to outweigh the pain, causing you to feel utterly alight.
Moans mix with your sobs, and eventually Agatha must have decided she's abused your ass enough because she then smacks your aching cunt directly.
You scream.
It's the exact friction your body has been craving and you cum all over your mommy's lap, can hear how your essence drips down and splashes against the hardwood flooring.
And yet still, you count, uttering thanks to Agatha for taking the time to make sure you know how to be nothing but a good pet for her, and she groans, loudly and full of lust.
“Oh little one, you have no idea how beautiful you are like this.” She says as you rut against thin air, squirming in her lap as the last of the aftershocks pass through you. “Such a good girl for remembering to count like that, to tell mommy how thankful you are.”
You're still seeing stars in your vision, your head entirely floating on cloud nine, full of fluff and air as you ask, “mommy won't punish her toy for cumming without permission?”
You can feel how Agatha shifts a little beneath you at the question, can feel the way the muscles flex as she arches her head back and then forward again. 
“No, little one, not right now. Mommy just wants her pretty toy to eat her out like the good pet she knows you are.” Her voice is slightly strained, and you realize that Agatha is more affected from watching you cum from being spanked than you thought.
You can hear how heavily she's breathing as she waits, giving you a little time to regain control of your limbs as a wave of tired content crashes over you.
“‘M ready now.” You mumble, forcing your eyes open as you slip off of Agatha's lap, wincing as you kneel, your heels digging into your sore backside. The wetness against your knees from the puddle of cum you ignore, looking up at Agatha pleadingly. “Wanna make mistress feel good.” You let slip Agatha's rarely used title, longing to feel owned entirely as you gaze up at her prettily flushed face, her eyes nearly all black from how aroused she is, lips parted slightly as she gazes down at you.
“Mommy owns you, doesn't she? You're just a plaything all for my use.” Her voice is low, and it causes your pussy to throb. “Mistress loves using her cute little toy however she wishes, how lucky I am that I have such a willing one, so easy to break in.”
“Please mistress, let me be a good girl for you.” You beg, gently laying a hand on each thigh. “I want to make you feel good.”
Agatha's lips turn upwards in an indulging smile as she slowly spreads her legs, exposing her soaked center.
“That shouldn't be too hard, little one. Look at how wet you've made your mommy already.”
Your mouth waters at the sight, a breathless moan leaving you as you fixate on Agatha's dripping cunt.
“Go on, bunny. I can see how much you want to.” Agatha encourages, a hand tangling in your hair, guiding you forward.
You don't need further invitation than that, eagerly diving in, pressing your nose flush against her clit as you delve your tongue deep into her, not bothering to be gentle about it.
Agatha jerks forward when you do, a loud whimper leaving her as you eat her out.
“Fuck- right there, right ther- don't stop.”
Your hands prevent her thighs from closing in, you can feel the way they strain against your hold, which only encourages you more, determined to hear Agatha make all of the prettiest sounds you've ever heard.
If you could live the rest of your life like this, situated between Agatha's thighs and drinking in the very taste of her, you would. It's an enticing thought, to imagine bringing her constant pleasure, to make her pull at your hair and buck her hips further into your mouth while breathless noises spill out from within her.
It doesn't take long for Agatha to cum, her legs closing around you, and you happily suffocate as you continue to lick and suck at her now sopping wet pussy, easily pushing her over the edge a second time, not giving her a moment to recover from the first. Her hand remains tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as she uses your face to ride out the aftershocks, moaning as she does so.
“Mommy.” You whisper against her. “I want to make you cum again.”
She doesn't hear it, not with how quietly you expressed your desire, not with how your words are muffled against her, but you can hear the whimper she lets out as the vibration of your voice makes her clit throb.
You take it as permission, gently taking the little bud between your lips and sucking, flicking your tongue every so often against it.
Agatha nearly screams as a third wave crashes over her, you can hear it in her loud inhale, how there's a moment of loud sound before her body shakes and goes rigid, and you can't help but feel pleased with yourself that you've managed to make her cum so hard, even as she violently jerks your head away from her, her grip on your hair becoming painful enough your eyes can't help but water.
“Did I do good?” You ask once you see Agatha's somewhat caught her breath, though her chest still heaves so invitingly.
“You did very good, bunny.” Her voice is rough and slightly breathless, her eyes still closed as she wills for her limbs to stop shaking. “Such a good girl.”
Her hand loosens from its place tangled in your hair which allows you to rest your head on her thigh, getting the wetness that coats the bottom half of your face onto her skin.
“You're making a mess.” Humor colors Agatha's tone, and you smile up at her.
“I can always clean it.”
A hand comes down to tenderly play with your hair, and you sigh contently, closing your eyes and focusing on the sensation.
You stay like that for a while, gently breathing as you focus on matching your breaths with Agatha's, who starts softly humming.
“Mommy?” You ask after some time. “Can you make me cum again?”
The humming stops, and her hand stills against your head. “I really should punish you for earlier…”
You stay quiet, hoping Agatha will decide to be nice.
“How about this, little one. Mommy will start on a bath for us, and you'll have the time while it's filling up to get off on her fingers.”
Your head shoots up at the offer. “Yes, please!”
Agatha smiles indulging at you. “Alright then bunny. Get onto the bed and wait, I'll be right back.”
You go to do as she instructs, when she stops you by putting a hand on your arm, giving you a quick kiss against your forehead before standing up herself.
“One minute.” She promises.
You settle comfortably against the pillows as you hear the thundering sound of the tub being turned on.
You close your eyes and allow your hands to wander while you wait, cupping your tits before teasing your nipples, light whimpers falling from your mouth as you make yourself all sensitive, your pussy starting to throb with an aching need as you rekindle the burning arousal that had cooled to embers.
“Fuck, mommy. I need you.” You pant, spreading your legs wide open as you imagine her filling you up. “Need you inside me so bad.”
“Oh, you need me, huh?”
At the sound of Agatha's voice, you smile and open your eyes.
“I'd hate to not meet your needs, bunny.” She hovers over you, a hand coming up to caress your cheek.
“Please.” You whine. “I'm so empty and wet.”
Her lips find yours, and for a moment you lose yourself in the kiss, slow and sensual, before Agatha pulls back.
“Spread your legs back open. Be a good little whore for me.” 
You obey, arousal continuing to leak from your dripping hole as you watch her trail her fingers down toward your soaking cunt.
“Oh fuck.” You breathlessly gasp when your mommy stuffs three fingers into you without warning, the slick feeling accompanying it telling you that she had covered them in lube.
“Look at this greedy pussy.” Agatha mocks. “So desperate for me it'll take whatever I'll give it.”
You moan in agreement. “Feel so good. So, so good mommy. Wanna feel like this all the time, wanna be a messy slut for you.”
“You want to be a messy slut for me? I think we can arrange for that.” Agatha's voice is pitched low with her own arousal, and her eyes have a dark gleam in them you miss entirely as you lose yourself to the pleasure overtaking you.
“Mommy!” You cry out when she suddenly adds a fourth finger. “Too much!”
“Aw, I'm sure my precious whore can take another finger. Don't you just love the idea of mommy's entire hand being inside of you? So full of her that you can't do anything but take it?”
You snap your legs open when she harshly smacks a thigh for them daring to try to close. 
“Answer me, bunny.”
“Yes! Yes, I'm your whore mommy, just a slutty plaything to use. Want your hand, please, please. Gonna cum from it, gonna cum so good.” You babble as you buck your hips, hands reaching for something to grasp, finding the bed sheets as the closest option.
“Good girl.” Agatha purrs, and your brain stutters to a halt when she does just as promised, maneuvering her fingers so she can slip the final blackened digit inside of you.
“Oh bunny, you look so pretty.” Agatha breathes out.
A strangled sound leaves you as your eyes roll in the back of your head.
“I can feel how close you are. Mommy can tell you just need a little push.”
You don't have time to wonder what Agatha is planning as you convulse the moment the vibrator in your littlest hole turns on, a white-hot wave of ecstasy crashing down on you, causing a ringing in your ears and spots of black to dance in your vision.
Everything goes fuzzy, pure static filling your brain as you buck and writhe, riding out what is one of the most intense orgasms you have ever experienced.
“-UCK! AGATHA!”
It takes you a second to realize that it's your hoarse voice that fills the air, that it's you who's screaming her name.
“Fuck, love.” Agatha's own voice sounds hoarse and utterly awe-struck. “You’re so pretty like this, I was right. God, you look absolutely irresistible coming undone around my hand. Shit, baby.”
You're too out of it to really process what she's saying, but not too out of it to try to protest when she carefully, carefully removes her hand from in you, the tail plug still vibrating.
“I know, bunny. Give mommy three seconds.”
You whimper as you see through your blurry vision Agatha getting up, leaving you panting on the bed.
The sudden quiet causes you to remember the bath that Agatha had left running.
You can see the vague outline of her returning, and a soft kiss presses itself against your sweaty temple.
“I'm going to have to take out your tail now, love.” She softly says. “Can you be a good girl for me and turn onto your tummy?”
“Feel like jello.” You complain.
“Even jello can flop around.”
You groan, but summon up the last scraps of your willpower to listen, rolling over so that your face is now buried into the pillows.
There's a still silence that falls over the room when Agatha turns the vibrator off, and you moan, oversensitive, when she slowly and gently pulls it out of you.
“If I thought you could handle it, I'd be fucking your little greedy hole right now.” Agatha comments.
“Maybe tomorrow.” You mumble into the pillows. “Just wanna cuddle with you now.”
“I think that's a good idea, dear.” She agrees. “Flip over onto your back again.”
You huff, but the absence of the tail plug makes you feel a little less jello-y, and you find it easier to obey.
“There's my pretty girl.” Agatha's face lights up, and you offer a sleepy smile back.
“You gonna carry me now?”
“I am, angel. Just let me-” She slips off the bed, before using her magic to pull you into her arms. “There. Here we go.”
You wrap your arms around her neck and nuzzle the point where it meets her shoulder.
“Did I help with the long day?” You ask, recalling how you ended up here.
“More than. I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful bunny like you.” She answers.
“I'm lucky to have a mommy like you.” You reply. “The best mommy.”
“I suppose it's only right, because you're the best bunny.” Agatha says, the softest smile you have ever seen gracing her features.
“And I'm all yours.” You insist as Agatha lays the both of you down in the tub, eyes fluttering close at the warmth of the water and the heat of her skin.
“And you're all mine.” She softly agrees.
As you drift off to the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat, you hear her whisper against you, “I love you, my darling. I love you more than you could ever know.”
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jonquilclegane · 6 months
Note
actually amora and agatha as ex girlfriends has so much potential, amora coming down on earth as a young enchantress and finding the young with agatha and helping her out with the magic she has in mediaeval times, teaching her immortality and how to defeat others, becoming partners in the process, falling apart because amora can't commit and she is a goddess and agatha is human, it just writes itself! audrey seems nice as amora but i still fancast Abbey Lee Kershaw as she seems like a witty goddess who would mess around alongside Katheryn's Agatha
Right? This ship could totally work! :D
And Abbey Lee Kershaw would have been great as Amora!
Hel, we can count her as an Amora variant, I guess ;)
To tell you the truth, there were rumours last year that it would be Lena Headey joining the Agatha cast, and MAMA! Now, she would have been PERFECT as Amora (maybe an older variant, at the peak of her power). And totally age-appropriate to play Katheryn's love interest :)
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praiseharkness · 2 years
Text
Honeyblooded — Part 2
(Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)
part 1.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: A few weeks after Agatha Harkness started lecturing as the professor for the History course at the University of Westview, you get to know her mysterious yet alluring assistant, Wanda Maximoff. Tension starts to arise when the woman stands between you and Agatha, and your strange, evolving relationship.
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 9k
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: minors DNI, NSFW, blood, dom!agatha, sub!reader, dream smut, mouth fuck, blood kink, mentions of violence, vampire!Agatha, vampire!Wanda (as of this chapter).
𝗮/𝗻: hello! i'm terribly sorry that it took such a long time for me to update again, but mental illnesses happened. and still are happening. this semester in general hasn't been easy, and i can't really say that i'm in a great place right now, mentally speaking. i've been clinically diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety, adhd, and autism this past month, and am seeking professional help since then. i'm managing to get by, and this chapter is the result of my will to write no matter what :') unfortunately, i will be taking an official break after this to focus on a wanda/agatha project and my studies for an indefinite time. thanks so much to my beta and partner-in-crime @scarlets-maximoff, and thanks to anyone who's still reading this <3
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You never imagined how fast your body would adapt to Agatha’s lectures, not when each of them provided a fresh sensory overload, a remembrance— that you were as sensitive as a livewire to the smell of lavender in full bloom, the sight of gold soaking in pools of light, the sharp coolness of a voice. Your senses seemed to take it all in, learn every reaction spurred on by Agatha, whether through gestures or words. It felt familiar and unfamiliar at once, though unnerving at times— when shivers would run down your spine under the diligence of a stare; your skin would burn to carve the ghost of a faint touch. You couldn’t name— whatever those were. 
And then again, you were reminded of how rare it was to sense warmth spread across the span of your body, or for anticipation to crest more than once in the swell of your chest on monday evenings. The fact that you scarcely knew how to articulate the various forms that your heart would pinwheel forward at the mere sight of Agatha did little to nothing to ease off your conscience, but you could live with it. You thought so, at least.
Until bloom turned into flame, until— the existence of Wanda Maximoff was added to a mental list of worries as the peak priority. The woman was Agatha’s assistant, no more than in her late twenties, or it seemed so. And with a strong preference for dressing in all-black, silk-clad, sterling silver encircling most of her digits, embracing the bone of her wrist. 
She, too, bore the same coolness as Agatha— though Wanda resembled a blade of sorts, sharp, regal and ceremonial, like the ones that a monarch would keep at their hip. Crueler, in a sense, than Agatha; also less open, as if the woman felt nothing except a level of amusement whenever Agatha cornered a student, demanding as ever for an answer. 
You expected a certain rebellion to crack from underneath that static surface, not the pliancy that often accompanied most of her actions whenever Agatha was around. Wanda did not seem to love all the praise as well, for she remained silent for most of the lectures she assisted in, just handing papers and notes to Agatha when the woman needed, answering a question or two. Then, there was the sensation of being a mere observer of whatever existed between Wanda and Agatha; an unspoken understanding, a synergy that made you wonder how one was without the presence of the other, and that intrigued you. The haunting impression that their bond was as old as the blade Wanda was a dead ringer of.
There was tension, too. Wanda seemed high-strung all the time, and some nagging part inside of your mind loved to feed the idea that it had to do with you somehow, as far-fetched as it could be. Yet that never ceased to intimidate you whenever you paid close attention to the woman. It was puzzling, really, the swiftness that her shoulders would square up at the briefest of mentions of your name on the attendance list; the stern diligence that she would stare at you, sometimes as if you were made of transparent glass, or pure concrete. Her edges glowed warmly from the golden streaks that the sun cast into the classroom— it bathed Wanda vermeil, and conferred on her a softness she did not seem to possess otherwise. 
“The deadline for the essay on Osborne’s Greece in the Making is due next Tuesday, just a reminder”, Agatha said, unfazed when met just with the rushed swish of papers and students eager to get out as fast as possible, fearing another two-hour-long lecture. “Love to see that your disposition to submit a paper is near as high as to leave class.”
A lock of hair fell into her face while Agatha packed up most of her belongings in her purse, sans a slick-black, glossy binder loaded with papers, that seemed heavier than the rest of Agatha’s materials altogether— she never forgot to shove this one at Wanda so she would carry it herself.
Then, Agatha cocked her head, lucent gaze— had her eyes always been this blue? You tried to draw memories from previous encounters, but could not remember —glinting in your direction, and she seemed pensive for a brief moment. Like she had to decide to be pulled or not by the gravity around you, that consisted of nothing but the desire to be near her, for her to spin around your orbit even though stars dripped down Agatha’s eyes, sheen and translucent. You felt something shift inside your core under the pressure of Agatha’s attention, heavy and heady, and the woman leaned on her desk, waiting. It became some sort of ritual between the both of you, in which Agatha lent history books that would end up being scrounged later— she passionately refused each of your attempts to return them.
Yet Wanda was already pliant and waiting beside Agatha’s desk, hands outstretched to take her binder, and the woman broke eye contact; decided to not give in to your flimsy gravity, spinning in an orbit of her own. The weight on your lap has never been lighter and has never felt heavier— you were trying to return Halls’s History of the Archaic Greek World for two weeks now, but golden-assistant Wanda, stick-up-my-ass Wanda never let it; since her first lecture assisting Agatha, she would rush her, urge that the both of them left to catch up with grading assignments and god-knows-what.
“Please, don’t flirt with this one”, you deadpanned, leveling a look at Darcy. She started to present a spark of interest in Wanda after discovering that she also had a masters in Russian History, and the last thing you wanted was to acquiesce to her phantom, lingering presence that waxed more and more throughout the weeks.
Darcy bore her teeth at you, pearly and warm, thin-liner pen still clasped between the fingers of her right hand. You scoffed at the casual confidence that rose from her. “Dunno what goes on inside that head of yours, but I won’t, overbearing love of mine. She’s too socially awkward, even for me”, she replied, nonchalant as ever, then finished writing. Agatha’s boards were indeed oppressive.   
“Really? ‘Cause I think you said the same about me.” You smiled with a hint of mischief, a playful glint in your eyes. Darcy groaned, faking a bothered expression as she slung her backpack on one shoulder. “The time we spent together meant nothing to you? You’re so cold-hearted.”
“Ugh, stop! You’re making me regret that fling more than I already do”, Darcy said in a teasing tone, a squared smile on her soft pink lips as she lightly nudged your sides with an elbow. You chuckled after pretending you were hurt, the fling you had in the summer of junior year had become an internal joke since then— how could it not be? the older girl would say whenever the topic was brought into the conversation, because, despite having a lot of interests in common, both of you were too distinct to function in a romantic relationship. 
There was a small window— of half an hour or so —between Agatha’s lecture and the next period, and it became a habit to wind down near one of the campus’ coffee shops, located in a large square, also close to the commons hall and the largest library of the university. Groves of oaks and tulip trees creaked in the gusty evening, most bare of leaves; the heavy smell of wood filled the crisp air, thrumming with chattering as other students idled along grass and cobblestoned pavement. The clock tower rose in the hazy distance, a white spire with a bright-red dome, contrasting with the rest of the rusty-colored, old buildings on campus.
You sat down under the long shade of a black oak, chuckling when Darcy let out a relieved sigh as she laid down on the grass, thanking the gods for the well-deserved break, and you agreed. Two hours of lecture was enough time to short-circuit your brain, especially if ministered by Agatha— you could sense calluses roughening the tips of your fingers from churning out one essay after another, but the woman seemed impossible to sate, ever so demanding. Wanda had also been decent enough to provide the class help and example questions from Agatha’s old tests, since mid-terms were just around the corner, but as the thought crossed your mind, you immediately brushed it off.
“Don’t Professor Harkness and Wanda seem fairly chummy to you?” You mumbled, words almost carried away by the breezy wind, and Darcy’s shut-eyed face parted into a lopsided grin. “Never mind. Forget I asked it.” Not that the older girl did not have logical and down-to-earth theories, which she did, but after a moment of consideration, you were unsure of what Darcy would come up with. And if you could handle it, whatever it would be. 
You leaned against the tree trunk, shutting your eyes to the pale sky ahead. Then, you filled in the emptiness of black with a couple, unperturbed and with their backs turned against you. Filled with Wanda and Agatha, and their low whispers, occasional touches, unbearable closeness. Your chest swelled with a dawning interest in both women, and it was shameful how easily you could picture the two of them together in their own sandbox universe, free from the shackles of normality, rule-bending, and non-conforming. Independent elements co-existing on their own, unaware of their audience as if nothing else mattered besides themselves. Somewhere in your heart tightened.
“For your information, I do think they are chummy. But I guess that’s what professors and their assistants do? Didn’t watch enough movies about college life to have a theory about them”, Darcy said from her spot on the grass beside you. “Why, do you want me to be chummy with you? I can do that.” You opened your eyes and were surprised to see Darcy smiling, traces of softness underneath her teasing tone, and something inside you changed, spurred on by the warmth that trickled from the girl’s words and gestures, and you wanted to just bask in it a little longer, so her tenderness would soothe a bleeding wound. So her tenderness would close the emptied cut, black-stained and aching in your chest.
Lighthearted laughter escaped your lips at the girl’s question. “You’re the absolute worst. People think we’re dating to this day, y’know? ‘Tis all your fault!” You could not be more grateful to have Darcy around, and, regardless of the usual banters, you hoped that the message came across through your open, beaming expression.
“And you still hang out with me because? Ah! ‘Cause you obviously love me.” The pink curve in her lips was merciless and full of teasing until her smile softened and she moved closer, tender hands outstretched to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “But seriously, don’t let Agatha have a chokehold on you—”, and before you could even protest, Darcy shushed you, “— I’m serious! We don’t know a single thing about her at all. What if she’s hiding, like, a super weird kink?”
Although the girl was right about most— if not all —of what she said regarding Agatha, a screaming voice urged you to contradict Darcy, even if you indeed knew nothing about her. And was it possible to pass the superficial level of Agatha’s persona? To cut her clean down her center, and have the rest of herself bleeding through each side of a knife? You wondered what would bleed from Agatha if she was halved. The woman seemed like a force of nature, the embodiment of night itself: dark and cool like a ghost, disordered and wild. Impossible to hold in one’s hands, to possess. To know Agatha’s contents and discover if violence and tenderness would bleed in equal measure or not.
Swallowing hard, the thought forcefully disappeared from your mind. “Yes, ‘cause I’m super worried about her kinks when I dated you after all people”, you retorted, prompting Darcy to cover your mouth with the palm of her hand. 
“For fuck’s sake, you’re insufferable! Your crush on her is more than obvious by now, but, please, be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt by some shady milf, and I say that very seriously.” Graveness permeated the older girl’s lineaments as she stared at you, clear irises melting within the horizon. A mirror to one’s own countenance. “And if she tries any funny business, I swear I’ll hunt her down, ok?”
“She’s not some shady milf!” Darcy just rolled her eyes in response to your exasperation. “And she’s not interested in me anyway, but I pinky promise I’ll take care. Worst case scenario you give Agatha your I know how to make a murder look like suicide look”, you added, eager to end the uncomfortable topic. And to stop Darcy from almost committing a homicide in plain sight.
“Which is very effective, and my ultimate weapon”, the girl stated before lying back down on the grass, using her backpack as a makeshift pillow. Waving a languid hand in the direction of the coffee shop, she closed her eyes again. “Now go get us some coffee before the next class. It’s your turn after all this headache you put me through.” 
A pristine, somewhat tall figure stood in the center of Woo’s coffee shop, poised with a cup of coffee at hand, pale and thick steam caressing her face in gentle blows. You were inexplicably drawn to Agatha, and trying to spot her presence in crowds became a habit of yours even if it often led to nowhere. 
She did not seem to notice your presence at first— why would she, you realized, all the lightheartedness from before waning, especially after Darcy’s warning—, loitering by the wooden bar off to the side, devoid of technological devices to loot her attention; an alien sight if compared to the rest of the coffee shop, brimming with undergrads on their laptops or smartphones. You flashed a brief smile at it because that was so classic of Agatha. 
Though, despite the softness that glimpse of her brought to you, there was no trace of it on Agatha’s expression. The lines around her eyes were harsh; her brows were knitted, a small crease in between them; her plump lips were pursed the entire time. You could almost sense the tension that weighed upon her shoulders. Thus, regarding it all, you decided to not approach the woman after leaving the queue. 
Yet, Agatha’s presence had loomed over you, and— a cold hand pressed to the small of your back. The woman was right beside you.
It was a surprising feat that Agatha was even able to spot you among the multitude of liberal arts and social studies students that lounged around Woo’s in-between periods or after classes were over, given the proximity of the coffee shop with one of the largest libraries inside the campus— nevertheless, there was Agatha, broad shoulders less than an inch apart and almost brushing against yours as she stepped further to avoid bumping into a pink-haired girl. You resisted the urge to chuckle upon seeing the scowl that had formed on the woman’s face, now close to muttering something on the lines of kids these days.  
Then, just then, Agatha settled her cool stare on you, and her profile seemed a little sharper, a little paler underneath the fluorescent light— the shop window served as the single source of daylight, allowing only so much sunbeam to stream in through; to spill flecks of gold over Agatha’s entire complexion, to create bronze lines on sea-stained irises, making it even easier to pinpoint the borders between lucent blue and endless black. 
“Fancy seeing you, dear”, Agatha finally said, soft mouth set into a curve, though the smile didn’t come across the rest of her face, unperturbed as ever. You had grown familiar with Agatha’s aloof, sharp edges, which would crack enough to leak off warmth at rare moments. After what seemed a long pause, Agatha continued, “What brings you here?”
If she meant here as in that coffee shop or here as in beside her, you couldn’t tell.
“Just coffee, I guess.” You shrugged, hands busied with two cups of cappuccinos. The steam that blazed across your skin seemed to soothe you; it eased most of your scattered thoughts, all to focus your sole attention on the keen burn your hot palms bore and Agatha’s presence. “I’m grabbing something to drink before the next period. It’ll be very much needed.”
Awkwardness coiled on your chest. Agatha was somewhat familiar, that encounter was anything but. Even though a casual, brief meeting in a café on campus was expected when both people were student and professor, something artificial lingered over the atmosphere. Nothing abnormal happened, still, still. Something tightened around the column of your neck— at this point, you could taste steam burning on the back of your throat. 
“So is that friend of yours around?” Agatha’s sudden, grave expression did not match the tone of her voice at all, emptied of interest, while she peered over your head— a reminder of how taller the woman was with heeled boots. It became both easier and harder to read Agatha, despite how open-faced she could be, as if the woman was talking to a ghost instead, gaze never falling upon you. As if you were talking to a suit-clad ghost. An expensive all-black vulture. 
You raised an inquiring brow. “What friend— you mean Darcy? She’s not, we often take turns to get coffee between classes. It happens to be my turn this time.” The question was odd, whatsoever, especially facing Agatha’s clear disinterest. “How do you know I was with her though?” The burn started to numb the palm of your hands, as well as the rest of your senses.
“Well, just happen to see you two together a lot on campus”, Agatha dismissed, and her razor-sharp timbre thickened the metallic rims of her words, causing you to flinch at the unexpected coldness. But before you even had the chance to find enough arguments to counter the woman, Agatha’s hands flew to your waist, light and gentle, touch ghosting over the dip of it. The woman maneuvered you out of the way of a rushed undergrad in one smooth motion. Then, much to your surprise, you noticed just how crammed Woo’s had become in minutes. “Why don’t we go to a quieter corner, dear?” She suggested, points of fingers flattened into one straight line that started on your last rib and ended above your hip bone. Without waiting for confirmation, Agatha guided you to the end of the wooden bar, leaning back against one of the industrial-gray walls. 
“Ah—”, although Agatha had spared a single moment of her attention, the sole object of your recent desires, it was enough to make you desperate to change topics, faint red already springing across your cheeks and ears, “—is Wanda going to meet you here or something?” Suddenly, Agatha’s curiosity was placed entirely upon you.
You were rendered see-through under Agatha’s scrutiny; about to drown in the astral-blue of her two lakes. At each dissolving second her gaze remained rooted at you, a step further to the eager, boundless mouth of a blue caldera, impatient to engulf you whole— and if Agatha stared at you an instant longer, seawater would start to fill your lungs, trails of blue salt already caressing your lips as you submerged into her charms.  
“Oh, darling, Wanda isn’t here at the moment, I’m afraid”, Agatha answered a few beats later, and her voice had dropped a half-octave lower, at knifepoint, and its candor was still cool, light, but its air had changed. For a split second, the light cast askew, strange shadows on Agatha’s face, a subtle amber glint shadowing the blue of her irises and accenting pupils that looked much like two narrow slits. The woman slid closer, and pristine nails, polished in glossy black, scraped the surface. “Why, am I not entertaining you enough?”
“N-No, this isn’t— I didn’t mean that, professor”, you denied immediately, gapping at her curt retort. You would almost laugh embarrassedly if it wasn’t for Agatha’s sardonic, verging-on-serious tone. She was too blunt to fake anything.
Agatha has never been that expressive, her lineaments holding intricate threads of discontent. Ghost fingers hovered over your waist, as her fine lines held a foreign harshness, lips pursed in a straight line, and you felt utterly small before the woman’s presence. “What did I say about calling me that, dear?” 
The most noticeable sound— the only sound, as if the café was noiseless —you could pick on was Agatha’s nails tapping the surface in a rhythm that mirrored the one inside your own rib cage, like the woman could sense your pulse from afar, a clock ticking; the seconds were passing, and you had yet to answer— am I not entertaining enough? —, and every dreadful beat was a reminder of words that you couldn’t find. You swallowed, trying not to quiver beneath Agatha’s phantom touch.
“I’m sorry, profe— Agatha.” It was then that heat creeped up your skin, and the woman let out a hum of approval, voice low and curling at the edges. Agatha had almost closed the distance between your bodies, now towering over you. “And you are entertaining, i-it’s just— You and Wanda seem very close, I just thought you could be meeting here to work together.” You didn’t understand why you sounded a little breathless, words anxious-lilt. It was unusual to see Agatha so up close, and it felt like the woman would disappear if she stepped any further. Her floral scent, lavender notes on top, was even more intoxicating than when it just whistled past and gone in the classroom.
“We’ve known each other for quite a while, yes, but we’re not attached by the hip, hon. Wanda’s just been nagging about some work we have to finish— a high-strung type if you will”, Agatha said, deadpan, while she hastily scanned the place, as if searching for someone, before setting her attention upon you again. Something in your chest pinwheeled forward, for Agatha’s effect on you was capable of making you forget your birth name, sweet and bewildering like a spell; however, the slow burn smoldering at your core made you want to run away from the woman, her presence a lighter itself.  
“I see. But I guess you two get along alright.” You were adamant to move to another topic again. Cold welled up at the merest of mentions of Wanda and her vermeil shadow that haunted you wherever you went. “Ah, about the book I borrowed, can I return it to you now?”
At that, Agatha’s expression softened a bit, and her mouth set into a gentle curve. She shifted, still close enough to stare at you. “Nonsense, dear, we still need to discuss it, don’t we? I’m sorry we couldn’t do it earlier.” Because of Wanda, you wanted to include but remained quiet. It was rare to see such softness tinting Agatha’s lineaments; to listen to words softspoken, honeytoned. You did not want to spoil what caused shivers on your spine, what made you wonder what a much more amiable version of her would look like. “Meet me at my office tomorrow, darling, I’ll stay in the department for basically the entire day, anyway”, Agatha said, squeezing your shoulder with moderate strength, murmuring a quick got to go now. She whisked past you and soon disappeared into a sea of people.
The universe died down, and all that had left was the ghost of where her touch once rested upon, the rapid beats of your heart, and a glimpse of Wanda standing outside Woo’s. And a pair of cappuccinos, cold and bitter.
In the lectures that followed that heart-stirring encounter, you could not focus at all— your mind wandered over the remembrance of Wanda outside the café, in a long stroll to collect shards of memories muddled together, linked by faint strings that made it impossible to distinguish which was real and which was not, their edges blurred; each reminiscence was part of a tableau, now burnt and molded behind your eyelids. Wanda: pliant as a hound, hidden in the shadows, bearing a manicured smirk that revealed nothing past her pristine facade. It was Wanda the sole person that monopolized your thoughts, even more than Agatha.
Therefore, mechanical steps led you to your safe place, a little corner unfrequented and forgotten by most students, where not a single soul, except for Darcy, would intrude. After classes were over, it became a habit to hide in the smallest of the trio of libraries— and even if the world was falling, one could spot you at the all-night study room, though you never spent the night there —, far from the History and Sociology Department. Far from Agatha and Wanda, and the unrequited reverie of feelings often associated with them both.
The library was an inconspicuous, three-store building on the edge of the campus: old, tanned-red bricks covered with pine-green ivy as to be almost indistinguishable from the landscape, and haunted at certain angles. In the winter, most flowers were buried under a thin coat of snow, just a few had thrived— late bloomers, honeysuckles, primroses, and so forth —, and the dried lawn was peppered with shady patches, such as the woods and their white-laced branches; an uneven path of footsteps pockmarked the snow in the wake of your passage. The place would resemble a vault of sorts, had it not been for its large, dark windowpanes, that let golden beams trickle down walled bookshelves and old furniture, and a marble fireplace as monumental as a sepulcher keeping the rooms drowsily warm. You were greeted by the scent of vellum, tangy and rich, while wondering if a coffin would be as comforting.
For a moment, stepping into the library felt like a homecoming to a world bound in leather and ink, the world of a buried past, long forgotten. Emptier than usual, even the librarian— an unusually strong woman named Peggy, who developed the habit to check in on you while being borderline intimidating —was nowhere to be seen on the ground floor, and the place was akin to a tomb in its silence. A shiver ran through your spine as you headed to your study spot on the second floor; regardless of the late-afternoon sun that glittered through the windows and turned the bookcases and furniture into glowing bonfires, the fluorescent light made the room seem much colder.
You loved the solitude that often accompanied humanities majors. There was nothing more pleasant than seeing no farther than the books before you, the silent thrum of streams of historical facts filling the gaps in a puzzle, resurrecting figments of the past and trapping them in their own microcosm, all to track the stains that bled through the present. It was something as meticulous as the work of an artisan, and you worked with care to unveil the threads of events between past and present. Agatha indirectly followed you through that process, like she was the ghost of Midas herself; the woman spun gold out of vellum, and that became even more evident in the thorough notations she left on the textbooks on Ancient Greece entrusted to you, a selection of Agatha’s copies she carefully curated. 
Brushing the glossy, light-cream coated paper, flecked with purple post-its and lilac highlighted words— Agatha’s fixation with the color purple never ceased to amaze you —, underlined sentences in black ink, and a slew of remarks that occupied each blank space in the pages, sometimes overlapping the text itself, it felt like Agatha had never left. Rather than that, you rewrote history. You met in front of the department after running at each other in Woo’s and walked alongside through tree-lined, large sidewalks, disappeared in a secluded pathway that led to the library. And Agatha hummed between each softspoken phrase, listening to all you had to say with utter diligence— just to chime in in the next second to tell you about the latest former top student that she had on the verge of tears in the middle of a lecture. Her long, ink-stained fingers caressed the back of your hand in delicate motions as if asking for permission, and Agatha’s squared hand enveloped yours in the very way a pyre engulfed whatever is closest to its hot mouth. Rosebud lips brushed against the shell of your ear to whisper that you were Agatha’s favorite student, her only one.
No Wanda Maximoff could demand the attention of this ghost-Agatha or claim her, no Wanda Maximoff could bother you in your little play-pretend universe, no Wanda Maximoff could interrupt—
A phantom, steel-cool touch on your shoulder startled you, and your fantasies dissolved at once, “Ah, I see Agatha really made a new victim.” You could discern a hoarse voice, awash with an eastern-European accent, over the heavy instrumentation playing in your earphones.
Something in your chest sunk— it could as well be your whole heart. After spending countless amounts of time being chased by the ghost of Wanda, you thought, you finally willed the woman into your life; your ears rang with the loud, high-pitched timbre of Darcy’s voice already listing all the supernatural reasons for said chance encounter. An omen, she would probably say. In the instant Wanda’s hand grazed your skin, she metamorphosed into a creature of flesh and blood, not a hallucination, a heedless vulture stalking down the corridors behind Agatha’s shadows in a swish of black silk and sterling silver. Her wintry fingers were just more give to the knife; under Wanda’s attention, her touch felt like a laceration, and if it lingered for just a minute, just a second longer, a wound would easily open in your flesh. 
You had tried to ignore Wanda in the hopes of her noticing you did not want to be bothered and leaving minutes after, resuming her rounds heedless of the living as ghosts often were. However, it seemed to prompt the woman to have the opposite reaction, much to your despair. Wanda took the seat before you, and her skin was so fair she glimmered almost pearl-white under the languid sunshine, looking like an old, wrinkled marble statue of a minor goddess, perhaps Achlys or Asteria. Despite not possessing the same sovereignty Agatha’s ocean-stained gaze had, Wanda’s springtime-green irises also carried within them the very remembrance that you responded like a livewire to both women’s preternatural existence, elicited the desire to just glance at their owner for a moment, so riveting was Wanda’s aura— it stirred instincts unbeknownst to you, concealed at the innermost part of your mind. Finally, you were compelled to acknowledge Wanda, who beamed a satisfied grin, eyes flickering to a faint golden shade. 
“It’s truly addicting, isn’t it? History, I mean.” Wanda’s surprisingly softspoken words were imbued with ancientness, although it seemed uncanny for an individual in their mid-to-late twenties to have a whiff of the ancient world as Wanda did; but then, you wondered if a certain level of intimacy with Agatha would be the culprit for that. In the face of deafening silence after you had simply nodded in agreement, Wanda inquired, “Did Agatha actually lend you her copy of Hall’s Archaic Greek World?”
“Yeah. She wanted me to take a look at her notes while reading, because ‘an undergrad could never comprehend his work fully without help’, or something in those lines.” You blinked slowly, still getting used to the sight of one Wanda Maximoff putting into the effort to make small talk to you, of all people. Darcy, for once, was right when she said the woman was in a different league of social awkwardness. 
Wanda chuckled, an earnest timbre to it. “Right. This sounds just like Agatha.” Then, she leaned a few inches closer, gaze perusing upon a mess of sticky notes and terrible handwriting. “I’m just impressed she just didn’t order you to borrow a copy from the library. Agatha only let me use her own textbooks nearly a year after she hired me”, she disclosed, fondness tinging rigid lineaments that became more open for a brief instant. 
“For how long have you been Agatha’s assistant?” You surrendered to the waxing voice in an obscured corner of your mind, where a single desire remained untouched in its cracked shell. To indulge the blooming, warm sensation of being scrutinized under the diligence of Wanda’s glare, glinting askew and sharp. Then, you could as well have a slumber party with your foe, as to explore the mysterious trail of secrets that lay underneath Wanda and Agatha’s relationship. 
Your interest for them grew under sheer masochism and morbid curiosity, for bodies of possibilities accompanied the very idea of Wanda and Agatha; regardless of the pressure settling at the base of your chest. The dichotomy between wanting to know more— everything —and protecting little patches of your heart that somehow remained untouched weighted the same as the world Atlas had to carry on his shoulders. Also, Wanda seemed to beckon you for more— attention, time, anything that you could give —, though it was a detail implicit in her cool demeanor, in the tone of her husky voice, that almost crumbled with need raised to its highest power. And, as such, you were somewhat satisfied to oblige. 
Closing the textbook with a gel pen in the middle of its pages, you signaled to the woman your interest to learn more. About Wanda herself, about Agatha, about what carried both women that appeared to be much older than Westview to that little, stranded town. The glossiness of discoveries tinted your expression, and you grinned, a little more open-faced.  
“Oh, it’s been such a long time I can barely remember, darling”, Wanda replied, accent curling at the edges of each pronounced syllable, like she was a foreigner to the human world itself. Words hung on her melting lips for a couple of seconds before she decided on a conclusive answer. “I think we’ve known each other for almost a decade now.”
The grin your lips carried rotted, sprouted into something much sour while Wanda’s honeyed voice echoed inside your head, memories that you could not pinpoint, coated with affection and sweetened with the gentle passage of time, screamed into your heart, now tore out. You could almost put together a timeline of Wanda and Agatha’s time together with the remembrances that floated in the air if they were more palpable.
“I wasn’t expecting this at all”, still stunned, you pushed yourself to say anything that contained words. Flushing at the immediate surge of sheer curiosity that flooded you, the question escaped your lips before you noted, “Wait. How old are you?” You were ready to apologize more than once, to tell the woman she did not need to answer, but Wanda interrupted your mini-crisis with a delicate giggle.
“That's no problem, dear, I’ve overcome my early midlife crisis already. I’m 33”, she replied, lineaments settled into a softer, understanding look as you had to produce some conscious effort not to gape at Wanda’s astonishing statement; to wrap your malfunctioning mind around the idea that Wanda was not a person forever captured in sepia film and encapsulated in a fleeting instant. Meanwhile, the woman leaned forward, a teasing upturn on her lips, and asked, “Why does it seem that I’ve scared you off now?”
In that instant, you wanted to argue that you had all the reasons to be scared. Wanda bore an immortal type of beauty as if she had been bound to a particular period of time until the centuries, tired to wait, outgrew her. Yet Wanda carried a preternatural freshness one born hundreds of years ago would not; held within her chest a long-living girlhood. Her body was the budding flower of her own flesh, and Wanda’s petal-pink lips fell into a neutral line under your silent examination, late-springtime orbs, peppered with copper spots, shimmering. She stared straight ahead, and her kohl-lined, half-lidded eyes physically pinned you against your seat, as bewildering and mesmerizing as their owner— you could spend hours mapping all the microconstellations of gold and green around Wanda’s pupils, that, for brief seconds, resembled those of a cat, thin and infinite-black. Wanda’s genuine beauty was terrorizing: eerie in its roots, inexplicable like a nature’s phenomenon. Such were her eyes, her hands, her looks.
The woman absent-mindedly nibbled on her bottom lip, carding her fingers through her hair, a cascade of dark-brown falling over her shoulders— before that, Wanda’s locks used to veil her in scarlet, fiery strands dyed in a shade of bright orange; then, faded to subdued strawberry-blonde, that made her look like real gold, alluring and intoxicating. 
Then, you remembered that Wanda was still waiting for an answer. “It’s not that. It’s just— I imagined you’d be fairly younger.”
“A lot of people do, so don’t stress over this. Agatha, too, is a lot older than she seems”, Wanda reassured, nectar-like voice coated with hints of aloofness as she waved an uninterested hand in the air. “But pretend you didn’t hear a peep from me, or she’ll cut my head off. Or not write a recommendation letter for my doctorate’s program.”
“I don’t know what is worse.” A solemn silence saturated the room, and the underlying threat posed by Agatha and her seemingly widespread influence did nothing to ease your nerves. 
A few beats later, Wanda pulled a thick brochure out of her leather messenger bag, shuffled some papers out of a large batch, and started to work on something you had no idea of. Noting your prolonged stare, the woman smiled, polite and aimed at nowhere in particular, as if she was just looking through a looking glass. Devoid of Wanda’s sole attention, it felt like you were no longer a sunstone with the entire sun to show for it, and, slowly, you became painfully aware of your surroundings once overflowing golden streaks ceased to blind you. The music had never stopped playing in your earphones; you never had to even take one of the sides of your earphones off to listen to Wanda, whose voice resonated loud and clear inside your skull— like the whole conversation happened in a universe alien to the one you were standing in. Like no time had passed at all, and your dialogue with Wanda was cut out from the timeline of History and inserted in a little frame of its own, guarded in a museum built off of your thoughts, where no one could access but you.
The minutes crawled on the clock unhurriedly, and see-through panels made of glass closed around you, hourglass-shaped, while your concentration trickled like thin sand, first, through your fingers, then, over your body, until you were buried underneath a pile of alarming thoughts. Until the base of the hourglass was full of sand. Until there was sand inside your mouth, and all you could not breathe at all—
As if she sensed your crescent restlessness, Wanda stretched against the chair, letting a relatively loud hum as she did so, that echoed like a gunshot in the empty library.
“Anyway, I don’t suppose there is a place one could grab something to eat nearby, right?” Wanda questioned, rustling through her papers again and placing them in the middle of her brochure, before packing it all inside her bag. A glimpse of Agatha’s ever-infamous, slick-black binder inside it piqued your attention, and you wondered if Wanda had yet to return the woman her precious treasure.
Cold welled up. In that span of seconds, an anxious tremor washed over you, like an earthquake, or the parting of the seas, and the wish to leave the room and Wanda altogether begged you to be fulfilled.
Suddenly standing up, you motioned the woman to do the same. “There actually is a vending machine at the end of the hallway. I can show you”, you offered, deciding to leave most of your belongings on the desk to pack them up later, for the library had never been that emptier. Wanda’s shoulders almost brushed against yours more than once as she walked beside you, an inch or two taller. “It’s just so hidden by the staircase no one bats an eye on it at first”, you didn’t resist the urge to add it after sensing a burning, wary stare setting fire onto your flesh.
“Really.” It was all Wanda said, curt and distant, when both of you stopped before an old vending machine, with aged edges because of rust and some creases on the steel of its sides. At least, the snacks were far from being expired.
“Yeah. Peggy— the librarian —told me about it once, or I’d starve every time I came here.” You were amused— and grateful to have such an opportunity —to watch Wanda glancing at the machine with a grave countenance for some instants before figuring out what she had to do, fumbling to insert a dollar note inside it, pressing some faded black-and-white buttons, and taking a while to confirm the snack code showing on the tiny display. A small part inside your chest softened at that sight, since, not even in your most far-fetched thoughts, you imagined that Wanda would have such difficulties dealing with technology.
Then, in the seconds that followed the mechanical buzz of the machine amidst its own ritual, Wanda did not reply at all, staring, with profound curiosity, through tempered and scratched glass. A single granola bar fell in the pickup box and was promptly examined by a very unimpressed Wanda Maximoff as if she had put her object of study under the lens of a microscope only to come to disappointing conclusions. “Hmm”, she said after a long while, turning her body to you and continuing, “This Peggy woman seems like a good person, darling.” A nameless something blemished the center of her words, which, regardless of the softened edges, the polished and well-controlled manner that tinged Wanda’s statements, felt as automatic as the loud hum of the snack machine dropping its order. 
The low, smoldering sun splayed red over Wanda’s lineaments— over deep-forest-green eyes, lit by a foreign, blown fire —, outlined the woman the color of violence, of warning. Streaks of red built patches of flame atop her skin, making Wanda eternal even if for a fading moment, A cool grin cut through bud-red lips, and the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop a few degrees, either due to the crisp air of winter in its dawn or the glittering white of long canines.
“I’ll be going then, kotik”, she said, and the foreign word rolled on her tongue, languid and voluptuous, nectar seeping from each syllable. It caressed your skin with a freshness akin to plump and ripe fruits, burnt it tenderly as you flew straight to the woman’s orbit; a simple insect landing on the crimson mouth of a starved venus flytrap. Wanda seemed pensive, perhaps considering her next meticulous move, searching for the most precise reaction, all the while she leveled a soul-piercing gaze in your direction that made you hold all your instincts to hide from her. Her grin bloomed into a satisfied smile on her lips as she whispered, “I hope to see you around again.”  
Wanda looked like a goddess mouthing a set of magical words, a mythical being made of burnished gold, unperturbed and ephemeral. Contrarily to other days, where the mere sight of the older woman would cause an undesired heaviness at the base of your stomach, on that particular evening, it caused a maelstrom of lukewarm feelings, like the sun itself had descended to meet you. Although Wanda had always been beautiful, for you were not blind to acknowledge it, she looked especially graceful, blissful under shafts of shimmering-orange. After she disappeared from your peripherals in a pristine mess of blood-red, you thought breathing would become second nature again. Instead, your core ached, plush and red.
Still, the throbbing in your heart did not become easier to ignore, even as you entered a series of numbers on the snack machine’s display, peering at one of the large windows to stare straight ahead at the sullen evening, the sun so low in the horizon that the darkened sky started to melt over it, and stars sprung like wallflowers from behind a canopy of clouds and shadowed buildings. But then— your eyes widened when you spotted a miniature version of Agatha, sitting at a cobblestoned bench near the library’s entrance, like she was just a trick of light, a byproduct of shades, and not a real person. Smoke curled up like a thin curtain that veiled her face, cigarette clasped between rough knuckles and a book on the other hand. That made you briefly contemplate how one could read in the semi-penumbra, until the full view of Agatha pushed you into a blazing abyss, fire-warming your entire body. 
A lump formed in your throat whilst you observed Wanda approach the other woman, back-turned, so you could only imagine what her expression looked like. Not good, you thought, almost out loud; Agatha did not seem pleased, an evident frown imprinted on her face as she gesticulated with fervor, her lack of composure crushing the calm breeze of winter. Regardless of what could be happening, they started to walk side by side together, and Agatha placed a firm hand over Wanda’s nape before both cast a glance at the building, towards the specific direction of the window you stood behind— as if it was possible for them to recognize where you were under a veil of dim-light.
Then, a strident clang coming from the machine force-pulled you out of a trance with a start, and the reality was much quieter, much lonelier. The whole floor appeared to be empty except for you, filled with specters of the dead silence that loomed over the hallway as well as the rest of the place, which would be a perfect liminal space, a bright and muted void, if it were not for metallic thuds of cart wheels moving around downstairs. Thus, you put on your earphones again, unpausing a song you were not even aware of when it started playing in the first place. In the black emptiness that suffused outside, you could see Agatha and Wanda’s shapes, outlined in purple and red— technicolor in contrast to the usual monochromatic tones that colored the campus during winter —, growing smaller in the distance.
Your chest swelled with a dawning interest, with a thrill of adrenaline, whenever you sensed Wanda or Agatha’s presence close to you, whenever you saw them together. It also swelled with heat, with sensitivity, under the barest of gestures from both women. Yet a quiver insisted on destabilizing you each time you thought of them.
As you decided to leave, you came across a missing person’s pamphlet, bound with staples, a grainy picture of an unknown girl on the cover, Missing Person printed beneath it with a series of information: full name, age, contacts, address, the date of the disappearance— a week ago —and last seen location— the square near to the English and Literature Department. An immediate shudder ran through your spine when you left the library, feeling the moistness of the first hours of the night, the reminiscences of the bad omens Darcy was so fond of explaining— it all weighed heavier on your girl-heart.
In your earphones, a mournful voice sang atop the languid, sandy beats of a drum:
“Something bad is ‘bout to happen to me. I don’t know what, but I feel it coming.”
During the witching hours of dawn, Agatha visited you, soft-eyed, in all her dream-state splendor.
Under a heavy blanket of liquid darkness, which bathed your entire room in black ink, streaks of moonshine leaked through, conferring to the furniture a sheen, silver glow. It also delineated a humanoid shape, knelt near the foot of your bed, and silhouetted against the twilight glow; a mass of shadows much darker than darkness itself looming over your peripheral vision. Though unconsciously pinned against the mattress— for you seemed to have reached another level of lucid dreaming, where you could only watch the events unfold before your eyes —you were not scared, not at all. Not even when the empty side of the bed weighed with a presence unknown, or when the sheets rustled with something, someone, crawling towards you. Not even when a shape, veiled in shades, covered your entire body.
It was all Agatha, and you could recognize the woman by smell alone, the rich scent of lavender more intoxicating than ever now that you could bury your nose against the wicked curve of her neck and breathe it all in straight from the source. You could recognize Agatha by touch, tracing the pads of your fingers over the lush skin of her back, drawing absent shapes against the bones of her shoulder blades, as if you were caressing the moon herself; sometime after the dream had started, you wondered how it was possible to touch Agatha and not have your hands stained in silver powder, a pearly ocean spreading above you. Ocean-blue lakes glittered at the merest of your caresses, oversaturated with lust and need.
Agatha pressed a soft thumb over your lips, ran it through them, and the feeling that she held something as delicate as a rosebud in her hands arose within you, trapping her finger between your teeth before the only sensation left was the ghost of her touches. Profound desire flashed through Agatha’s lucent irises as she let a low moan out, lustrous strands of brown hair tickling your cheek. 
“Hmm… Hungry, aren’t we?”, she said against the pink shell of your ear, pleased when an inelegant whimper cut through your lips, voice dreamy and husky. She brought a fingertip beside your jaw bone, and drew a long line down the curve of your collarbone, resting her hand over your weaving chest. 
You clung to Agatha’s back like a lifeline, girl-hand over her nape, scratching your nails on milky-white skin not-so-tenderly, for one could not keep any sort of gentle demeanor beneath the woman’s lacerating touches, the steady burn of flattened fingers dug on the dip of your waist. “Agatha, please— I need you, please—”
The velvety tip of a tongue lapping across your lips shushed you, dissolving the remnant words of your plea slipping away as soon as Agatha opened your mouth with her thumb and slithered her tongue inside it. Her delighted moans made you buck up your hips, in desperate need of friction, while Agatha licked the back of your teeth, the roof of your mouth, the seam of your lips. Two lithe fingers filled your mouth, and a sheen trail of saliva trickled down your chin. Agatha tasted sweeter than any mouthful of sugary desserts from your memory.   
“Yes, yes— good girl, you’re such a good girl. Lick it all clean for me, dear.” The command melted from her swollen lips amid a little breathless, satisfied sigh. You meld at each other with quiet ferocity, the sensation heightening when you pressed your center, hot and blooming with slickness, against Agatha’s thigh, as somewhere along the way she skirted a teasing line of teeth over the column of your throat, moaning against the flush of your skin when you gathered a fistful of silky hair. 
Then, a roughened hand slid underneath your shirt, following the ripples of your quivering abdomen, sweeping over your breast before Agatha fitted her large palm against your bare sternum, restraining you between her own body and the mattress. Her mouth painted half-circles on the sides of your neck, pressed on the base of your throat, and a trail of longing kisses stretched downward, each lingering longer than the previous one until Agatha could trace a map of bite marks she constructed herself on your flesh.
And you offered the arch of your back as a sacrifice, and you let Agatha take you on her mouth like a sacrament, and you whimpered devoted pleas like a prayer, all for Agatha to spit on holiness; you could tell by the heat in her gaze that she got turned on by your sacrilege, that she didn’t think twice before running her nails down your sides and whispering close to your ear how good of a little whore you were, how beautiful you were ruined like that. The moon pressed to the curl of Agatha’s back, stained her skin with silvery light— over her soft neck, down her collarbone and shoulders, and then lower and lower, more of her body.
“This will hurt a bit, darling”, Agatha warned softly. She dug her teeth on the crook of your neck, and the skin under her canines gave in tenderly before slicing open, blood welling up on the woman’s mouth like spring’s superbloom. An intricate stream of hot tears rolled down your cheekbones, a pained whimper-turned-into-scream left your throat raw as Agatha licked and sucked blood-red nectar dripping from the aching wound on your plush flesh. “Shh, you’re doing so good— you’re so good for me, baby.”
Agatha steadied her body, covered in a shimmering layer of sweat, on her elbows, leaning in to press her mouth against yours. The sickening, iron taste of your own blood made you hazy with desire; just as you tried to deepen the kiss, to taste more anti-Eden, Agatha leaned her head back slowly, licked the cut, overflowing with blood, and snaked her wet tongue between your lips. You savored the lushest of sins on your mouth— yours and Agatha’s —, irreverent in its wakening. Warmth settled at the bottom of your stomach, and the woman delved her teeth right above your breast—
You lost your consciousness sometime after it, opened beneath dream-Agatha like your own fictitious wound, sleeping serene as ever and burning with sin.
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akamatthewmurdock · 2 years
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WANDAVISION (2021)
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cissa-calls · 2 days
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Countdown to Agatha: Day 753
Agatha: “I’m not going in the water, I can’t swim!”
Y/N: “What do you mean? You’re several centuries old, and you never learned how to swim?”
Agatha: “When people in the 17th century were able to swim, guilt on crimes of witchcraft usually followed!”
Wanda: “…but you actually are a witch”
Agatha: “That’s beside the point! I was trying to avoid being hung or burned!”
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KATHRYN HAHN at the 2022 Deadline Contenders Event on November 19th 2022 wearing UNKNOWN
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chaosvillainy · 1 year
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Agatha: Why are you late again?
Y/N: Sorry, I was doing stuff
Wanda: *whispers* I'm stuff
Agatha: You mean stuffed?
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ifnotlovepersevering · 5 months
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why is coven of chaos/house of harkness now called…*checks notes*…the darkhold diaries ?
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sapphicqueen · 1 year
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If Lizzie doesn't show up in House of Harkness I'm going to riot
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d4rkhold · 2 years
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the quietest crescendo (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)
OVERVIEW: Your current piano tutor moves away to take up a new job in a different country, and you are left with a new teacher - a strange and alluring creature who inevitably draws you into her orbit. For what you didn’t know, her world was painted in a purple that was harsh and almost monstrous.
WORD COUNT: 3.7k 
WARNINGS: None in this chapter.
A/N: Hello everyone! Here’s an Agatha-related AU that I have been thinking about in my head for a few months (only for me to give into the urge of throwing all my ideas onto an actual draft and turning it into an actual fic)... This will be several chapters - however, I only have Chapter 1 finished and Chapter 2 roughly planned out. Special thanks to my two lovely friends who beta-read this for me (they won’t see this, but I LOVE YOU GUYS). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy reading this fic! (Also if you want to be added to a taglist for future chapters, feel free to let me know & DMs are always open). You can also find me on AO3 (same user as this one). 
“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” - Edgar Allen Poe.
Your curiosity had betrayed you tonight as you looked at the empty doorway and stopped to hear for any signs of movement nearby. Fluorescent lights from buildings and traffic signals out on the streets were the only illumination source where beams of light seeped through the large window of the hallway outside the office. The carpet under your feet, which was usually soft, felt like eggshells as you were conscious with each step you took, slowly making your way around the large oak desk. You couldn't tell if the murmuring noises you initially heard before entering the room were getting quieter or if your thumping heart was trying to drown out the unnerving commotion.
Exquisite paintings decorated the walls amongst dark green paint, and an unlit fireplace was concave within the walls of one side of the room. You noted the items on the desk: a simple lamp, a brooch with a motif you were unfamiliar with, and sheets of music scattering the desk's surface with scribbles of blue ink on them. You clutched the score in your arms tighter as you suddenly realised the strange sounds were getting louder. 
They seemed to be coming from one of the draws, which led you to open the top ones, only to find more arbitrary personal items within them. But when your hand reached the bottom drawer, the sounds ceased for a second. You almost thought you had imagined the whole unusual situation until you pulled open the drawer to reveal a charcoal-stained book with peculiar shapes and symbols on its cover - and to your dismay, it was glowing slightly amber. A lump formed in your throat, and you poked up above the desk's height to observe any movement in the hallway again.
Right, you had to do something about your terrible nosiness later, as now you had the book in your hands, heavier than you anticipated it to be. You grazed a hand over the jagged cover, eyes wide in awe of its peculiarity, for you had never seen something so unusual before. As you began to open it up to the first page, the murmuring noises started up again, but this time they were more aggressive and high-pitched, causing you to drop it unexpectedly.
As if the book itself had snitched on you, a familiar figure suddenly stood in the doorway, her eyes cold and piercing. You felt your throat go dry and your heart threatening to claw its way out of your chest as if it also didn’t want to be there at that moment.
“Aren’t you a nosey one, darling?” A low voice muttered from the other side of the room and you swore you saw a purple glint in her eye. She stepped into the office, shutting the door with a click, and you felt the world around you diminish. There was also the sheet music for Brahm’s Intermezzo, left forgotten and wrinkled, on the carpet floor near your shoes. You could not think of a better alternative to dying at that very moment.
---
The sound of laptop lids simultaneously shutting echoed throughout the lecture theatre. People around you shuffled in their seats, shoving laptops and books into bags, eager to head out and into the weekend. It wasn’t a surprise that the classroom today wasn’t packed as it usually was, considering that semester break was only a week away. “That’s it for today. Have a good weekend, and see you all next week.” Chattering filled the room that was jarringly silent about a few minutes ago. “Oh, and class - don’t forget your last quiz of the semester is due next week.” 
Physics was not your best subject, but it also wasn’t your worst. You enjoyed it a reasonable amount, but you were still trying to adjust to the amount of work that was expected of you. Yet, it was an interesting subject to learn about, as your class was currently learning about quantum physics which you really enjoyed. 
You were still typing away while almost a third of the theatre had already started to empty out. As you finished up typing a to-do list for the weekend, you felt the hard nudge of an elbow dig into your side. “Ouch! What was that for?!” You exclaimed. 
Darcy had an unamused look on her face. “Everyone is almost gone! Class is over; can’t you finish that later?” She crossed her arms. You sighed and rolled your eyes as you saved your notes and shut off your laptop. “You don’t have a single ounce of patience in you, do you?” You muttered, grabbing your things and shoving them in your bag.
“I really do not,” She grinned. “Anyways, it’s Friday, and Monica texted me earlier today asking if you want to grab a bite to eat and head back to her place. Kate’s coming as well,” You stood up and started to follow her out of the classroom. You and Darcy Lewis met during first-year physics and have become good friends ever since. She had told you that she was planning to go into astrophysics and thinking about doing a PhD afterwards. However yourself? Well, you weren’t too sure where you were heading but had some vague ideas about what you wanted to do.
You were just about to tell her you were keen to come along, but then you remembered the wrapped gift in your bag. Today was your last piano lesson with your teacher, Professor Woo (he always urged you to just call him Jimmy), and you wanted to give him a farewell gift. He was one of the state’s finest pianists and had stopped playing professionally a few years ago to become a piano teacher. Aside from his astounding skills, he was patient and got along with people of all ages. The reason for his resignation was that he was offered to mentor a group of young “prodigies” in New York, aiming to play professionally one day. Speaking of ‘playing professionally’, your mother had wanted you to become a professional pianist. You’ve been playing the piano since the age of ten - enrolled by your mother, who was a beautiful player herself and had played competitively during her youth. However, you always kept piano as a side hobby and nothing more, despite your mother’s frequent suggestions over the years that you had great potential and should pursue it further. 
You loved playing the piano. It was your catharsis through thick and thin; with each melody of every song you played, you could feel it unravel the tension of the day within your body. You weren’t the greatest player, but you were somewhat proficient and could keep up with a couple of relatively complex pieces after many hours of practice. 
“Crap… I have my last piano lesson with Jimmy today, and he’s moving away for good,” You sighed. “I won’t be able to make it tonight; I’m sorry.” 
“You’re so boring-” Darcy winced as you punched her shoulder playfully. “Ouch, I was just kidding!” You laughed at her reaction, and she stuck her tongue out at you. 
The two of you exited through the doors and saw Monica leaning against the wall. She was holding a stack of textbooks in her hands and perked up when she saw you and Darcy approaching. She seemed to struggle to balance the items in her arms as she tried to give the two of you a wave but struggled as she tried to prevent her books from falling onto the ground. “Hey, Monica… How’s it… Uhh… going?” Darcy’s eyes widened as she repeatedly looked at Monica and back down at the books in her hands as the two of you approached her. You held out your hands to Monica, who passed a couple of books and gave you a thankful look. 
“Oh Lord, thank you, Y/N,” She straightened her back. “Well… As you guys can see,” She cleared her throat. “It’s not looking too good for me… Professor Hayward said that our exam is in five weeks, so I decided to get some extra resources from the library because he teaches so badly. As well as that, my back has been killing me with all these books I have to carry around all day! I’m so over this week.” 
The three of you started to make your way outside. It was only the middle of Autumn, and you noticed that it became slightly colder every day. Star-shaped leaves of various shades of orange and brown scattered the ground like a mosaic of earthy hues while rows of trees stood unmovingly and bare in the still afternoon. “Oh yeah, Monica, Y/N said she’s not able to make it this evening because it’s her piano teacher’s last day. How lame of her, don’t you think?” You rolled your eyes upon seeing the smirk on Darcy’s face. “Darcy, don’t be a bully… It’s fine, Y/N, have a good lesson, okay?” Monica smiled.
“Alright, I’ll see you guys next week,” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as a cool breeze passed by. “Tell Kate I said ‘hi’.” Monica nodded and waved at you with her phone in hand. “We’ll text you! And of course.” Darcy was busy trampling the leaves on the side of the path, which produced a satisfying “crunch” every time she stood on one. As you turned to leave, you swore you heard a protest from Darcy as Monica urged her: “Hurry up, we still have to get food!” You chuckled to yourself as you started to make your way to your lesson. 
---
It only took around eight minutes to get from your last lecture to the music building you were so familiar with, situated just on the outskirts of the city. The building itself was considered ‘old’ to many who set their eyes upon it. It must have attained its prehistoric label due to the fact that there was an old church not so far away from it and how every other surrounding building seemed to appear relatively more modern. You often thought that the music building would’ve been renovated or upgraded by now, but it hadn’t been, and you were somewhat relieved. You loved it the way it was; its ‘oldness’ stuck out to you with its corinthian-styled pillars at the entrance and the tall archways that decorated the exterior and interior. 
Every time you stepped into the building, there was a feeling of something similar to sanctity in the air as you stood in the foyer, where an old resplendent chandelier hung elegantly from the high ceiling above you and groups of people lingered and talked before and after music lessons. You made your way through a set of large wooden doors and then proceeded to make your way up a set of stairs. The building was around four stories tall - and it wasn’t just pianists who were getting lessons: there were violinists, trumpeters, drummers, and many more to name. 
When you reached the top of the stairs, you made your way down the hallway, heading for the room where Jimmy always tutored you. Entering the small room, you let out a gentle huff as you placed your bag down and sat on the piano stool. Just after a few minutes, there was a knock on the door, and you perked up when you saw a familiar face poke around the corner with a warm smile. “How’s it going?” 
You crossed your arms in mock anger. “Actually, I’m not doing very well because somebody is moving to a different country to lead a bunch of tiny future Frédéric Chopins.” Jimmy laughed at that as he closed the door behind him and sat on the chair next to you. 
“‘Future Frédéric Chopins’... That’s funny.” He put down his own bag on the floor. “Well, there goes that humour I’m going to miss. As well as that, you’ve been a fantastic player and a pleasure to teach as always.”
“Thank you, but please don’t make me cry - the lesson hasn’t even started yet.”
45 minutes had passed, and Jimmy was going over some parts of Beethoven's ‘Für Elise.’ It was such a gentle and graceful piece to play - certainly one of your favourites. However, more often than not, you did slip up on the second section of the music - the more virtuosic part, which was relatively more complicated to play at a satisfactory speed. “You don’t need to rush. Just slow it down. Remember, we need to slowly build up our tempo and rhythm before diving right into this section.” Jimmy gave you an assuring look, and you nodded in acknowledgement. 
“Alright, I think that’s all.” He smiled warmly. “Well done today. You’re doing well. Beethoven would be proud, in my opinion.” You let out a small laugh, then remembered the gift you had for him. You almost jumped out of your seat, ignoring his quizzical look and pulled out a wrapped-up box from your bag to present to him. 
“You are very generous, thank you.” Jimmy smiled as he took the box from your hands. He began to unwrap the gift to reveal a woolly dark green scarf. He gave you an appreciative smile, which made you start to feel tears well in your eyes because you had reminded yourself that this was the last time you would most likely see him. You gave him a hug. “Thank you. It’s fantastic. This will definitely go well with the snow in New York.”
After a brief moment of shedding tears - which were mostly yours - and saying your goodbyes (and to your surprise, he presented you with a small gift as well), you both fetched your things. “Oh, I just remembered. The tutor who will replace me is in the building today. Do you want to meet her now? She won’t bite, I assure you.” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed with amusement. “Sure, it won’t hurt, I guess.” He chuckled and made his way out the door to fetch your new teacher, leaving you alone in the room.
For a moment, you stood alone in the small familiar room with the brown piano that was perched against the wall, trying to listen intently to the noises coming from nearby rooms. You could almost faintly hear the sound of a violin through sound-proof walls and light laughter coming from the stairwell. The building today was quieter than unusual — probably due to the fact that it was a Friday afternoon and the start of the semester break was closing in very soon. You turned and headed to the window to gaze outside, observing how the sky was becoming quite gloomy, threatening to rain later on. There were cars whizzing on the streets below, as well as the flowing crowds of people on the pavement, all hurrying to get to their destinations.
It was interesting to think about who would become your new tutor. In all honesty, you were somewhat nervous about meeting the person who would now be teaching you how to play Beethoven and so on. What if you didn’t get along with your new tutor, or what if the two of you wouldn’t see eye-to-eye? Some musicians you were acquainted with mentioned that some instrumentalists were excellent at playing but weren’t as good at teaching. Taking in a breath, you assured yourself that it would be a fresh start nevertheless and wouldn’t be that big of a deal. 
You continued to stare out the window until the gentle clearing of the throat all but caused you to break away from your daydream. Turning around, you saw Jimmy enter the room, followed by a woman who suddenly made the breath in your throat hitch. So much for not being a big deal, you thought. 
Aphrodite had nothing on her, for the woman had wavy brown hair that fell past her shoulders and cerulean-blue eyes which were more captivating than any ocean you’ve ever seen, urging you to sink and dive into the depths of her oceanic irises.
Jimmy closed the door. “You’re lucky that I caught her; she was just on her way out.” 
Hands in pockets, she made her way over to you, pulled out a hand, and held it in your direction. “Hello darling, the name’s Agatha Harkness.” She spoke, her voice low and alluring. In all her beauty, you noticed she had a mysterious demeanour, an unusual coolness and a formidable aura that surrounded her. As well as that, ever since she entered the room just minutes ago, you could faintly smell traces of lavender essence in the air. She was the earth's electromagnetic field, and you were drawn to her orbit, her mere presence making you want to shy away but be close to her simultaneously. You told yourself that you were just lonely in terms of romantic interests. Nobody really has piqued your curiosity for a long time - or as Darcy had bluntly put it: “You hardly leave your apartment, of course, you’re not going to find anyone to swoon over.” In all honesty, she was somewhat correct - you didn’t really go out that much as you were busy fretting over your studies most of the time. However, that led to you having a lack of experience with proper relationships and an occasional melancholic prick to the heart.
You took her hand and shook it, thumbs and fingers brushing against hers while you met her gaze, a sudden heat creeping over your collarbones. “‘I’m Y/N Y/L/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Harkness.” 
A soft smirk formed on her lips. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Woo has been telling me how much of a lovely student you are. I’ll just have to wait and see how you play, though, my dear.” You felt your face grow warm, her sultry words and piercing gaze suddenly becoming too much. It took every inch of your body to resist averting your eyes to avoid coming off rude. How can one being subjected to Agatha’s sole attention threaten to ignite a smouldering fire within you? You thought to yourself.
“Harkness’ lessons with you will be at the same time and room on Fridays. There has been no change to the schedule, which makes it easy. She will be happy to discuss further matters with you later on.” Jimmy spoke and checked his watch, sighing. “Sorry to you both, but I have to get going. I have to get ready for a farewell gathering with some friends very soon.” You and Agatha bade your tutor a final goodbye and all the best for the future. Watching him walk through the bone-coloured hallways for the last time made you feel a wave of saturnine wash over you. But you smiled to yourself, knowing you’ll soon probably see his name in news articles and receive awards for leading an extraordinary ensemble in New York.
There wasn’t much to talk about between you and your soon-to-be tutor, which led to the two of you standing outside the music building after a short while Jimmy had left. Agatha’s effect on you was strange, for you were afraid to speak - intricately curating each response in your mind, and each time you spoke, your awkwardness was apparent to the woman. However, Agatha pretended to pay no mind to your sheepish behaviour, filing that slice of information away for later.
You sensed that it was time to part ways as the two of you stood outside on the pavement, the end of Autumn being evident as the evening was much colder today and the sun was starting to drift out of view, ready to trade places with the night very soon. Looking down, you watched as Agatha pulled out a pair of black leather gloves from her pocket and started to put them on, and only then did you notice her slender, pale fingers. The older woman in front of you cleared her throat, and your eyes shot up to her face, which she had an indecipherable look. Her mouth formed into a small curve. “I’ll see you next week, Y/N. It was a delight to meet you, dear.” Hearing your name fall from the tip of her tongue made your stomach coil and your throat dry up. It was as if you were an ocean, and she was drinking every single drop of water, savouring it slowly while you were suspended in time and immobile in your own body — sip by sip, you watched her take everything from you. 
Before you could reply, she had already turned around and started to make her way in the opposite direction, and you stood there on the pavement, watching the woman walk away from you. It could’ve almost been an ending scene of a film — her brown hair dancing gently in cooperation with the slight breeze and the people - who looked so ordinary compared to her - walked past her. She was like a goddess among mortals, and you wished for nothing but to be graced by her presence endlessly. 
Nearby, the church bells rang out - the long, deep sound you heard so frequently - but today, it sent an eerie shiver down your spine and reverberated in your chest. You then turned and made your way to a set of stairs close by, which led to the underground train, attempting to brush off the unusual feelings at the same time. 
The London Underground was teeming with people who, most of them, had finished work. Around you, you could hear the sounds of shoes hitting the concrete and light chatter amongst people who were also waiting for their ride home. Once you got on the train and sat down, you contemplated the weekend, silently cursing as you remembered you had to wake up early for work tomorrow morning at the bookstore. How annoying - you were looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow after a long week of staying up to study and waking up early for lectures. 
It was only for a small portion of the journey home that you were thinking about the coming events of the weekend until your thoughts had slowly drifted to your encounter today with the woman who was Agatha Harkness, for she had bewitched you in an unfamiliar and tantalising way. 
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