Maybe an unpopular theory that doesn’t make sense but I personally think the reason Evanora is a ghost is that Rio hated her so much for abusing Agatha that she refused to take Evanora to the afterlife as a punishment.
that one sometimes like this/ also like that art trend... yeah
i decided to make a nsfw acc on twitter to post some nasty stuff, it's @ secretevgar in case anyone wants to see some more explicit drawings (i've posted only one besides this one FOR NOW)
Give It To Someone Special (Detective!Agnes x f!Reader)
You take your fiancée home before the holidays, but your parents and Agnes have never been on the same wavelength. On the drive back home, you offer her the best remedy to release her tension that you know.
Content/Warnings: Smut, Rough sex, Car Sex, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Age Gap Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Choking, Spit Play, Degradation kink, They fuck nasty but they really love each other
Thank you so much to @ragnarockz @msharkness @lotsofmilfs for beta reading and helping me get this out in time for the holidays! I appreciate all of you angels so much! ♡
I‘m actually home for Christmas for the first time in years and the amount of time driving around to meet family that finds me odd and off putting inspired me, but like make it horny and enjoyable. My Yuletide Gift, from me to you! Enjoy my loves, happy holidays!
It was raining. Of course it was, you were in early December, and thanks to climate change, Westview barely got an actual white Christmas anymore. Let alone snowy December Days. Driving even further down South to the town your parents lived in certainly hadn’t helped. Miniscule raindrops hit the windshield silently, making the view muddy. The road was concealed by the mist like rain, the cars headlights piercing through just enough to safely follow the path.
Some young pop stars had covered Last Christmas, and the radio played it for the third time today. If dinner had been better, you might have sung along. But, as per usual, bringing Agnes out to see your parents had gone like shit, so you didn’t exactly feel the holiday spirit right now. The rain didn’t exactly help either.
Agnes‘ hair was in a low ponytail, a few strands falling loose around her face, forehead creased stoically as her eyes were fixed on the road. A few days ago, you‘d found the first grey hairs on her head while laying entangled in the morning, pressing little kisses to the crown of her head as she’d frowned and told you to get box dye immediately.
Now, the grey had disappeared between the rich brown of the rest of her hair,. If if you didn’t know you probably wouldn’t even notice them at all. However, the frown on her face remained. Just, it wasn’t her own greys frustrating her anymore. It was your parents. You licked your lips, resisting the urge to reach for her hand. Not while she was driving in weather conditions like this.
„Thank you“, you said instead, breaking the silence that had lingered since you‘dyou'd entered the car in your parents driveway. „For coming with me. I know you don’t exactly get along.“
Her jaw tensed, you could hear the motor give a tiny roar when her foot pressed down on the gas a little harder. You swallowed, eyes focusing back on the dark road before you. The highway was empty this late on a Sunday, especially in this weather. It was early December, most people hadn’t gone to visit family yet. You just liked to get it done early.
„I don’t mind your dad most of the time“, Agnes huffed, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. „But today … was just uncalled for.“
„What did he say?“, you asked without looking at her, wanting to give her the space to dodge the question if she didn‘t want to talk about it.
„He probably just had too much beer.“, Agnes snarled, but you could tell it still bothered her, „Said the ring you’re wearing is a seal of your fate, that you’ll be in the prime of your life stuck taking care of some bitter old cop. That I‘m stealing your best years and you don’t even realise it.“
You bit the inside of your cheek, anger boiling in the pit of your stomach. „I‘m sorry. He shouldn’t feel entitled to say something like that, alcohol or not. That’s messed up.“
She scoffed, shoulders rolling back. „It’s fine. I know your mom doesn’t like me either.“
„That’s not true“, your tone didn’t even convince yourself. Your mother was better at pretending, but even you knew the smile she put on whenever Agnes and you drove down once or twice a year was a forced one. That she wished the person you brought home was anyone but the rough around the edges woman besides you. Like it was any of her business who made you happy.
Agnes scoffed. „I know she doesn’t show you her brunch friends’ shiny young sons for shits and giggles.“
„Agnes.“
The rain had intensified, thick drops of rain splattering against the windshield. Another roar of the engine. She kept her eyes focused on the road, gripping the steering wheel a lot tighter than she had to. You swallowed.
„You know none of their shit matters, right?“, A heavy sigh left your lips when she wouldn’t even glance at you, „My dad is talking out of his ass and my mother still thinks maybe the whole liking women thing will be over soon, as if we haven’t been engaged for two years now.“
Agnes stayed silent, eyes sternly focused on the dark road, only the sound of raindrops splattering onto the windshield between you. And that cover of Last Christmas, again.
You passed a road sign. A parking lot and a phone cell just a few miles ahead of you.
„Let’s stop there“, you proposed, watching the way Agnes pressed her lips together in a harsh line. „You know I don’t like when you drive angry.“
„I‘m not angry“, she replied immediately, and as if to prove her point, she took her foot off the gas, letting the car slow down a little, „I‘m just … irritated.“
„Either way“, finally, you reached out to her, brushing the few lost strands of hair behind her ear. The gentle touch of your fingertips against her cheek had her exhale immediately, readjusting her grip on the steering wheel. The car did a minimal swirl to the left before she caught herself again and readjusted her position on the road.
You giggled, pulling your hand away, elbows leaning on the middle console as you grinned at her. The tip of your tongue peaked out past your lips, giving her a coy smile. „I think you should take a break to … release some tension anyway.“ Your voice dropped lower when you saw the way her jaw tensed. „And it‘s just us out here tonight.“
At the clearly suggestive tone that swung in your voice, she finally glanced over at you, pupils dark. You shrugged your coat off your shoulders, leaning a little further towards her, eyes batting almost innocently.
Agnes' eyes stared at your lips, your eyes, your shoulder, still covered by a knit sweater, but the lacy strap of your bra peeking out, and then quickly back to the road before you.
She swallowed hard, then scoffed. But the smirk on her lips betrayed her, even as her eyes turned back to the road. Her right hand left the steering wheel to come rest firmly on your thigh, fingers brushing over the fabric of your pants so high up, your breath hitched at the contact. That made her chuckle, a low sound in the back of her throat, and she blinked right to pull over into the parking lot. „Maybe you’re right“, her thumb ran lazily up and down your inner thigh and you felt your stomach tighten at the touch. „A break sounds good right now.“
You were right, the small square of asphalt lay completely abandoned, nothing but a few parking spots and a telephone cell already halfway towards decay. No street lights, no buildings, just Agnes' grey little car alone between fields and meadows, the rain now pouring down against the metal roof.
Agnes put the car into park mode and turned off the radio, right hand never leaving your thigh as she did so, and then took a deep breath, back of her head hitting her seat as she did. She would never admit it, but she wasn’t just frustrated, she was tired too. Exhausted of never being enough to please your parents, of every trip to see them going to shit in some way. There was the little crease between her brows, the one she always got when she worried, when she was questioning herself.
„Baby“, you sighed. Now that you were safely parked, you leaned over the middle console completely and reached for her face with both hands, turning her head to face you. The tips of your fingers ran over her cheekbones, gently cradling her face, and her face immediately softened. Her hands wrapped around your wrists, keeping you close, the tips of your noses mere inches apart from each other.
„I‘m sorry we left on a bad note“, she said, blue eyes warm as she scanned your face, „I know you just want them to be happy.“
You shook your head at that, your thumbs brushing over her bottom lip as you gave her a warm, reassuring smile.
„I‘m sorry we spent your day off driving all the way down there only for dinner to be shit“, you replied, „I want my parents to be happy, but I value your happiness more.“
Her eyes widened, and you watched her pupils dilate at your little smile, which only made you grin brighter. „I mean it.“
Agnes' lips parted and she took a short breath. But before she could say anything else though, you surged forward, cutting her off with your lips on hers. Chapped lips melted against yours, leaning forward to deepen the kiss immediately. Fingers wrapped around the back of your neck to tug you closer, and you had to smile against her. Your teeth brushed against her upper lip and you felt Agnes holding back a little moan against your lips.
„I don’t care what my parents think“, you whispered, cupping her face in your palms. You made sure to look at her while speaking, watching the way her eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes, back to your lips. Your breath was heavy. „I just want you.“
For a moment, you just held eye contact in silence.
Agnes barely smiled, and she wasn’t one to keep her heart on her sleeve either, but you had learned that a lot of her inner world played out right behind her eyes. The way all color seemed to fade from them when she was sad, every little crease of her brow. How bright and wide they turned only when she looked at you.
Your tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip as she scanned your face, that bright, distant look of almost disbelief on her face. Like she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that you were real, that you chose to wake up next to her every single day. Like she was trying really hard to focus on what you were saying, but failing miserably.
A calloused thumb ran along your jaw, gentle like you were something delicate to be handled with care.
„You’re too good to me“, she murmured, and your own hand found hers, clasping around the pale skin, her fingers flexing in your grip.
„And you’re still way too tense“, you whispered, watching her eyes widen as you lead her thumb up and over your chin, grazing your bottom lip. Her eyes were firmly focused on the tip of her thumb, and you couldn’t help but grin before pushing it up further, lips parting to slip the single digit inside.
Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, watching the way your lips closed around her finger like it was some kind of mysterious sorcery, like she’d never seen it before. You had to withhold a smirk, tongue swirling around the tip of her thumb playfully, cheeks hollowing out as you made a show out of it. Agnes' other hand on the back of your neck tightened its grip, grasping at your soft hairs there.
Your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a soft moan, like her thumb pressing down onto your tongue was the most delicious thing you‘ve ever tasted. It was. Your stomach did a little flip at the taste, and a part of you wanted her to push more fingers past your lips, until you were gagging on her.
When she pulled out eventually, thumb now glistening wet, your mouth still parted as you blinked up at her with a smirk, you could swear you saw her tremble a little.
Agnes was fidgeting around in her seat, her eyes dark as she licked her lips, gaze heavy with arousal.
She kissed you again, firmly, one hand finding your shoulder and holding you in place, the other on your cheek, her wet thumb leaving a thin trail of your saliva on your skin. It made your insides feel like they were burning up.
„I really want to eat you out right now“, you gasped into her mouth, barely holding back the breathless giggle that accompanied your words. Her grip in your shoulder tightened, fingers digging into your skin.
„Way too good to me“, Agnes purred, her gaze heavy, fingers hot on your skin. Your lips were parted in a slight pant. Your thighs pressed together where you were still halfway sitting in your seat, halfway draped over the middle console to be as close to her as possible. Agnes glanced down at you, cheeks hot and lips swollen from kissing, your eyes dark and pupils round, practically begging her for more. Her own face was flushed too, and her breath had picked up, taking sharp breaths through her nose.
„Backseat“, she ordered, her tone leaving no room for discussion. Not that you had any intention to disobey. „Now.“
You jumped out of your seat and into the rain faster than you thought you were even able to move.
But, Agnes was still faster. She leapt around the car, pried the backseat door open, and before you even knew what was happening, your back hit the hard cushions. She was on top of you, crowding you up in the limited space of her car, slamming the door behind her shut with a little more force than necessary. She was straddling your hips, eyes now black with lust as she stared down at you. Even though you’d only been in the rain for a few seconds, wet strands of hair were already sticking to her forehead, and she wiped them back with one hand, the other finding your chest, pinning you down against the car seats.
„You’re wet“, she stated, and when a whine left your throat in response, paired with a twitch of your hips underneath her. She let out a hollow laugh. „I meant your shirt, slut.“
Your lips curled into a pout and her hand on your chest grabbed a fistful of your wine red sweater. She leaned down towards you, propping herself up with her other hand, until her face was mere inches from yours. You craned your neck, trying to catch her lips with yours, but she was just out of reach, her smile smug as she tugged harder on your sweater, exposing your midriff. A breathy whine escaped your throat, met by an evil chuckle.
„Not so assertive now, huh?“, her brows raised almost mockingly and for a moment, she just enjoyed watching you struggle underneath her, unable to push up against her grip on your jumper, helplessly wiggling underneath where she had you pinned. It was utterly pathetic, and by the way her breath came ragged, it was exactly what she wanted. Keeping you pinned down by your chest, she rolled her hips down into yours exactly once, the rough fabric of her jeans pushing against your softer, loose fitting slacks.
„Agnes please“, you whined at the contact, staring up at her through heavy lids. Heat was pooling in your stomach, you knew that your underwear must already be absolutely soaked, and you wanted nothing more than for her to just press her knee up against your core, to grind down against her until you were in tears from how good it would feel.
For a moment, she seemed to actually consider it. Then, she readjusted her position, sitting back up. At the loss of her closeness you almost cried out in frustration.
But her gaze was stern, so you didn’t dare to just yet.
„Arms up“, she instructed, eyes twinkling even in the dark at your eagerness.
You put your hands up over your head willingly, allowing her to quickly pull the knit sweater up and off, leaving you in just a thin black bralette, goosebumps rising on your skin. The moment the jumper was over your head, her lips found yours in a bruising kiss. One of her hands found your wrists and immediately pinned them over your head, the other one found your ribs, tips of her fingers running over your exposed skin. When you gasped at the contact, she took the opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, smirking against you at the mewl in the back of your throat. The muscle ran over your teeth, pushing your own tongue aside as she explored your mouth, claiming each and every inch as her own in the process. Her hand ran over the flimsy lace of your bralette, and the little squeeze to one of your breasts made you squeak into her mouth.
“Worked up already?“, her voice had dropped low, that mocking tone she loved to taunt you with. A thumb ran over the curve of your breast, self satisfaction painting her face when she found your nipple already hard peaking through the thin fabric. She ran her index and middle finger over it, pressing down right into the hard bud just once. Hot pleasure surged through your body and your chest pushed up into her touch, the mewl escaping your lips loud and desperate.
„You know“, her hand wandered further up, over your collarbone. The tip of her finger ran over it asshe licked her lips. Like she was already planning how to devour you, how she was going to paint your delicate skin in shades of purple.
She was watching the way you were trembling under her touch, trying so hard to stay still. Fingers wandered up your throat, finally clasping around your neck, her grip firm but not yet tight. Agnes leaned down, voice ghosting so close to your ear you could feel her lips move against it. „If you just wanted me to fuck you in the backseat, you could’ve just asked.“
A moment of silence. Then you felt the tip of her tongue dart out, running along the shell of your ear. Hot breath right against it. „Next time we can skip the entire dinner and just go straight to this.“
Finally, her legs shifted, her knee pushing between your thighs. Your legs parted willingly, mouth opening in a gasp. Her fingers tightened around your neck, and the mix of finally feeling something push up against your aching cunt and the sudden lack of oxygen made your head spin. Agnes knew how to make you melt into nothing but a boiling hot puddle beneath her.
Agnes’ voice was still right by your ear, though she was leaning towards your face now, watching every muscle shift in reaction to her touch.
„You think you can cum like this?“, she taunted, „With me merely touching you?“
You nodded frantically, eyes wide with eagerness. Agnes scoffed, „Didn’t take you for such a needy slut, but alright.“ Without warning, her knee pushed up hard against you, and the squeak you let out was high pitched and throaty, weak through her firm hold on your neck. The older woman raised her brows expectantly, „Show me, and maybe I‘ll fuck you properly after.“
There were lawyers of fabric between you, and it shouldn’t work as well as it did, but God, you could not get enough. Your underwear was soaked, sticking to your core, and if you rolled your hips just right, angled yourself with just the slightest arch of your back, your clit brushed against her knee just right. So that was exactly what you did, grinding down into her, trying desperately to push closer as she kept your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, and your throat tightly gripped by the other. Piercing blue eyes stared down at you, taking in every single rut of your hips, every gasping attention to grasp for air, the flush of your face, your eyes fluttering open and closed as you worked yourself against her, steady and unwavering even in your compromising position. It was a borderline pathetic sight, and she couldn’t get enough of it. She needed to watch you fall apart like this, needed you to come undone on the brink of consciousness. She needed to see you in absolute ruin, from barely any stimulation at all. So you did.
You lost your sense of orientation, no way to tell where was up and down. Stars danced before your eyes, black spots mixing in with them over the blurry view of her face hovering over you. Hot white, spots of black, bright blue. Your eyes fluttered shut, but the view remained. Hips pressing down hard against her knee, picking up their pace as much as you could. Or maybe the sudden flashes of almost painful pleasure just came naturally, you genuinely couldn’t tell. But the soaked cotton of your underwear rubbed against your aching clit, pulsating with want as you chased more and more of it.
„That’s it“, the only clear sensation flooding your mind was her voice, so close to your ear, ringing through your head, „You look absolutely wrecked, my love.“
Hot, wet lips against the shell of your ear. A moan tried to escape your throat, but no sound could make it past the vice grip she had on your throat.
You felt scathing hot beneath her, burning up from the inside out, pleasure overtaking every last nerve end of your body. Finally, it all came crashing down. Your core pressed against her knee, not even rutting against her anymore, just pushing up as close as you could as a wave of heated, explosive euphoria shot up your spine. Your body was shaking, there was no up or down, left or right. There were just colors dancing before your eyes as your mouth fell open, no scream able to push past her tight hold and the pulsating of your aching clit as the orgasm took over all of your senses.
The grip on your throat disappeared, and your lungs rapidly filled with air in a loud, deep groan. Agnes’ lips attached to the side of your neck, nipping and kissing along the reddened skin, feeling the deep, slow breaths you took as slowly, your vision cleared and you felt the cushions beneath you again.
She released your wrists still pinned to the car door over your head as well, and your hands immediately found her hair, tugging her up towards your lips. She kissed you softly, making sure you could still breathe through it.
You wanted to moan into it, her name right on your lips, but no sound could make it past your throat, the strain settling in. Agnes' tongue darted out against your bottom lip, and you let her enter, hands running down her front. Your fingers dug into the washed out fabric of her flannel shirt, pulling her closer by it. Your legs, still shaking from the ragged orgasm prior loosely wrapped around her hips, holding her as close to you as possible.
The kiss turned heated again, and you felt your sense of up and down slip away. But she pulled away before you could fully lose yourself in the feeling again, leaning back enough to take you in before her. Your neck raw and bruised, painted by choking marks from her hands, a few blooming kisses peppered between them, the ghosting remnants of her teeth against your jaw. She loved to paint you hers, the view of her mark on you unlocking a feral, deep lust in her, a need to claim you and your pleasure as hers. To let everyone who laid eyes upon you know that she was the one touching you, that she was willing to do anything to make you feel good. And the things she did to you, even in the back of your car in the middle of nowhere on a mid December night … it should embarrass you, but something inside you twisted the humiliation into fuel for the fire inside you. Your legs twitched.
„Agnes“, you managed to croak out, surprised by how hoarse your own voice was, the single word barely making it past your lips.
Her brow raised, „What?“
Instead of an answer, you just tilted your head back, lips parting. Your tongue darted out, flat as your gaze found hers, a silent plea. Agnes' eyes turned black, her fingers digging into your waist harder. But, of course, your wish was granted.
Agnes strained her neck, jaw tightening at the movement. She was leaning over you, dark eyes never breaking contact with yours as a single string of saliva left her lips, dropping right onto your waiting tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips closing around it as you savoured her spit like an expensive, rare fruit. With heavy eyes you stared at her from beneath your lashes as you swallowed, wincing at the slight pain the motion sent through your neck.
„Jesus fuck“, Agnes voice was low, nails digging into your waist, and your legs wrapped tighter around her at the sharp pain.
„If you could see yourself right now“, Agnes groaned, „So fucked out … and I haven’t even touched you yet.“
She surged back down, lips crashing into yours, and you managed to actually slip an audible moan past your throat this time, arms wrapping around her neck as you let her tongue lap into your mouth.
„Flip over“, she panted, words mere inches from your own lips, before propping herself up enough to give you some movement space, „On your hands and knees.“
Wriggling into the new position proved slightly difficult in the small space, but eventually you made it. On all fours, you cowered in front of her, Agnes forced to be halfway draped over your body with the low ceiling of the car. One hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against her before reaching up to brush your hair over your shoulder. Warm lips ghosted over the back of your neck, trailing downward between your shoulder blades.
„You okay?“, she grumbled, lips vibrating against your skin and you gave a quick nod.
Her lips attached to your back again, this time more urgently, sucking your skin between her teeth, the pain minimal but delicious.
Her other hand dove into your pants, brushing over your tailbone before dipping lower. She gave your ass a little squeeze, grunting into your neck at the feeling of your soft flesh in her palm. Her knuckles ran over your asshole on their way further down, and you jumped at the unexpected contact, making her chuckle.
„Now, now“, she just as much purred into your ear, „Don’t get greedy“, teeth nipped at your earlobe, „I‘m saving that one for another time.“
Your breath hitched, pushing back into her touch as her hand ran lower, down the curve of your ass and then finally, the tips of her fingers dipped between your folds.
She hissed at the contact feeling not just how hot you were but also the amount of slick that covered your core, absolutely soaking your underwear that she’d pushed past so easily.
„You are so wet“, she hummed, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot right below your ear, „How embarrassing.“
Her index and middle finger swirled around your entrance, collecting liquid pleasure along their way. Your hips bucked back into her touch almost all on their own, and you heard her tut.
„Don’t get impatient now.“
For a moment, her touch was gone, and all you felt was the stretch of your cotton panties as she pulled her hand away. The lining sat just over your clit, and maybe if you rolled your hips just right …
Agnes let out an evil little laugh. „God, you’re so fucking pathetic.“
And then, without any warning or preparation, she plunged right in. Two digits slid right inside with little to no resistance, and the sudden intrusion made you jump, the moan on your lips shaking your entire body.
„Agnes fuck!“
She did not waste any time easing you into it, thrusting into you at a rapid pace, her hips pressed firmly against your ass. Your fingers dug into the fabric of the car seat underneath you, back arched like a cat to take her as deep as possible.
Once she was sure your position was stable enough, her other hand let go of your waist. Before you knew it, her fist curled into your hair, yanking your head back. You yelped at the unexpected tug, gasping for air as a hot, tingling sensation slowly crept up your entire body.
Her fingers drilled into you mercilessly, other hand pulling your head back by your hair. The tug was harsh at your roots, a sharp pain shooting through your skull that mixed deliciously with the way her fingers brushed over your walls, sliding in and out with no resistance.
„Agnes“, you mewled, eyes rolling back in your skull. The fist in your hair gripped harder.
„What, slut?“, she spat, fingers never breaking their brutal rhythm.
„Please“, was all you managed to reply. But of course, that wasn’t enough.
„Please, what?“ Her tone was harsh, and if it wasn’t for her grip on your hair, your head would have fallen forward in frustration.
“Make me cum“, you groaned, throat burning. You pushed your hips down into her hand, your entire body shaking as her fingers brushed over that one spot that made you see stars. „Like that“, you rasped, not caring for your voice anymore, so lost in the mix of pain and pleasure, all you needed was to reach that peak, and then come crashing down rapidly.
And then you crashed. Her fingers drilled into you relentlessly, hitting the right spot with every thrust. The wet fabric of your panties still clung to your pulsating clit, and you could feel the way she pushed her own hips against the curve of your ass, felt her ragged breath against your back. For a moment, everything turned into singing, burning hot pleasure.
Your limbs gave out beneath you and you collapsed forward onto the seat. However, before your forehead could hit the car door right in front of you, Agnes' arm had wrapped around your waist already, interrupting your fall before gently laying you down on the cushions. Your breaths came ragged, panting loudly, throat still aching, your body numb from sheer overwhelming pleasure, tears stinging in your eyes.
But Agnes was right there. Her hand slipped out of your pants, running up your spine to brush your hair out of your face, a gentle kiss finding your cheek, arms wrapped around you firmly enough to keep you grounded, but not so tight that you could feel smothered. Slowly, your breath evened, craning your neck carefully, just enough to glance back at her.
„Fuck“, you sighed, sweat glistening on your brow.
Agnes chuckled. „What, you’re done already?“ Her hand brushed a few strands of hair from your forehead, stuck to the layer of sweat on your skin, „I thought you were gonna eat me out back here“
Still catching your breath, you shook your head at her. „Not after that I‘m not“, your voice was hoarse, throat still a little tight and you‘d definitely feel sore tomorrow morning. „I can barely breathe.“
Her thumb slid underneath your chin, tilting your face upwards to look directly at her. „Are you okay, darling? Did I go to hard?“
Slowly, as to not strain your neck any further, you shook your head. „I promise I‘d tell you if you did.“
Her eyes scanned your face for any signs of pain, but when all you did was give her a gentle smile, she nodded. „Let’s lay you down for a moment," she whispered, leaning forward. Her lips pressed against your forehead for a soft, lingering kiss, “I could use a breather myself.“
You were laying on your back, head in her lap, the blanket she kept in the back of the car for emergencies draped over your body, your hands holding one of hers, gently running your fingertips up and down her calloused palm. The movement came to a halt when she felt the metal of your ring brush against her skin, the rough edges of the little polished amethyst on the band. Her hand clasped around yours, warm skin against skin.
„We should pick a date soon“, she whispered suddenly, and your eyes fluttered open, already half asleep in your exhausted state.
„Hm?“
She leaned forward, nose brushing against the shell of your ear before pressing a single, small kiss to your cheek. „We should get married next summer“, she whispered, ponytail falling over her shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat.
„I‘ve already made you wait too long," Agnes murmured, forehead resting against yours.
You stretched your free arm over your head, blinking up at her, eyes bright in the half dark of the car.
„I‘d like that“, you whispered back, voice growing hoarse from the strain your earlier actions had put on your vocal cords. „Maybe Lilia could officiate. And we’d have a bonfire in the backyard. I‘d wear a flower crown. Jen could do my makeup.“ You sounded drowsy, half asleep but still smiling, the vision clear before your eyes, cheeks warm at the thought.
Agnes looked at you for a moment, and her face was soft. No crease on her forehead from constant frowning, no furrowed brows. Her lips were swollen from kissing you so hard, and they were slightly parted when she leaned in, a slow, gentle press of her lips against yours.
„I love you“, she murmured, and you felt her arms wrap tighter around you. „And promise we‘ll make our day the most special day it can be. But Jen is not touching my wife at my wedding. You’re beautiful as is. Jen should feel lucky that she’s invited.“ You rolled your eyes at her, pulling her into another kiss by the back of her neck. She let you, leaning down to brush her lips gently against yours.
The Radio played that stupid song again. This time, it made you smile, whether you wanted it to or not.
„Merry Christmas“, you whispered against her lips, and she pulled back in surprise. For a moment, she stared down at you in disbelief, like she was waiting for a punchline of some sort. But at your sheepish little grin, she just rolled her eyes with affection.
Chapter Summary: You wake to Agatha's unsettling yet impossibly grounding presence, unspoken questions threatening to unravel a fragile moment. And just like that, walls begin to crack.
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N (very long, sorryyy): I still can’t believe it, but here we are. After exactly one month since the last chapter was published, I’m officially back! I can’t promise the creative block I’ve been struggling with for When We Collide is completely gone, but I’m really trying, and I’m so happy to continue this story.
Before you dive in, I just want to take a moment to make a small dedication:
Over the past week, I’ve received an overwhelming amount of love and support that I never expected. Moots, strangers, and even anonymous readers stepped forward in the comments of my update posts on Tumblr or slid into my DMs to show their appreciation and encouragement. You know who you are. It’s because of all of you that, in just over 24 hours, I managed to write an entire chapter after being stuck for a whole month. You gave me an incredible boost of energy and motivation. So, this chapter is for you. To my moots, followers, and each dedicated reader of When We Collide. To everyone who messaged me privately or left a comment on a post or a fic. To those who, even without reaching out directly, have always supported me with their thoughts and good vibes, waiting patiently for an update and never abandoning this story. What you’ve done, and continue to do, for me is amazing. You’ve filled me with so much love and support, and I truly hope this chapter (and the ones to come—yes, they’re coming, hehe) can serve as a proper thank-you.
It’s true that writing should primarily be for yourself, but when you receive this kind of support and encouragement, it becomes something truly special to write for others too.
Let me know what you think of the chapter, and thank you from the bottom of my heart! 💜
PS: Spoiler—I literally felt my heart break while writing a certain piece of dialogue. Had to pause, pick up the pieces, and keep going. Sorry y’all, I couldn’t resist 💔
Chapter Index
Read on AO3
You stir awake to the faint glow of the early afternoon, the light filtering softly through the edges of the curtains. For a brief, suspended moment, your mind lingers in the haze of sleep, the kind where nothing feels quite real, and you’re not entirely sure where you are. Then the weight registers.
The warm, undeniable weight of someone pressed against you.
Your breath catches, your body locking in place as you become acutely, painfully aware of Agatha’s head resting on your shoulder.
Her dark hair brushes against your neck, faintly ticklish, while her arm lies draped across your waist.
You don’t dare move. Not even a twitch.
Every nerve in your body stands at attention, screaming for you to do something. But you lie there, frozen, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure it’ll wake her. The thought of turning your head to look at her fills you with a mixture of terror and curiosity, and you’re too paralyzed to face either.
You try—really try—to focus on the practicalities. How did this even happen? You’d climbed into bed hours ago, stiff as a board, determined to keep your distance. You’d stayed on your side, curled up awkwardly, staring at the wall like it held the answers to every question you were too afraid to ask.
But then sleep had come. Or at least something like it—a restless tangle of half-dreams and unconscious movements, shifting and turning under the weight of the night’s tension.
At some point, the gap between you must have closed. At some point, her arm must have found its way across you.
A thousand excuses rush through your mind, each more fragile than the last, as if rationalizing the moment could make the closeness disappear. But they all crumble, leaving behind one undeniable truth: you don’t want to move. Not really.
You tell yourself it’s fear. Fear of waking her. Fear of the look on her face if she realized the position you’re in. Confusion? Annoyance? Disgust? The thought twists your stomach into painful knots. But beneath the fear, another emotion lingers, quieter and far more dangerous.
It feels… good.
You hate how much you notice it, how your senses seem to betray you with every passing second. The softness of her hair brushing your neck, the heat of her body radiating against your side, the faint pressure of her arm resting on you—it all feels far too natural, far too easy, like some cruel joke the universe decided to play.
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to move, to shift, to put some distance between you. But your body doesn’t listen. You’re too hyper-aware of every tiny detail, of how close she is, of how safe she feels.
A shaky exhale escapes you, your chest rising just enough to disturb the delicate stillness between you. Agatha stirs slightly in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips as her arm tightens instinctively around you.
Your heart practically leaps into your throat.
You swallow hard, trying to convince yourself that this is normal. That there’s nothing strange or inappropriate about lying here like this. That it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just an accident, a coincidence. That’s all.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except it’s not.
Because no matter how much you want to believe that this is accidental, that she’s completely unaware, a small, traitorous part of you wonders what it would mean if she wasn’t.
You try to focus on the ceiling, on the faint creak of the house settling around you, on anything other than her. But it’s impossible. Because no matter how still you stay, no matter how hard you try to quiet your thoughts, Agatha’s presence fills every corner of the room—and every corner of you.
Your breath hitches as you finally, finally let yourself turn your head. It’s tentative at first, a small, hesitant shift of movement.
Your chin almost brushes her forehead, and the nearness of her—so close you could count the faint freckles scattered across her skin—leaves you utterly undone.
For a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The sight of her like this, her face so close to yours, is enough to send your thoughts spiraling.
Your gaze moves carefully, tracing her features as if each one might dissolve into smoke if you looked too quickly.
Sharp and soft. The words loop in your mind like a mantra, and you can’t stop staring. The sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones, the delicate curve of her lips—they blend danger and allure in a way that leaves you off-balance, like she was never meant to be anything less than both.
Your let your thoughts drift, unbidden, to what you know about her. And, perhaps more troubling, to what you don’t.
You’ve spent all your life in the same coven, shared the same spaces, breathed the same air, yet she’s always been distant. A figure just out of reach, admired and feared in equal measure by most.
You sift through your memories, trying to piece together fragments, to make sense of the person sprawled across you now.
Everyone has been speaking of Agatha’s power in hushed tones since you were children—the raw, unpredictable force of her magic. How it brims with potential but defies control. Even the older witches have always been wary of her, watching her like a storm poised on the horizon.
And then there’s the story. The one no one speaks of outright but that lingers in fragments, carried around by rumors and half-truths.
It was just over a couple of years ago. One of the daughters of your mother’s friends—a girl you barely knew, though her name still echoes through the village homes and halls—was found dead in the woods. Cold, lifeless. Drained.
The whispers said it was Agatha.
They claimed she had taken the girl’s power, siphoned it like a flame devouring a candlewick. That she left her there, alone in the woods, to die.
But that girl wasn’t just anyone. She was Agatha’s best friend.
The rumors painted it as a calculated act of power, a way to send a message and solidify her place as the rightful heir to the coven’s legacy. They said her magic demanded sacrifice, and she hadn’t hesitated to give one.
But that version of the story never sat right with you.
Even more so now, with Agatha asleep beside you, her head resting on your shoulder, her breathing slow and even in sleep. The idea of this Agatha—the Agatha who clings to you in her slumber—being the monster the rumors describe feels impossible to reconcile.
You’ve always wondered if there was more to the story. If the truth had been buried beneath layers of fear, jealousy, and Evanora’s carefully orchestrated manipulations.
Because if there’s one thing you know about Evanora Harkness, it’s that she’d burn the truth to ashes to protect her image.
The slow rise and fall of your chest brushes faintly against Agatha’s arm, jolting you back to the present. You exhale shakily, your gaze locking once again on her face.
She looks so… harmless. The thought slips into your mind unbidden, and you can’t stop yourself from clinging to it. Here, now, in your bed, tangled against you, she does look harmless. Innocent, even.
And yet… the stories remain. The danger, the sharpness, the fury—it’s still there, lurking just beneath her momentary serene exterior.
You should move. You really should. Break the moment, pull away, regain the distance you’re supposed to have. But you don’t. You can’t. Because for all the danger and mystery that surrounds Agatha Harkness, there’s something else, too.
Something that keeps you rooted in place, your gaze drinking her in, feeling her presence in every breath you take.
The stillness is interrupted by a faint shift. Agatha stirs against you, her body shifting slightly as her fingers twitch where her hand rests near your waist. Her breathing changes, no longer the even, steady rhythm of sleep but something shallower, more conscious.
You freeze, your own breath caught in your chest. Her head lifts just a fraction before settling again, her hair brushing against your neck in a way that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. For one agonizing moment, you wonder if she’ll pull away.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, Agatha lets out a soft exhale, her lashes fluttering as her eyes blink open, slow and heavy with sleep. There’s a beat—a single, suspended second where her gaze adjusts, flitting from the faint light of the room to you.
Her arm remains draped across your waist, though her fingers flex slightly, testing their place. Her lips twitch, just barely, into something resembling a smirk.
“Is this how you treat all your guests, or am I just special?” she murmurs, her voice husky and rough from sleep, the teasing lilt sharp enough to make your stomach flip.
The words pull you from your haze of panic into full-blown mortification, heat rising to your face as you open your mouth, then close it, scrambling for a response.
“You—you asked me to stay!” you stammer, your voice breaking as you shift just a little, glaring at her. “Don’t twist this into—”
Agatha cuts you off with an expression so faux-innocent you want to scream, her tone light but laced with mockery.
“Did I?” she muses, her brow quirking as though she’s genuinely pondering it. “Hmm. Doesn’t sound like me.”
Your jaw drops.
Your heart hasn’t stopped pounding since she stirred, and her smirk only makes it worse. The audacity, the smugness. She’s so calm, like waking up tangled together is just another morning for her.
For you? It’s a waking nightmare—or at least, that’s the excuse you cling to as you try to suppress the heat that is completely taking hold of your whole body. Your fists clench at your sides, and your frustration boils over.
“You did! You said—” you stop yourself, huffing in exasperation as her smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Ugh, you’re impossible.”
“And you’re far too fun to annoy.” she counters shifting slightly, her arm sliding away from your waist as she props herself up on one elbow.
You bite back another retort, your face burning as you turn your head to look anywhere but at her. She’s infuriating. Smug and sharp-tongued and—close. Too close.
The silence stretches for a beat, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down.
It doesn’t help that she’s still watching you, her gaze a quiet weight against your skin. You can feel it without looking—how her smirk lingers, how her eyes flicker between amusement and something unreadable.
She shifts again, finally breaking the silence.
“Well,” she says softly, her voice still carrying that teasing lilt, “if this is how you handle all your guests, I can’t imagine they stay very long.”
Your breath hitches, and you glance at her despite yourself, catching the faintest flicker of something beneath her grin. She’s teasing, sure—but there’s an edge to it, a quiet discomfort she’s trying to mask.
You huff again, crossing your arms and refusing to let her get the last word. “Maybe they don’t. But you did ask me to stay, so if you have complaints, take it up with yourself.”
Her grin softens slightly, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back a little, her hand brushing against the blanket as she rests her weight on her palm. Her gaze flickers briefly to the window, her expression almost thoughtful.
You watch her for a moment, your own irritation ebbing away as curiosity takes its place. She’s still infuriating, still impossible—but there’s something else, too. Something quieter.
You should let it go. The tension, the moment—it’s already too much and you both literally just woke up. But the question lodges itself in your throat, unspoken words buzzing like a swarm. You don’t even mean to say it. It just… slips out.
“What really happened that day?”
Agatha’s head tilts slightly, her eyes cutting back to yours in a sharp, measured motion.
“What?” she asks, her tone casual, but there’s a sudden wariness in her gaze, the edge of a blade being drawn.
You hesitate, regretting the words almost immediately, but it’s too late now.
“The girl.” you clarify, your voice quieter than you intended. “The one they say you… killed.”
The room seems to still, the air shifting as the words settle between you.
Agatha doesn’t move, her expression unreadable, but the flicker of something raw flashes behind her eyes—a shadow that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.
Her lips curve into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Really?” she drawls, leaning back slightly, the picture of feigned nonchalance. “That’s what you want to talk about? Here? Now?”
Your stomach twists at the sharpness of her tone, but you don’t look away.
“I just…” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I just want to know the truth.”
Agatha lets out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks away again.
“The truth…” she mutters, her voice low, almost mocking. “You’re the first person to actually ask me for it, you know?”
The words hit you like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless.
“Wait.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No one’s ever—?”
“No.” Agatha cuts in sharply, her tone laced with dry amusement that barely conceals the bitterness beneath.“Why would they? They already think they know. They don’t need my version.”
She scoffs, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk.
Your chest tightens painfully at the words, the weight of what she’s said settling over you like a heavy fog. If no one’s ever asked for her version of the story, if no one’s cared enough to hear the truth… then everything you’ve heard—the whispers, the rumors, the stories—might not be true. Or at least, not entirely.
Agatha’s gaze flickers back to you, piercing and unreadable, as if she can sense where your thoughts are heading.
“I know what they say.” she continues, her voice quieter now, colder. “Some of it’s lies, some of it’s not.”
Your breath catches, her words hanging between you like a challenge, daring you to press further. And you do.
“But if not all of it’s true…” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, “… then why?”
You hesitate, the question twisting in your chest before it finally escapes. “Why do you let them believe those things about you, hmm?”
That stops her cold.
Her gaze locks on you, her expression sharp and unyielding, but there’s something flickering beneath the surface—something fragile and dangerous and far too human.
For a moment, you swear you see something shatter behind the mask she wears so flawlessly. And when she finally speaks, her whispered answer tears through the silence like thunder.
“Because the truth is too awful.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at her. The rawness in her voice, the vulnerability she so desperately tries to hide, steals the breath from your lungs.
But you don’t back down. Not now.
“Maybe.” you say quietly, your voice softening but steady. “But I don’t think it’s worse than the lies, than the stories people tell.”
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease, but there’s something in her gaze—a flicker of hesitation, of consideration.
“You’re persistent.” she mutters, the edge returning to her voice, though it’s quieter now.
“And you’re exhausting.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual despite the knot in your chest tightening with every passing second. “But since it looks like we’re stuck together—and you’re literally in my bed—you might as well tell me.”
You know the truth, though: you’re not really stuck together. Agatha could leave anytime she wanted—she’s clever, resourceful, and probably already thought of four different ways to slip out unnoticed, if she needed or wanted to.
But you also suspect that getting Agatha Harkness to open up requires more than simple patience. She needs to feel cornered—not with malice, but with intent. She has to know that someone is paying attention, that someone cares enough to ask, and that walking away won’t make the questions disappear. So you hold her gaze, refusing to let the moment slip away.
Agatha exhales sharply, the sound laced with frustration as she rubs a hand over her face. For a long, agonizing moment, you think she might retreat entirely. But then her hand falls, and she looks at you again.
So, apparently, my writing brain is 90% smut and like… 10% fluff (shoutout to the ending of Friday Thoughts for carrying that lonely fluff torch.) But here’s the thing: I started wondering… would you guys be into some Agatha x Reader fluff? 👀
Since I seem physically incapable of not getting lost in deep descriptions and all the feelings (which is driving me fucking nuts), maybe fluffy fics could be a nice outlet for all my overly descriptive writing quirks?
SO, vote in the poll below and let me know your thoughts! And if you do want fluff, feel free to send some requests and ideas, because currently my notes are a smutty wasteland with no fluff in sight.
When will you continue with When We Collide? 🥺🥺🥺 it’s my favorite fanfic ever, I even made a playlist for it.
Awww, thank you so much for this ask! 🥺🥺 The fact that When We Collide is your favorite fic ever AND you made a playlist for it? I need a link to that playlist STAT—seriously, I might cry listening to it 😭💜
As for the fic, I promise it’s always on my mind. It’s my baby, my first fic in this fandom, and the one I care about the most. That said, creative block has been hitting hard lately, and I’ve been feeling quite lost trying to figure out what I like to write, how I like to write, and what the heck my “voice” even is. I started writing fics just a couple of months ago, so I’m still finding my footing—and the list of 20+ ideas/prompts I’ve got swirling in my head definitely isn’t helping 🙃
When We Collide has a way of taking on a life of its own, and sometimes it feels like I’m just along for the ride, wondering, “How did we get here? Where are we going next?”. I’ve been trying to start Chapter 14 for weeks now, but honestly, I’m so scared of messing it up that it’s been stopping me from actually writing, which is just… endlessly frustrating.
But knowing it means so much to you and others gives me so much motivation. Thank you for being so kind and patient, and for loving the story. I’ll do my best to shake off the nerves and get back to writing soon, promise 💜
Revenge and Reconciliation has me in an ooey gooey mess because Agatha is so soft in her own fucked up way, I don’t blame Reader for being weak for that manipulative sexy fucker.
I’d absolutely go for dinner with Agatha Harkness in the hopes that she’d provide the desert later
Don't even get my started on the chaos that is writing sub!Agatha, I love that fucker and I love writing her omggg
I don't blame reader either I would literally fold so fast my spine would probably snap lmao
I have been glued to my couch for the past not sure how many hours reading Friday Thoughts Chapters 1-4 and I should probably be productive but also, I can’t get enough. 🙃
Literally giggled and kicked my feet when I saw this message. Sorry not sorry that Friday Thoughts took a toll on your productivity lol buuuut you didn't mention the finale (chapter 5), hope that lived up to expectations too 💜
