#it doesn't sit right to me with the connotations surrounding it

[iturbide]

Not sure if you're interested in an alternate potential explanation of Naga's treatment of Robin (since iirc you've had a lot of Naga-related asks on this blog in the past and got into some complex character development with them, right?) But I think it's interesting that you and many others see Naga as being cold or even outright rude to Robin, when I personally always thought she was trying to be respectful to them. (1/3)

That's a fascinating way to look at it! I always love hearing different takes and explanations that people have for canon events, and this is an interesting angle.

I think a big part of the reason I interpret it as disrespectful is the sheer weight of history between Naga and Grima. Naga gave her blood to the First Exalt with the specific intent of killing Grima -- or, in this case, sealing them away, and she states in Chapter 24 after the Awakening ritual that "[Grima] seeks only to add to his power, and set ruin upon the world." Her insistence that Grima's only purpose is destruction gives the implication that Naga views Grima in a negative light; on top of that, she doesn't just tell Chrom how to use the Exalted Falchion's power, she physically accompanies them to the final battlefield, which has always led me to believe that Naga doesn't view Grima as a natural part of the world's order, like necessary destruction to balance ongoing creation, but instead considers them to be a threat to that order that must be quelled or eliminated. She may admit that neither of them are gods, and don't possess the power to destroy one another, but that doesn't equate to respect in my mind.

With that coming at the close of Chapter 24, coming straight into Chapter 25 to see Naga calling Robin 'Fellblood' to their face does feel like a slap in the face. If Naga has a negative opinion of Grima, it stands to reason that addressing Robin by their lineage rather than their name -- a lineage she just said was tied to a dragon who sought only ruin -- comes across to me as a barely veiled insult. Robin seems pretty insecure about their connection to Grima at this point, given that they now know that in another timeline they killed their dearest companion, so rubbing that in feels pretty callous from where I sit in the audience, having been close to Robin throughout 25+ chapters and multiple hours of gameplay.

I also think it's worth considering that not all forms of address are equal. 'Awakener' is very clearly a title given out of respect, proof that Chrom was worthy of the Exalted Falchion by virtue of surviving the Rite of Awakening. It's something like a knighthood, where he was tested and rewarded with a title in addition to the sword. 'Fellblood' doesn't appear anywhere else in the game, but it's never struck me as a respectful address given the generally negative view of Grima held by Naga's worshippers. The connotation strikes me as similar to someone calling Soren 'Branded' rather than his name in Path of Radiance.

[little-diable]

Tangled Faith - Tommy Shelby (1/4)

Okay ngl, I am obsessed with this story, I hope y'all like it just as much as I do. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader, a female pastor, takes over the Catholic Church in Tommy's part of the city, so, it doesn't take long for her and Tommy to cross paths. Even though she tries to stay out of his business, Tommy can't help but notice that something seems off about the woman.

Warnings: 18+, masturbation (m), mentions guns and threats, religious connotations, a lot of tension

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female pastor reader (2.3k words)

Part Two

Every step she took made a sound so defeating those close by couldn’t help but wonder which demonic power had managed to break down the heavy doors of the holy halls. (Y/n) had her eyes set on the altar, on the heavy stone columns that formed the church into the building that towered over the surrounding houses. Her habit floated around her ankles, making her appear taller, growing in the shadows like Lucifer himself, lurking behind the wooden benches that were now empty but would be filled within the next hour. 

The scent of incense and burning candles filled her nostrils with every breath she inhaled, forcing her closer towards the altar, dropping to her knees right in front of it. With her fingers laced together she spoke a quick prayer, ending it with a cross sign. Her body knew the routine by heart, trusting herself to prepare for the upcoming service, placing down the heavy goblet, filled with wine that no longer tasted of sun dried grapes and fresh Summer, but of older times reminding one of dropping bombs, crying children, and grieving lovers. A stale taste she’d never get used to. 

(Y/n) had taken on her position only a handful of days ago, replacing the old, all too corrupt pastor, at least that’s what she had been told. A woman amongst a crowd of greedy, power hungry men that couldn’t bear being around a woman as strong-headed as (y/n), a foolish mistake those that dared to doubt her standing would eventually pay for, burning in the fires of hell down below. 

“Pastor (y/n)?” Her eyes found the dark ones of a nun she hadn’t crossed paths with yet, eyebrows raised to wait for the woman to keep on talking. “A woman’s here to see you, her name’s Polly Gray.” 

She couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble of the nun’s voice, quivering as if the name she just had spoken was a demonic ritual, unleashing powers those that breathed the same air as she did wouldn’t be able to fight against. Curiosity began to fill (y/n)’s system, studying the young nun for a moment before her gaze flickered down to her pocket watch, “There’s no time for such meetings, service starts in a few minutes. Tell her to come find me afterwards. Invite her to join in on the service.” 

The nun hesitated for a moment, fumbling with her fingers, trying to find the right words to go against the pastor’s command, but no word left the woman, slowly nodding her head before she disappeared within the shadows of the holy halls. A deep breath was exhaled as (y/n) found herself being alone once again, eyes fluttering close as an annoyed “May You give me the strength to endure this place” left her lips. 

……

“I don’t like being told to wait.” A strong, unfamiliar voice echoed through (y/n)’s office, eyes finding a pair of dark ones. A woman by far older than she was was sitting in one of the leather chairs placed in (y/n)’s office, lips enclosed around a cigarette, releasing the blueish smoke one wouldn’t be able to run from. 

“I don’t like being commanded around. Seems like we both have our minds set on things we like and don’t like.” (Y/n) closed the door to her office, finding her way to her desk, plopping down in the all too uncomfortable chair with a tired sigh. “You joined in on the service.” 

“No need to sound so surprised, pastor, I cherish my faith.” Polly Gray’s eyes didn’t dare leave (y/n)’s features, as if she was looking for something, anything she could use to go against the female pastor she had no information on. There was something about the newcomer that screamed of anger, of troubles those that were too focused on their own back and forth with men and women that found pleasure in using weapons couldn’t waste any time on. 

“Speak what’s on your mind, I doubt you’re here to confess your sins.” (Y/n) watched the woman take one last inhale, blowing the smoke out into the room before she stood up, walking closer. The two didn’t break eye contact once, a game that would go on till one of them decided to give up, to back down from a fight that wasn’t fuelled by words, though by the need to scare one another off, to mark their territories. 

“It won’t take long till you’ll find yourself having to decide who you will work for, a decision that will either put you in your grave, or help you and the church financially. We count on your help with whatever we may ask of you.” A humourless chuckle ripped through (y/n), hands toying with the wooden rosary dangling from her neck, the cold cross that pressed against her fingertips like the trigger of a gun. Perhaps Polly had expected her to give in, to tremble in fear, stuttering her words – just like Polly was used to – but whatever was going through (y/n)’s mind was by far more daunting than the other woman could expect, memories so cold even those coming from the lands far up North wouldn’t be able to endure for long. 

“The other pastors may have found themselves trapped in your empty promises and cheap threats, but I’m not them, Polly Gray. Light a candle on your way out, have a good night.” It took the dark eyed woman a few seconds to start moving, slowly nodding her head as she started walking towards the door. The clicking of her heels rang in (y/n)’s ears like machine guns going off, triggering memories she had buried beneath the cold ground, slowly giving into the tantalising call of her name. And with one last glance shared between both women, the door to (y/n)’s office was ripped open and shut with a heavy thud moments later. 

……

With her eyes set on the colourful windows, (y/n) found herself cherishing the silence filling the church. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours since her run in with Polly Gray, a fleeting night she had spent going through old notes, piecing the puzzle pieces together. By now she knew everything about Polly Gray, the Peaky Blinders, and a man called Tommy Shelby, at least the side of the story the church books told her. 

The nuns had warned her of those that walked earth with a dark aura following them, a dark aura only those that were damned could endure, feasting from their hearts and souls. Whispers (y/n) had barely spared any attention, not caring about gang wars, guns, and drugs that were smuggled, not wanting to get involved in battles that weren’t hers to fight. 

But even though she had made it clear to those surrounding her that they would no longer get tangled in the Shelby business, her peace didn’t last long. Heavy steps interrupted the silence, filling the church, walking closer towards the pastor that was sitting on a wooden bench, hands holding onto her black, worn out bible. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed. No other woman has ever managed to say no to Polly Gray’s threats.” The man’s accent grew thicker with every syllable that rolled off his tongue, body finding rest next to her frame. (Y/n) didn’t avert her gaze, kept staring straight ahead as she listened to the stranger alight a cigarette, deeply exhaling. She knew who he was, the one others feared, not wanting to cross paths with the reaper himself.

“Tell me, Tommy Shelby, have you ever read the Romans?” She felt his eyes on her features, studying the woman for a moment before he let go of an emotionless “No, I haven’t”. With her lips pulled into a smile, (y/n) slowly turned towards the handsome stranger, speaking the words she knew by heart. “If you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. Your threats may have worked on those who have called this church their home before me. Greedy men that were easy to fool, but I find no beauty in weapons, drugs, and jewellery, Mister Shelby. This church is for those who beg for His forgiveness, a forgiveness that shall only be granted if the plea comes from their heart, carried by true intentions. Pardon me if I am wrong about this, but I don’t think threatening a pastor’s life and her church will do you any good.” 

“I’ve been damned a long time ago, I don’t fear God’s wrath.” The man’s head rolled back, blowing the smoke out into the church as (y/n) kept studying him. “It seems like you’ve asked the right questions, you seem well informed about what is happening in our part of the city.” He was undoubtedly handsome, the piercing eyes that reminded her of a life she no longer was part of, the calloused fingers that felt more mental beneath them than any blacksmith in their area. Tommy Shelby intrigued her, pulled into his trap by the danger he exuded, by the tantalising shadow of death that followed him around, old schemes (y/n) was all too familiar with. 

“I know enough to pull away from whatever deal you have forced the other pastors into. This church may be open to you for prayers, confessions, and calls of guidance, but not for the price of another living soul. Now, if you excuse me.” (Y/n) rose to her feet, walking down the hallway till the sound of Tommy cocking his gun found its way to her, forcing (y/n) to halt in her steps. The sound of a gasp broke through the air, two pairs of eyes watching the frame of a young nun flee from this very hallway, finding shelter amongst those that didn’t dare interfere. Slowly (y/n) turned towards the smoking man, staring at him for a few seconds before she walked back into his direction, finding a sick satisfaction in the surprised gaze swimming in his pupils. “You may aim your gun at me, but don’t tempt me with a good time, Mister Shelby, not if you don’t intend on shooting me.”

(Y/n) came to a halt in front of him, palm pressed against the muzzle of his gun, slowly directing it towards the ground. Tommy’s piercing eyes bore into hers, silently communicating with the pastor. She stood close, breath about to clash against his lips with every exhale of cold air her lungs tried to grasp. With her hand finding his shoulder, (y/n) whispered into his ear a taunting, “Find me once you’ve made up your mind.” 

……

Days later, as (y/n) found herself finding comfort in the darkness of her office, staring at the letter that had been addressed to her, asking her to find her way to the Garrison tomorrow evening, Tommy Shelby found himself leaning back in his bathtub. The night was dark, awfully calm, an unfamiliar calmness that allowed the man to find comfort in the warm water that offered him enough peace. It felt as if the water was hugging him, reminding him of how it felt to be close to a woman, and yet his mind hadn’t been able to stop thinking of a certain woman he had crossed paths with days ago.

The moment (y/n) had walked back towards him, eyes carrying an undoubtedly challenging gaze, his mind had painted a colourful picture of her body pressed against his. He had taken a look at the forbidden fruit, getting lost in the appearance that may look like God himself had crafted her with his bare hands, but seeped something dangerous Tommy couldn’t pinpoint. 

His eyes were squeezed shut as his hand grasped his cock, giving his hardening length a strong tug. His thoughts kept guiding him, focusing on her beautiful face, the memories no longer vivid and bright though blurred as if he had woken from his dreams moments ago, unable to remember what exactly he had dreamt of. A heavy groan left Tommy as his fingers picked up their pace, hips jerking to fuck his hand, wondering how it may feel to have her touching him. 

“Fuck,” the word rolled off his tongue as if he was speaking to her, as if (y/n) was sitting in front of him, hand wrapped around his cock, tongue brushing away his drops of precum. Like fingers rolling wooden beads, she’d put her tongue to good work, carefully touching him, allowing him to fuck her mouth with enough care to not hurt her throat too much. Tommy’s heart picked up its beat, roaring in his chest to warn him of his arising high, soon enough he’d cum on his fingers, thinking of her for one last time before he broke through the cloud of lust he was stuck in. 

A string of curses left the man as he came, eyes squeezed shut, hand lazily moving for a few more moments before he let go, sinking back into the warm water. Tommy Shelby had his eyes set on the price, and he’d get his hands on her, eventually.

[tangleweave]

@brooklynislandgirl (continued from here)

The things that Beth says make complete sense to Peter, and he minorly hates that they do. He's spent a long time trying to say them to himself until his complexion had, at varying times, found its way to both ends of the spectrum adorning the suit. She's not wrong. It ought to be as simple as she lays it out to be. Moreover, keeping a secret this big… in time, it would eat anybody alive.

He has an airtight reason keeping it from Aunt May. Nothing in the world will ever pry his jaws open to tell her what it is. He's seen the look in her eye every day since It Happened. How much she misses Uncle Ben. He's even seen those moments she's tried to hide, where she would glance up as if to call Ben's name or start talking like he was sitting right there.

No. There's no telling her, and there never will be.

He'd found a way to tell Gwen… without really saying it out loud. And why was that? Why had he been so desperate to tell her, when her father was the chief of police? It had put Gwen into an absolutely impossible position. It hadn't been fair of him to put that on her shoulders.

Her father's dying wish had been for Peter to stay away from Gwen. To keep her out of his superhero antics. And ever since that moment, he's been trying. All summer long, he's steered clear of her and her family. But that was never going to take the pain of loss away from them… and Gwen still carries the burden of Peter's secret, when pain and anger could give her every reason she needs to out him to the world.

Knowing who and what he is hadn't been the cause of Captain Stacy's death. But being who and what he is… that's most surely the cause of his separation from Gwen now.

His lips tremble up into a half-smile. "You know what the problem with asking someone to keep a secret is… is that, before you tell it to them, they can't understand how important it is. And after you tell them, they don't have the option to not know it. There's no taking it back. There's just… living with it."

His eyes cast about the interior of the blanket fort, peering at each detail in turn but never fully settling on any of them, as though he might be able to find an answer to his own question amongst her treasures. It's a disparate array, items to please the eye, soothe the touch, and enchant the soul. Articles that speak to her past and her future, her penchant for fantastical whimsy and her aptitude for bio-science.

They're both surrounded by all the things that she adores, finds comfort and safety in. And Peter knows better than to deny that he himself is one of those things… and as he peers through that lens, as his eyes settle on Beth's face and he sees a war of hope versus dread in her eyes… his heart aches. He's let her down in so many ways she doesn't even know, by not being honest with her.

Some best friend he is.

His eyes drift shut and his brow wrinkles.

The dam cracks. Words seep through like water.

"Something happened to me. And, uh… one way or another, I've been losing people I care about ever since. I wanna be honest with you." He swallows. "I'm… I'm just afraid I'm gonna lose you, too."

He pours all of his effort into releasing his death grip on his bottle, and shifts his hand to brush his fingertips across her knuckles. When they were smaller kids, they'd held hands frequently. Nowadays, it has a different connotation, and he doesn't want her to get the wrong impression… but maybe, he thinks, maybe it'll allow them both to recall their inseparability of those days. The strength of their friendship.

"And I really need my best friend."

[rywritten]

dreamnap + angst (it's up to you how angsty it is, i just wanna cry about this ship)

sure thing anon, i love pain and suffering too

let me jump right in and get this drabble started.

side note: initially there wasn't supposed to be any mcd, but my hands slipped.. so yeah, there's nothing i can do about that lmao but anyway i tried to focus the angst on the idea that the love is there, but it's messed up and twisted between the two of them.

also i used this fanart for inspo when i wrote the last scene!

Dreamnap + Angst

You live inside me, the same way I live inside you.

Sapnap knows he carries Dream with him wherever he goes. He's taken a part of himself and has given it to Dream all those years ago and Dream, in return, has given Sapnap a part of himself.

It lives inside of Sapnap, deep inside his veins, past his blood stream and all the arteries until it rests safely within the hard, hot ball sitting beneath his ribs.

Dream has made a home inside his chest, and as long as Sapnap is breathing, it will continue to stay that way.

Mutually assured destruction, maybe, or mutual deification.

Sapnap knows it was dangerous to give Dream so much power over himself.

Fire is as impatient as it is destructive, and he has witnessed the chaos of it's aftermath first hand.

Dream was there too, bright green eyes focused on the glowing ember hue of burning tree tops with a look one would only associate to fascination.

"Give me your fire and I'll give you power."

Such an offer would have made anyone else shiver from Dream's upturned lips and unsettling eyes.

But Sapnap had agreed, but he was not interested in anything else but Dream.

"I'll give you my fire, if you give yourself to me."

Dream wanted control, but Sapnap was ready for chaos.

A moebius strip, a snake always swallowing its own tail.

Dream runs and Sapnap follows.

He knows he will chase after Dream until he's run himself ragged, until there's is nothing left of him.

There is a part Dream residing in himself that calls for it's owner the same way Sapnap instinctively searches for him.

Dream is nothing like a beacon but Sapnap wants to believe otherwise.

He will follow Dream until the ends of time and Sapnap knows Dream would do the same.

After all, Dream has given himself to Sapnap the same way Dream has his fire, and his fire knows no other master but him.

Mutual consumption.

Some people might call it codependency, but Sapnap doesn't like the connotation of the word.

He knows what this is, what they are, and what they have.

What they are is up to the two of them to decide and no one else.

What they are is complicated, it's fucked up in every way possible. The two of them are nothing like lovers in the usual sense.

But there is something almost primal in the way Sapnap is drawn to the other man, a need to have Dream all for himself, an insatiable desire to devour everything that he is and keep it all for himself.

He knows he doesn't need Dream to function and Dream can survive on his own just fine. They have no need to keep each other close to work.

He just needs to make sure Dream keeps his end of the bargain.

I'll give you my fire if you give yourself to me.

Lucky for him, Dream's never broken a single promise.

You say "I will be the house that holds every part of you."

They meet once more, but something in Dream has changed. Sapnap could see it in the way he held himself close, almost as if he was afraid of everything surrounding him.

It was off-putting to see Dream look so broken.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"We made a deal, remember?"

Dream owns his fire the same way Sapnap owns him. Dream holds the very core of Sapnap's being inside of him the same way Sapnap holds onto Dream, tight and unrelenting.

Sapnap wants no one else, has never wanted anyone else. Dream, no matter what state he is in will always be what Sapnap wants.

Chaos calls for more chaos and Sapnap feels a sick sort of satisfaction at seeing this version of Dream so messed up.

Dream tells him he'll escape eventually, that he still has control.

Sapnap believes him, so he makes a promise with Dream once again.

"If you escape, you'll die by my own hands. I'll be the one who takes your last life."

And I will answer "If you die, I die too."

Sapnap thinks it's almost poetic that this is how their story ends.

Their fight was as brutal as it was intoxicating.

Fighting Dream has always brought him to a high nothing else could ever hope to accomplish.

Their swords clash in a fight for power and control and at one point, the sharp metal finally pierces through skin and bones.

Dream smiles despite the blood dripping out of his mouth and Sapnap wants to kiss him then.

The pain on his lower abdomen doesn't register until his knees finally gave out and the two of them come crashing down, bleeding bodies giving out as they laid on the ash covered ground.

The sky is a deep orange hue as the fire surrounding the two of them continued to grow, reckless and mourning now that their master is in the verge of death.

Sapnap blinks a couple of times to get his vision to focus despite the haze clouding his mind. He turns to look at Dream and notes how impossibly still the other man was. There is a pool of crimson surrounding his body and Sapnap uses his remaining strength to reach him.

"Hey."

Dream turns at the sound of his voice and it sparks something inside of Sapnap. The green of his eyes remain bright despite the obvious discomfort written on his expression at having to turn to face him.

"Why did you do it?" Dream asked as soon as Sapnap entwined their fingers together. "You saw through my next move but you hesitated and didn't block my next strike."

"Dunno."

"Liar." Dream says, matter of factly.

"Maybe I wanted to."

"I don't understand."

"If you die, I die too." Sapnap explains, meeting Dream's gaze before he adds, "It's always been me and you. It's us or nothing."

"That's stupid."

Sapnap snorts, unsurprised by Dream's answer. Maybe it was stupid, but he doesn't regret his decision in the slightest.

What they have isn't love, but Sapnap knows it's there. It was there when he saw Dream's eyes lit up at the sight of his fire, the only one who ever saw the destruction caused by his power and remained unflinching. It was there when Dream had agreed to Sapnap's offer immediately, and it was here now as they laid on the ground, bloodied and at the verge of death.

"If I told you I love you, would that make you happy?" Sapnap asked.

"That depends, are you in love with me?"

"In a fucked up way, I think I do."

It was Dream's turn to laugh and the sound made Sapnap's chest ache and constrict at the same time.

"Maybe in a different life, I would be."

And that answer alone was enough for Sapnap.

[slashbitch2]

The Very Nosy Neighbour

this fic was 100% inspired by this one here , but I mean it practically wrote itself I couldn't resist

NSFW

You can't remember much past waking up in an unfamiliar room- though 'room' is really a sugarcoated description, as in reality it qualifies more as some kind of cavern. You're sitting in a chair, ankles and wrists bound by an indistinguishable material. Whatever the binds are made of feels strong, so any attempts to struggle against it are futile. Yet, in spite of what really should be an extremely stressful situation, you find yourself completely relaxed. You briefly wonder whether you've been drugged, but with every sense feeling fully operational, that theory is soon dismissed.

Instead of choosing a more logical response to the circumstances you've found yourself in, you decided to focus more on your surroundings: not to form any resemblance of an escape plan, but simply out of curiosity. Although, the investigation is equally as ineffective. You're unable to name anything around you except for stone walls, strange (glowing?) vines and weird symbols carved above a few archways. Everything beyond that is either entirely lost to you, or shrouded in darkness.

With little else to do, you start to think back on the events that led you there, trying to glean any useful information from the blurry memories. The clearest image, therefore the most recent, is the smirking face of a woman, Agnes you realise. Though the malicious glint in her eyes doesn't quite match your perception of the nosy neighbour. But where is she now? Is she also in danger? You may not have known Agnes for very long, but are reluctant to let any harm come to her regardless.

With a clearer head, you consider calling for help, but a small voice at the back of your subconscious warns you against this. And the voice sounds smart, so you elect to listen to it. But what should you do instead? Where did this voice come from? And most importantly, should you trust it? Luckily, you aren't given much time to overthink the decision.

While trying to tune into this voice, footsteps echo in the distance, gradually drawing nearer. You hold your breath as the sound suddenly stops, leaving your eyes scanning the vicinity for any movement. The unpleasant reality dawns on you all too quickly: the footsteps were approaching from behind you.

“Well, well, well.” Someone says playfully, then snorts as they start walking closer. "Sorry to be a total cliché. I couldn't resist." It's Agnes. She narrows her eyes and smirks, folding her arms as she examines your constrained form. Subjected to her scrutiny, you find yourself swallowing, but your throat is too dry. Other small discomforts also become noticeable; your cramped limbs, aching back and the bruises on your hands. Well at least you put up a fight. The more rational part of you, however, realises that your hands are no longer bound. You stare down at them, flexing each finger as if checking they were all still fully functional.

Something suddenly knocks into your head and you grimace. Left reeling from the impact, you realise that you're slightly nauseated. Though not enough to stop you from reaching out to grasp the floating cup of water. The fact that the glass is suspended in mid-air doesn't go unnoticed, rather ignored, since there's too much happening simultaneously to comprehend any of it in sufficient detail. You swirl the liquid round, hesitant to drink, unwilling to trust your captor's apparent mercy.

"Drink up, dear." Agnes drags a chair forward, which seems to have just appeared out of thin air. She sits backwards on it, legs spread and arms resting on the back casually. "That's all you're getting until we're done here." The tone of her voice is both threatening and teasing. You're reluctant to admit it's quite a turn on.

One glance up at her prying expression and you relent, downing the chilled water way too quickly. Though you aren't given a chance to mourn your impatience, as with an effortless wave of her hand, Agnes refills the glass. While you sip at the water, she refuses to tear her eyes away from you for even a second. It's slightly disconcerting.

“Now," She claps her hands, startling you. "I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really.” You confess, unable to pinpoint why anyone would go to so much effort to kidnap you, especially Agnes, who up to this point had been an eccentric yet kind neighbour.

She sighs, more for show than anything else, and rubs at her temple. "Come on Y/N, let's not play dumb now."

Embarrassingly, a heat begins to pool deep in your gut, but you quickly dismiss the unwarranted lust. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh really?" She quirks an eyebrow, sitting upright. "You really have no idea?" The inquiry is ridiculing, and you can see that your naivety is starting to annoy her.

All you can do is shake your head and pray the sincerity is reflected in your eyes.

"Okay." She slams her hands down on her thighs. "I guess we'll have to go about this the hard way then, toots." A sharp gesture and your hands are bound before you once again.

By the time you're looking up, she's striding toward you with purpose, which does nothing to ease the building heat between your legs. Her hands clasp on the armrests either side, essentially trapping you, not like escape would've been possible without the extra precaution. Up close you finally recognize this isn't Agnes- in fact it never has been. There's a feral yet wise appearance to her, the facade of nosy neighbour dissolved in an instance to be replaced by a deranged, frighteningly powerful woman (or witch, you're undecided).

Despite your better judgement, you're unable to stop yourself from asking. "Who are you?" Your voice barely breaches a whisper, but she's standing close enough that nothing less intimate is required.

She looks mildly impressed, the corner of her mouth twitching almost indiscernibly. "Agatha Harkness." She extends a hand, smirking upon realisation that you're a little too tied up at the minute to reciprocate. "Lovely to meet you."

You swallow again, finding your throat to be a little less dry. "Likewise." Then decide to take another risk. "So what do you want from me?"

“Wanda's true identity.” She replies so quickly that you almost miss it, looking at you with an eagerly expectant expression.

Agatha's question confuses you further. “I don’t know what you mean.” Although your answer is honest, something at the back of your mind hisses lies.

"There's no need to lie here." Her patient humour had disappeared. "Trust me, no one will hear you, so drop the act."

For some unbeknown reason, her accusation angers you. "I'm not putting on an act, I don't know why I'm here or what you want from me." The bravery dissipates all of a sudden as you remember that you're not exactly in the position to command such authority. "Please, stop this."

Agatha purses her lips, stands up and turns away from you. She calmly moves forwards a few paces, and in the short amount of time you manage to convince yourself that she's given up. Until in a completely unprovoked move, she swings her hands to the left, sending her chair crashing into the wall in frustration. Whether this is part of her interrogation performance or not, it works. Your heart starts racing, and confusingly, the awkward heat between your legs pulses.

She runs a hand through her hair, still facing away from you. "Don't make this any harder harder than it needs to be." You can practically hear her grinding her teeth, but don't doubt that she was getting some enjoyment out of the situation.

"I can tell you that Wanda is my sister and only real family, that I moved to Westview with her and that I couldn't live without her." You start listing off some basic facts, desperate to prove to Agatha that nothing is hidden. That you're normal.

"What about your brother?" She swivels round, clicking her fingers as she tries to recall something. "Pietro!" She exclaims.

"Pietro..." You falter. Why does the name sound so familiar? The nausea worsens. You shake off the feeling. "Never heard of him."

“Liar.” In one swift movement, Agatha is right by your ear. The feeling of her lips brushing against your skin causes you to close your eyes. The close proximity was becoming overwhelming, and your body had chosen to react in a rather unfortunate way. Admittedly, you'd always had a thing for Agnes, but Agatha was on a whole other level. You dreaded to open your eyes, worried that she'd noticed your current state. Instead, you internally begged for mercy.

“Don't go all shy on me now.” She pushes your shoulder into the chair, compelling you to open your eyes. "If you don't want to talk, I have other methods." Her hand raises, a purple flow emanating from the tips of her fingers. It crackles and sparks, as if the power was barely contained, yet as she shifts closer to brush the hair out of your face, you don't flinch. One finger remained touching your forehead, then traced down to your jaw, and finally along to grasp your chin.

While the vaguely sinister movement terrified you, it also forced you hold your breath and grip onto the armrests for dear life. Why you'd decided this was hot was beyond you considering the many connotations of her words, yet your thighs pressed tighter together as she drew closer. You attempted to turn your head to the side, longing for distraction, but her hold on you kept your head still.

"This won't be much fun for you, dear." She sighed in mock pity, her breath hot against your skin... Which just tipped you over the edge. As hard as you tried to stifle the noise, a broken moan escaped your lips. You'd definitely hit a low point here. Too ashamed to face your apparent arousal, you screwed your eyes shut. Although, at Agatha's silence, you relented and opened them barely a minute later.

To your relief, or perhaps dismay, the woman was grinning like a maniac. Her eyes flickered down to your parted lips as she chewed on her own. Then carefully, as if she were testing the waters, her fingers began to rub against your jaw, and upwards to your mouth. Your breath deceives you by hitching as her thumb slips between your lips, stroking your tongue. At the contact, you can't help but arch into the touch. Agatha chuckles.

"I take it back." She murmurs, removing her hand. "This will be fun." Although the intimidation factor prevails, there's a certain desire mirrored in Agatha's expression which cancels out any remaining common sense. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and even if you wanted to, there was little you could do to stop her. So, you give into your yearning, sighing as she climbs to sit on your lap. Immediately, her hand switches to gripping the back of your neck as she slams her mouth onto yours. You willingly indulge by opening further, allowing her tongue to slide between your lips. Her other hand lowers to grab at your chest, like she were trying to tug herself impossibly closer.

Without removing her lips, the hand massaging your chest shifts to your thigh. She still keeps her lips firmly pressed to yours, and with the lack of oxygen, you can feel yourself growing lightheaded. It almost feels like a challenge, one which you're determined to succeed at. Though when she eventually does break away, her hand suddenly slips between your thighs, and your breath is stolen from you once more. Wasting no time, she massages you through your clothes, dragging out an inevitable whine. The touch is both too much, and not enough. But judging by her malevolent smirk, that was exactly her intention.

Even though you were currently incapable of producing any reasonable thought, you still noticed that Agatha wasn't entirely unaffected. Her breathing was laboured, hips occasionally jerking against your thigh and eyes struggling to stay open. The influence you were having on her only encouraged you to moan louder, craving to see her equally dishevelled. Your plan seemed to momentarily fail as her hand retreated. But you'd certainly earned her attention.

She licks her lips, then abruptly changes her expression to look disturbingly like that of Agnes. "You wouldn't leave me out of the fun now, would you dear?" Her voice is high pitched as she basically sings her words. Although the question must've been rhetorical as doesn't await a response, instead you find your hands unbound, flung behind your back and bound together all in a matter of seconds. Then, she shifted her position, yanking your bodies closer so that your crotches were pressed together. She grunts, heaving forward to rest against you for a moment and regain her composure. And finally, without warning, starts to grind your hips together.

It doesn't take long for her movement to become more frantic, accompanied by her hair spilling onto her face. She remains impressively quiet, however, or perhaps you were just comparably loud. With the little pride you have left, you decide to take matters into your own hands, and start meeting each thrust with equal vigour. Miraculously, it works. She throws her head back with a remarkably loud moan, proceeded by change in strategy as she starts almost bouncing on top of you, hips losing their rhythm, pleasure overwhelming her. Startled by her lack of self-control, the heat in your stomach begins building exponentially fast. Your eyes slam shut.

A hand grasps onto your face. “Look at me!” She growls, then emphasises her demand by rolling her hips torturously slowly. The movement ceases. She leans her forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. “Come with me.” To your surprise, there's an audible plea in her voice.

At a loss for words, you nod. The pleasure had been building for so long that you knew it'd only take a few more grinds to push you over the edge. With your confirmation, Agatha resumes her thrusting, though soon succumbs, throwing her head back and uttering an exceptionally loud, high-pitched moan. She arches her back, pressing herself so far into you that the pleasure peaks. You groan, lurching backwards in a moment of pure bliss. All you can feel is Agatha, all you can think about is Agatha. Coming down from the high, you sigh and collapse forward to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

She tenses slightly at the contact, but soon relaxes into the strange embrace. You gently press your lips against her skin and feel her shiver, confirming your suspicion that it'd been a while since Agatha had received such affection. Motivated by a new, more innocent desire, you continue to pepper light kisses across her throat and behind her ear, simply enjoying the unexpectedly intimate moment.

Agatha finally breaks the silence, leaning away from your touch to look down at you curiously. "Wanda really has you under her mind control too, huh?"

Although still stuck in a post-coital haze, you muster enough brainpower to consider her words. "Mind control?"

"Oh, right." She smirks, a slight sadness perceptible in her eyes. "Forgot to mention." Before you can say anything, she swings one leg to the side, stiffly sliding off your lap and clasping her hands together. "You might want to reconsider where your loyalties lie, dear." She glances at you, then ambles to the opposite side of the room. "That's one fucked up family situation right there." Her voice teasingly calls out.

You feel yourself flush, strangely offended by her comment, and annoyed by her vagueness. "Like you can talk." Your response is a total shot in the dark, but must've hit a nerve since she slowly turns back to you, a suspicious expression upon her face. "Just a guess." You add, unwilling to know the details of whatever sensitive topic you'd just touched upon. Agatha easily shrugs it off, leaving behind a stifling silence. Eventually, it's a mixture of your own boredom and concern that prompts you to end the lull in conversation. "Are you still planning on interrogating me about something I know nothing about?"

"Oh, no I read your mind." She waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Got all I needed."

Again, you're left suffocating in the confusion her ambiguity provokes, with nothing else to ask except. "How...?"

The inquiry must've been exactly what Agatha wanted to hear as she immediately dropped what she was doing to turn around and lean on the wall, arms folded in a casually smug pose. "Sex leaves you vulnerable." She smirked. "All I did was take advantage of the opportunity- but I'll spare you the boring details." With a flourish of her hand and a flash of purple, the binds holding your ankles and wrists disappeared. "You can go now. First door on the left."

Without sparing you another glance, she busied herself with some witchy task, allowing you to see yourself out. Massaging your wrists, you stood slowly, watching her expectantly. Surely she wouldn't just let you leave? Yet as you sauntered over to the door she'd directed you to, she made no move to stop you. "Bye then?"

Agatha looked up at you and winked. "See you around, neighbour."