d4rkhold

[d4rkhold]

blood set ablaze

Marilyn Thornhill x Fem!Reader

OVERVIEW:  After studying late into the night at the library and completely losing track of time, you realise you might have to wait a very long time to catch a train ride home. Luckily, your botanical professor, Marilyn Thornhill, also appears to still be on campus and offers you a ride home. Her act of kindness poses a question to you: what could you ever do to thank her?

WORD COUNT: 6.5k

WARNINGS: (18+ NSFW) heavy smut, praise kink, sub!reader, dom!marilyn, legal age gap, alternate universe - college/university, oral sex, fingering, orgasm denial, blood

A/N: After many, many months - I am finally back (with a very nasty fic)! I apologise for the long period of radio silence; life was quite busy these past few months and I completely forgot I had this piece in the drafts. Nevertheless, enjoy!

Your eyes widen at the spectacle in front of you; the auburn-haired woman’s eyes are fully blown, and her tongue darts out to lick at the blood on her lips. Something equally sinister and ravenous twists in your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s a good feeling or not, but you don’t have time to ponder the odd fervour that starts to contaminate your bloodstream because she suddenly surges in for another kiss, devouring you all over again.

All you can do is close your eyes and let your mouth find hers for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

— — — 

People say they like winter, but when it rolls around to the season of frost coating the tips of grass and shorter days of sunlight, they suddenly wish it was summer – or, more precisely, that they didn’t have to trudge through the freezing rain at night.

As you walk through campus, your hands are shoved in your coat pockets, clutching tightly at the inner fabric to stay warm. You were so caught up with your studies in the library that you didn’t realise how late it had become and how the stars had replaced the setting sun so quickly. 

The rain isn’t too heavy, but the air is a bit too cold for your liking. You had also forgotten to bring an umbrella and a warmer coat when you left your place, putting all your trust into the weather app on your phone – which had stated there would only be light rain in the afternoon and clear skies afterwards. Apparently, the weather decided to change its mind. 

On another note, it’s also the beginning of finals season, and you’ve been absolutely stressed from head to toe, leading to your nose being stuck in various textbooks during most of the day, every day. While your friends keep up with a balanced life, seamlessly juggling their social lives and academia, you find yourself wholly fixated on your studies, determined that you’ll be able to perform at your very best when you have to sit your exams.

You stop for a second to pull out your phone. The trains from Jericho frequently run during peak hours, such as, in the afternoon and in the evening when people finish work. But right now, it’s late at night, and you’re almost sure you’ll have to wait at least forty-five minutes for a ride home. 

Now it’s suddenly hitting you, that regret of deciding to stay so long in the library to study when you could've done all your work at home. The dampness of your hair, the shivering of your body, and the formidable darkness of the night sky fuel the feeling of regret so horribly well that it makes you mutter out an annoyed ‘fuck’ from your lips.

It doesn’t help that most of the trees on campus are terribly monstrous and old, having existed here way before the academy was even built. They crane over both sides of the large and endless cobble footpath, creating a scene that looks like something straight out of a gothic horror movie. 

The trees sway with the gentle wind and rain, causing branches to prod and clip at adjacent ones. You stand on the path under a leafless tree with your left hand shielding your phone from the rain, checking for the train timetable. 

You’re too busy scrolling on your phone and lost in thought to hear the sound of clicking footsteps in the rain approaching you from behind. It’s not until you stop feeling the droplets of rain hit your face, and a strange earthy saccharine scent fills your senses that you look up from your phone.

“Behind you,” a cheery voice muses out through the rain pattering on cobblestones. The tone of voice is a little ironic, considering how unsavoury the current weather is.

You turn around on the balls of your feet to meet a familiar face – perhaps a little too familiar – for you have tried to memorise the details of her face during lectures and put in extra hours of study to ensure you were always on top of things for that paper. Sometimes, you would sit at your desk in the middle of a study session at home and think of her and nothing else; thoughts of plant anatomy would digress into ones filled with an auburn-haired woman in denim overalls and hazel eyes that glowed behind wide-rimmed glasses. 

Marilyn Thornhill is your botany professor, and somehow she’s standing here with you in the dark, umbrella in one hand, shielding you both from the rain with an alluring smile on her lips. 

She’s always cheerful and passionate about everything. You can’t help but feel like a moth to a flame when she’s around; your eyes relentlessly follow her hand gestures while she speaks, drawn to her persistent positivity that you wished you had on your bad days.

“Professor Thornhill! Oh- hi!” Your fingers absentmindedly turn off your phone in a moment of surprise. “What are you still doing here?” 

Marilyn smiles warmly, despite the chilly air causing ears and fingertips to go cold. “I was going to ask you the same question, sweetheart.” She pushes up the glasses sitting on her nose bridge. “I was just marking papers in my office and running errands for Headmaster Weems.” 

The pet name sends a slight wave of heat across your collarbones, but you convince yourself it’s just your body’s physiological response to the cold. “Oh, cool,” you simply reply, afraid something stupid will slip from your lips.

“And how about you, Y/N?” She steps a little closer towards you to ensure her umbrella is keeping you dry. “I don’t know of any extracurriculars today that run until late,” she says lightly with a questionable look in her gaze.

“Oh, I was just studying in the library, and I kind of lost track of time,” you sheepishly smile and turn on your phone to check the time before turning it off again. 

She starts to snake an arm around the small of your back, and you suddenly find yourself walking with her in the rain. Your feet seem to be on autopilot as they walk in sync with her, the sound of two pairs of shoes clicking against the wet pavement, echoing off into the distance. 

Your body is starting to register the realness of her touch as the heart in your chest races slightly faster than usual. You don’t know exactly where the two of you are going, but you know you’re content with being in the older woman's presence.

It makes you wonder: when did you start crushing on the older woman? Was it when you first laid eyes on her during your first botany lecture? Was it during your laboratory sessions in the greenhouse where she’d squeeze your shoulder in encouragement when you were stuck with an experiment? Or was it, perhaps, when you would ask her questions after lectures, and she would look at you with a twinkle in her eyes, pleased that you were so invested in botany? 

Marilyn gently retracts her arm from your shoulder and breaks the silence. “Do you have a ride home? It’s terribly late, and I wouldn’t want you going home all by yourself.”

Your heart is about to jump out of your chest at her considerate words. “Oh, I’ll be okay; I’ve got a train to catch at the station that’s scheduled to depart soon.” you smile meekly at her, uncertain about the truth of your own words. 

She frowns at you, clearly unamused. “I don’t know how I feel about you walking alone to the station at night and in the pouring rain.” She stops walking and puts a hand on her hips. “Why don’t you let me drive you home?”

You laugh nervously. “Professor Thornhill, I don’t want to be a hassle for you,” you momentarily look down at your shoes and back up at her. “I’ll be fine. I’ve taken the train home many times at night before.” 

The woman before you tilts her head disapprovingly, clearly not having any of it. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s no hassle at all. It’s important that my students get home safely,” she says with a hint of firmness in her tone. 

You contemplate her words for a moment. “Okay, if you say so.” You give her an appreciative smile, and she gives one back and nods in acknowledgement.

You follow her to the staff car park, occasionally making small talk with the older woman about the weather, how lectures were today, and plans for the weekend. It’s no surprise when you find out that she’s planning to renovate her garden and read a biography about a famous horticulturist. You imagine her garden to be filled with life: exotic winter flowers and plants covering the place, a variety of colours spilling everywhere.

The two of you arrive at her car – a purple Volkswagen Beetle. She unlocks it, allowing you to get inside and sit yourself down. 

You fiddle with your fingers in the passenger seat of her car while your botany professor checks her mirrors. She notices your movements in her peripheral vision and asks what’s the matter.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” She doesn’t turn to look at you, but you find yourself immediately ceasing your movements. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. 

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “My hands are just a little bit numb from the cold, that’s all,” you lie.

Truthfully, you’re nervous about being alone and in such close proximity with the auburn-haired woman. You’ve always admired her from afar, yet here you are now, just an arm's length away from her, sitting in her car. 

Marilyn turns and unexpectedly goes to clasp her hands around your own hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel her soft, warm fingers wrap around yours, gently caressing your knuckles. Your mind is quick and cruel, conjuring an image of her hands situated around something else…

… The base of your neck, cradling it gently. Her fingers move to trace invisible lines from your jawline to your throat. Without wasting any time, her free hand begins to squeeze at your trachea gently, and you feel your airways constrict slightly. With wide eyes, you watch as she surges forward, about to replenish your oxygen with a kiss-

Your humiliating imagination doesn’t last long as you’re jerked back into reality by her voice. 

“Oh dear,” she pouts sympathetically. “You’re like ice! Don’t worry, I’ll get you home in no time so you can get all warmed up.”

And it’s over, just like that. She retracts her hands from yours and starts the ignition of her car. You find yourself missing her touch, biting the inside of your cheeks as you try to ignore a peculiar feeling beginning to brew within your chest.  

You give her directions to your place as she drives through the gates of the academy. Your elbow rests on the car door, supporting your chin as you stare out the window, watching the beads of rain run down the surface. Professor Thornhill has the radio playing at a low volume, where you can make out the sound of a violin and a piano chiming in a gentle rhythm – a classical piece you’ve never heard of before. 

“I never thought you’d be the type to listen to the orchestra,” you say with a hint of curiosity, eyes still following the droplets of rain. 

You’re too busy looking out the window to see the smirk that’s made its way onto the auburn-haired woman’s mouth. 

“I enjoy listening to a lot of things,” she hums.

— — —

“Well,” she says. You turn to look at the woman in the driver’s seat as she announces, “We’re finally here.” 

You resist the urge to tuck a stray piece of hair dangling near your eyes behind your ear. For a moment, the low sound of the car engine humming away is the only noise that fills the silence as the two of you sit, gazing off into the distance of the dimly lit street. 

“Thank you so much for driving me home. I really appreciate it, Professor Thornhill,” you say, turning your head to offer her a grateful smile. 

She gazes back at you through her glasses, almost as if she’s trying to study you. Her eyes roam – and she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s doing it. When her eyes drop to your lips for a split second, your brain doesn’t know if it’s your imagination or not.

She’s pushing her glasses up and looking right at you again, but this time with an indecipherable look. 

“It was no problem, sweetheart,” she says in a low gentle voice. “I’m satisfied that I definitely know you’re home safely and in one piece.” 

Your heart warms – truly grateful that she took the time and consideration to take you home. You’re so grateful that you don’t realise you’re suddenly spilling offers from your lips.

“Do– do you maybe want to just come inside for a glass of water or use the bathroom before you drive back to your place?” Your heart hammers against your rib cage after the words leave your lips. 

She lets out a light, appreciative laugh. “Oh, Y/N… How kind of you, but it’s quite late, and I don’t want to disrupt you from getting a good night’s rest.”

You finally tuck the loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, you wouldn’t be interfering with anything, and honestly, it’s the least I can do to repay you for taking me home.” 

Marilyn’s fingers find her keys in the ignition, and in one movement, the car’s engine stops. “You are sweet,” she pauses. “I won’t stay for long then.” 

The two of you climb out of her car, and you wait as she locks it. You begin to lead the way to the entrance of your place, hearing the sound of her footsteps following closely from behind. 

For some reason, there's a feeling in your gut that her eyes are burning into your back as you start to unlock your front door, yet you don’t know for sure. 

You don’t even know what you’re trying to achieve right now, inviting the professor you have a crush on into your place.

When you step inside and hold the door open for her, it earns you a smile that almost seems like a smirk, causing you to blush briefly. 

Her eyes roam the interior of your place, admiring how cosy it looks. “What a lovely place you have, Y/N. Do you live by yourself?”

You smile nervously. “Thanks, it was a team effort,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “I’m currently living with two other people. I think they’re at a party right now or something.” 

She hums in response, and you watch as she goes to adjust her glasses. “That’s lovely. Why aren’t you at the party with them?” 

“I thought I would leave partying until after exams are over and focus on studying.”

“Good girl.”

Your throat almost instantaneously goes dry at the praise. God. Nobody will ever understand the effect this woman has on you. How simple words that leave her lips can cause your heart to quicken; how she makes you feel like melting into a puddle with the quirk of a lip. Not even you will ever understand how she makes you feel this way. 

Not wanting the older woman to notice the state you’ve fallen into, you suddenly mention, “Oh, the bathroom is just down the hall and to the left if you need it.” 

She squeezes your bicep as a “thanks” before leaving you alone. You let out a breath – almost like a sigh – as the ghost of her touch lingers on your arm, and her sultry voice echoes in the forefront of your mind. 

You go to grab two glasses, fill them up with water and settle them down on the kitchen bench as you await for her to return. 

Hmm, you mumble to yourself. Your eyes dart to the couch and the coffee table across the room. You think it might be more comfortable for the two of you to sit there instead of standing at the kitchen island. It wouldn’t be very nice for your guest to remain on her feet, considering she must be tired from standing and pacing back and forth during her lectures today.

As you pick up the glasses and begin to walk over to the couch, you suddenly crash into something, causing you to drop one of the glasses onto the floor. Countless shards of glass scatter on impact, water droplets splash up onto your pants and pool onto the floor. 

Your eyes widen in shock when you realise you’ve just crashed into Marilyn as she was returning from the bathroom. 

“Professor Thornhill– oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?!”

You internally curse yourself at your clumsiness. It makes you want to dig your own grave right there on your kitchen floor. 

The older woman, though slightly taken aback by the sudden collision, remains calm, her face softening at the look of concern on your face. 

“It’s alright, Y/N. I’m perfectly fine,” she says with a reassuring smile. “Are you okay?” 

You look up at her and lock eyes, searching for any sign of distress. She doesn’t show any visible irritation – or anything of the sort – but your concern for the woman persists, guilt simmering in your throat at your own idiocy.

Marilyn notices your worry and goes to reach out a comforting hand, squeezing your arm. “Truly, I’m alright. I’m unharmed; please don’t worry.” 

You finally release a breath of slight relief, convinced that’s alright. “Okay,” you say gently. 

The floor is a mess: bits of broken glass and a pool of water where the two of you stand. Luckily, your clothes or hers aren’t too wet, just some splotches of water here and there. You decide to offer her if she wants a towel anyway. 

“Do you want a towel? I don’t want you to feel cold or anything.”

“I’m not too wet; it’s alright.” Your stomach shifts at her words as you think about something else entirely. “Thank you, though.”

The other glass is in your hands, still intact from the accident but is now almost empty. You bend down and place it on the floor and begin to pick up the large pieces of broken glass, not wanting to cause any more accidents. 

“You can sit down if you like, and I’ll get you another glass of water,” you say from the floor as you collect the shards. “I’m just going to clean this up quickly.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she lightly laughs and looks down at you. “I won’t let you clean this up by yourself.”

“Please, don’t worry! It’s absolutely fine- shit!” You let go of a piece of glass you had just picked up, blood suddenly oozing from a newly-formed cut on your fingers.

A look of worry is all over the older woman’s face, and she immediately bends down to your level on the floor. “Oh dear, are you alright?”

You hold out your bloodied hand before you and watch as she peers at your injury through her glasses before taking your hand into her own. She delicately turns your hand around to examine the severity of your injury. 

“It just stings a little… I’ll be alright; I have bandages and antiseptic somewhere in the cupboard,” you nervously chuckle as you notice that she’s still holding onto your hand. 

For some reason, you look at her eyes and see they’re dilating. Both of you are on the floor with hardly any distance between the two of you, with her holding your bleeding hand and you on your knees. Most people would not think twice about a situation like this, but for you, it sends your heart marching, becoming progressively quicker. 

She flicks her gaze up at you. The abruptness of the action makes you freeze like a deer in headlights, feeling like you’ve just been caught doing something wrong.

You suddenly realise what she begins to do, and it threatens to spin your head completely off your shoulders, like a screw coming off a hinge. 

She has the palm of your hand flat and open and goes to dip her head while you watch in shock as she begins to lick a stripe of blood from your fingers. You sit and stare as your chest rises and falls, feeling dizzy from the sight before you. 

She looks at you as she does it. Not for a single second does she look away, causing you to feel paralysed in place. You swear that you’re dreaming because this can’t be real. 

Unexpectedly, you feel a rush of heat sink to the bottom of your stomach, and you swallow thickly – a revelation of your own self-semblance slipping through your fingertips second by second. Her gesture feels like the strike of a match against the box. It’s bold. It’s so riveting. You don’t know what’s happening to you. You don’t know what she’s doing to you.  

This has to be some sort of ridiculous dream you’re having right now.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but mutter out loud. She hums when she hears the profanity escape from your lips, encouraging her even more because now she’s taking your forefinger and middle finger into her mouth, right up to your knuckles. 

You feel her tongue swirl around your digits and over the cut caused by the broken glass. A wave of arousal washes over you, making you close your eyes and breathe deeply. You don’t say a single word – you’re too lost for words. Even if you tried saying something, it’d probably come out incoherent.

Without warning, you feel her mouth retract from your fingers, prompting you to open your eyes. She leans forward, slowly licking her lips and chuckling at the wide-eyed expression on your face. 

“Why don’t we continue this somewhere else, sweetheart?” Her voice husks in the small space between the two of you. “We can deal with the mess later. It won’t be going anywhere.”

She stands up and holds out a hand to you. You take it, and she pulls you up from the ground. Your feet begin scrambling backwards to the couch, and she follows you at a close distance, almost like a fox backing her prey into a corner with nowhere to run to. 

You let her push you down, relishing in the way your back hits the soft material of the couch. She doesn’t waste any time and immediately straddles your hips with a smirk forming on her lips. 

Your fingers don’t seem to throb from the cut anymore, but now something else seems to be.

Marilyn hasn’t kissed you yet, but the neediness within you is almost reaching its threshold. A whine leaves your lips as she brings a hand to hold your jaw firmly.

“Please,” you breathlessly say, desperate for her to touch you – to do anything to you.  

She just chuckles and goes to take her glasses off. “Patience, Y/N.” 

You can’t help but sigh at the sight of her without her glasses. You’ve always seen her wearing them in lectures, and you have never seen her without them on. 

“God…” You breathe out in awe. 

She quickly transfers her weight and leans away to place her glasses on the coffee table. When she returns to you, she bites her lip at the look of desperation on your face. She runs a thumb over your cheek before lowering her face close to yours. 

And she surges in for the kill.

You think about everything and nothing all at once. It makes you wonder how you’ve been able to live this long without experiencing the pure feeling of Marilyn’s lips on yours and how her hot, wet tongue prods against your lips. You immediately grant her access as impatience and desire start to flow through your veins, spurring you on.

The feeling of her tongue in your mouth draws a groan from somewhere deep within your chest, and you feel absolutely wild. 

She kisses you like you’re something sweet. You can feel your tongue against hers, wet and hungry, kissing you messily without relenting. 

Your hands wander to the back of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer to you. The cut on your hand is long forgotten, now threading through auburn locks of hair.

Marilyn pulls away from your mouth and snakes around to your ear, where you can feel the soft skin of her cheek against yours. Her hand finds the collar of your shirt and tugs at it.

“I want you to take everything off, darling,” she husks into your ear before pulling away and getting off of you so you can comply.

You feel yourself grow wet at her words, heart beating so ferociously that you swear Marilyn can hear the pounding drums in your chest. 

The woman in the question gazes down at you, pupils dilating and dark as she watches your hands fumble for the hem of your shirt. You partially sit up, pulling the material over your head and dropping it carelessly on the floor somewhere.

You’re left topless in a simple black lace bra. Goosebumps begin to form on your skin, and you’re unsure if it’s because of the cold or how you see Marilyn subtly bite her bottom lip at the sight of you.

You let her eyes linger on your form for a moment before your hands glide down the plane of your stomach to the top of the waistband of your jeans. 

Her eyes follow the movement of your hands, waiting in anticipation for you to make the next move. However, something devious racks your mind, urging you to test the waters. 

You wonder what she would do if you, perhaps, mess around a little bit. 

Your fingers find the button of your jeans, toying with them slightly before popping them open. Immediately, you look at Marilyn to see her fiery gaze burning into you, waiting for you to continue. It sends a shiver down your spine. It feels thrilling to be seen like this. By her. By the woman that is Marilyn Thornhill.

Your fingers rest on the zipper, unmoving as you await a reaction from the other woman. 

“Oh, sweet girl, do you really think that is a good idea?”

“What do you mean?” You pretend to be confused by her words, fingers gently fiddling with the zipper.

“Sweetheart.” 

Oh, god. The sternness in her voice makes you feel more aroused, and you blink several times to maintain your composure. You remain unmoving but flash her another look of faux naivety. It appears that she has a short fuse.

“You’ll regret this later on. I’m going to make sure of it.” 

You don’t have time to say something witty back to her because she’s surging forward and clambering on top of you again, her mouth attacking the skin under your jaw. 

She sucks and nips gently, making you let out little gasps. It’s certain that she’s going to leave a mark on your skin; the mere thought of her doing such a thing causes you to groan. 

Marilyn smirks against your neck, proud of herself, knowing she’s making you feel this way. She kisses a wet trail from your neck to your throat and ends up in the valley between your breasts. 

Desperation causes you to slip a hand underneath your back to unclasp your bra. The other woman helps you take it off and tosses it somewhere behind her.

She rests on your lower stomach, leering at your exposed chest from above.

You feel yourself grow embarrassed, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides, wanting to cover yourself up. Marilyn must notice this because she brings a thumb to your lower lip and strokes it gently to soothe you.

“My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.” 

You blush and grow hot at her words, low and almost raspy, dripping from her lips like honey you could drink endlessly. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” she assures you. “I’m going to fuck you like crazy.”

You gasp as her hand goes to your left breast, fingers running over a nipple, causing you to flutter your eyelids at the feeling. She leans down and kisses you while she kneads your breast, her movements growing rougher with each second that passes by. 

Marilyn leaves your lips, causing you to whine in frustration. Her mouth then latches onto your breast, gently biting and sucking your soft skin. She repeats this with your other breast, causing you to release a breathy sigh, the sensation of her swirling tongue on your nipple becoming absolutely electrifying. 

The throbbing between your thighs grows, becoming almost unbearable. You’re a terribly impatient person; you won’t deny it. Unashamedly, you grab her free hand and trail it with yours down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans, a few of her fingers tucking slightly underneath the elastic. 

You give in, begging her to touch you as impatience sears through your body. “I can’t take it anymore. Please, Marilyn.” 

She raises an eyebrow at you and lets out a breathy laugh, amused. Her warm, lithe fingers remain unmoving at your waistband for a moment before she slips her hand out of your grasp to pull down your zipper so her hand can move more freely.

The older woman pulls out your own hand from your pants and replaces it with her own. Marilyn traces a finger over your clothed cunt, forcing you to bite back a moan. 

“You’re already soaked…” She murmurs, eyes flashing with amusement. 

You swallow thickly. The sensation of her touch has every inch of your skin on fire, your blood set ablaze.  

But it’s not enough.

You need more.

You try to wriggle out of your jeans. Marilyn notices this and helps you, tugging them off roughly, along with your underwear. 

The coolness of the air hits your sex, sending electricity through your spine. You're suddenly hyperaware that you’re lying naked underneath your botany professor, about to be fucked by her. 

She runs her fingers through your arousal, spreading it around your entrance gently. Without warning, she slips two fingers inside you, and you think: this is it; I’m going to die tonight. 

But for some reason, you’re certainly convinced that you’re more than willing to die at the hands of your botany professor; her hands that feed the Venus flytraps in the greenhouse; her hands that grip a textbook while she’s lecturing. You’re willing to lose every bit of yourself to her entirely.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you manage to breathe out, spreading your legs wider for her. 

“Oh, just you wait, sweet girl.” She’s starting to increase her pace, and you gasp loudly as she curls her fingers perfectly, in and out of you continuously. “I’m barely even started with you.” 

She picks up a brutal pace, coaxing soft moans from you with each thrust. It doesn’t take you long to feel the knot in your stomach tighten, prompting your heart to race even faster. 

“More, please- I think I’m going to-“

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she says cruelly, pulling her fingers out of you, causing you to cry out. She stands up and begins tearing off her clothing; your mind is trying to process what she’s just done. 

“You think you could tease me like you did before and get away with it?” She unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor. “I don’t think so.”

You simply watch silently as she undresses, dragging her underwear down her legs. She does it slowly and delicately, eyes fixed on you. Your eyes have a mind of their own, scanning her from top to bottom, slowly. Embarrassingly, more wetness leaks from your cunt, drooling down your thighs.

When she’s finished, she presses her exposed front to your own, lying on top of you as she begins to kiss you again. She kisses you sensually, tongue prodding the inside of your mouth. You moan into her mouth at the feeling – at the feeling of her mouth and her naked body on yours, warm skin against yours. 

Your arms encompass her body, pulling her impossibly closer to you. You absentmindedly dig your nails into the soft skin of her back, causing her to groan against your mouth. 

“Profess– Marilyn…” You whimper in between kisses before she suddenly stops. “Please, I’m sorry for teasing you before. I’ll- I’ll be good this time.” 

She leaves an inch of distance between your lips and hers for a split second, contemplating your words. Without warning, she goes to kiss you again.

This time it’s different; you feel like you’re being devoured by her. The thought causes you to groan into her mouth. She retaliates by biting your bottom lip – hard. 

You feel the skin split open and start to taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue. When she moans, you know she’s finally got a taste of it too. The kisses become sloppy, and you feel more wetness pool between your thighs as the two of you relish in the taste of blood and the heat of wet tongues colliding against each other like waves against the rocky shore. 

Marilyn goes to nip at the same area on your bottom lip again, certain for more blood to spill from the wound. You almost yelp out in pain and surprise; it never occurred to you that there lies a much darker side to her under all her cheery smiles and dignified praise in the classroom. 

She pulls away from you, leaving your chest heaving and your heart pounding at your ribcage. You feel how your bottom lip throbs from how hard she bit you. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you looked into a mirror and saw your lips swollen from kisses and bites and your face flushed, covered by a thin sheen of sweat.  

Your eyes widen at the spectacle in front of you; the auburn-haired woman’s eyes are fully blown, and her tongue darts out to lick at the blood on her lips. Something equally sinister and ravenous twists in your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s a good feeling or not, but you don’t have time to ponder the odd fervour that starts to contaminate your bloodstream because she suddenly surges in for another kiss, devouring you all over again.

All you can do is close your eyes and let your mouth find hers for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. 

Your nails dig into her bare shoulder as she kisses you, holding onto her for dear life. She kisses you rhythmically while you follow along, just as if she’s the conductor and you’re the orchestra at this very moment. 

It’s just like the music that was playing on the radio in her car – the sounds of pianos and strings intertwining, forming a melody both so delicate and ferocious at the same time. 

Her fingers trace down your side and between your thighs once more, fingertips briefly grazing the soft skin there before she drags a finger through your arousal and circles your clit. The action is familiar; you just hope she’ll finish you off this time. 

You’re panting as blood rushes to your ears and head, lost in the sensation of Marilyn’s touch. She plunges two fingers into your core and begins pumping in and out of you at an increasingly erratic pace while simultaneously rubbing that sensitive spot on your cunt, drawing mewls from you.

You feel something beginning to tighten in your stomach, hips buckling as you near the peak. The sounds of her fucking you fill the room, humility wavering in your mind temporarily before you decide that you don’t care about anything else right now. 

“I’m almost there,” you pant out, voice slightly hoarse from all the noises you've been making. 

She tsks. You want to cry as she denies you an orgasm for the second time. 

Marilyn stops touching you completely and doesn’t say a word; she leaves you with a bewildered look on your face, your mouth hanging open stupidly, whimpering in frustration. She flashes you a quick smirk, and you notice a bit of blood in the corner of her lips. You resist the urge to surge up to her and lick her lips clean of your own crimson sap. 

Before any words can leave your throat – pleading for her to continue, begging unashamedly – she slides down your body, grazing her fingertips along your frame. She doesn’t waste any time as she goes to lick one long stripe through your cunt before entering you with her tongue. 

A noise escapes your lips, breathy and high-pitched, almost like a hyena. Your hands fly to the older woman’s scalp to tug at her auburn locks, causing her to hum into your cunt, evident that your pleasure is also hers. 

Marilyn’s lips attach to your clit, and it doesn’t take that much for you to feel the knot in your stomach start to uncoil, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut as you arch your back and come into her mouth. Her name breathlessly leaves your lips like a desperate mantra you thought you would've never heard yourself say out loud until tonight.

You feel her tongue continue to attack at your core, even after you’ve came. Her pace doesn't falter, causing you to moan louder and louder. Soon after, you find yourself arching your back, muscles straining, coming once again. 

It takes you a moment to come down to earth, steadying your breathing after a moment of ecstasy. The older woman uses a thumb to rub gentle circles on your thigh. She sits up. Her hair is messy from you pulling at it, and some of your arousal is still on her lips, causing you to flush at the sight. 

She catches the way you stare at her, and she makes a show of slowly licking her lips. The gesture is erotic. It causes you to feel that familiar flame within you start up all over again. 

“Now.” She pauses. “I wonder what you would look like on your knees for me.”

You sit up on your elbows, watching Marilyn swing her legs around to sit on the couch properly. You realise you haven't spoken for a minute because she goes to tease you.

“Oh, sweetheart, has the cat got your tongue?” She looks at you, pouting with mock sympathy. 

You swallow thickly and shake your head in response. This was going to be a long, long night. You just hope your roommates decide to stay at the party until tomorrow morning. 

“That’s what I thought.” She smooths a hand over her thigh. “Now, why don’t you put that tongue of yours to good use?”

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #marilyn thornhill smut #wednesday 2022 #christina ricci #laurel gates #wednesday #wlw #wednesday netflix #marilyn thornhill x fem reader

[d4rkhold]

I have a new Marilyn fic that will be posted (hopefully) before next week… Sorry for my absence, it’s been a busy couple of months and I haven’t had the chance to finish off any of my drafts.

Anyways, see you all soon :)

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #wednesday 2022

[d4rkhold]

pt two of dionaea muscipula 🫣🫣

Hi there :)

To be honest I wasn’t too happy about that piece and so I don’t think I’ll be making a part two, sorry…

But the good news is, I’m working on a different Marilyn Thornhill x reader fic ;)

#asks #anon #dionaea muscipula

[d4rkhold]

dionaea muscipula

Marilyn Thornhill x Fem!Reader

OVERVIEW: You decide to work on your report at the library late into the evening. Your botantical professor, Marilyn Thornhill (who you also have a crush on), so happens to stumble upon you working in a quiet corner of the library. 

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

WARNINGS: (18+ MINORS PLEASE DNI) smut, mommy kink, praise kink, sub!reader, dom!marilyn, legal age gap, oral sex, fingering, semi-public sex

A/N: I apologise, my writing here is not the best… It was quite rushed I have to admit, so please excuse any mistakes

You open your notebook, searching for a passage you had written on carnivorous plants and how they feast on their prey. You were working on a lengthy report for your botanical class that was due at the end of this week. Normally, you were more organised than this; you usually finished your assignments a week before they were due because you had other commitments outside of school. However, the past week had been so hectic that it caused you to be off your usual tempo. 

It’s late in the evening, and you are tucked in a quiet little corner of the second floor of the Nevermore library. Shelves of books surround you like an army of trees in a forest, and the gentle glow from the lamp on the desk illuminates the small area where you’re sitting.

You turn your wrist to look at your watch. You didn't have much time left in the library as it was going to close up soon. It’s important that you get as much done with the precious time you have left in this quiet environment. 

As you continue to flicker back and forth through your notebooks and textbooks while simultaneously typing on your laptop, you swear you hear the sound of footsteps nearby. You turn your head around to see who is still here. It seems that there is one other person sitting on the opposite side of the floor you’re on, watching a YouTube video on their laptop. 

It didn't explain the sound of those footsteps, but it didn't bother you that much anymore, so you continued to work on your report. 

You type away, trying to get as much of your ideas onto the document as possible. You figure you’ll be able to tidy things up later.

As you’re finishing off a sentence, someone hums from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the proximity of the sound. You turn around to surprisingly see your botanical professor standing by the bookshelf closest to you, arms crossed.

“Well, well, Y/N. Aren't you a star student?” 

You couldn't lie to yourself — you found Marilyn Thornhill very attractive. Sometimes you'd just sit in class and listen to her voice and observe the way her hands would wildly flaunt around the place as she taught. She was an absolute spectacle. 

You were so easily drawn to her; she wouldn't have to say a thing to you or anything — but her sheer presence alone made you feel as if a magnet had you reeling towards her whenever she was in the same room as you. 

You would completely forget what you were supposed to be doing, consequently re-reading sentences that had no meaning to you at the moment or asking the person sitting next to you what page you were supposed to be on. 

She was different in a way — you could feel it. Not the fact that she was the only normie teacher at the academy, but there was an eerie aura that lingered around her when she wasn't around masses of students. 

Moments such as when you saw her from afar, sitting on a bench, writing in a small notebook; you would walk past her, and she’d look up at you, her lips curving into a strange smirk. Or when you had a question in mind and would go to the greenhouse to find her alone and feeding her plants, muttering things to herself (or possibly to her plants).

“Professor Thornhill… Sorry, you startled me a little bit.” You smile nervously at her. She apologises for her unexpected presence and walks over to the desk you are at.

She’s wearing a brown corduroy coat paired with a long dark navy skirt that has little patterns embroidered on. You always loved the outfits she wore; they always suited her so well. 

“Ah, yes,” she peers down at the various books and loose pieces of paper that lay in front of you. “I see you're doing the plants report. Very good.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the subtle praise, and your heart rate increases while she hovers by your side, just the two of you alone together in such close proximity. 

When she places a hand on the back of your chair to lean in closer to see your work better, you feel locks of red hair brush against your own hair. 

She crouches down a little, pointing out something she sees in a sentence you’ve written on your laptop. “Hmm… That section about the digestive cavity of the Dionaea muscipula seems a bit wordy.”

She suggests ideas to you on how to improve your writing for that part of your report. You nod your head while she speaks, fanatically jotting down the words that come out of her mouth onto paper. You then type it onto your laptop, according to her suggestions. Once you finish, you read it out loud to make sense of it.

“Oh, that sounds much better,” you grin. “Thank you so much, Ms Thornhill.”

You turn to look up at her but find that she’s already looking down at you. Behind wide-rimmed glasses, her brown eyes bore into your own, almost as if she’s attempting to search for something in your gaze. She leans in a little closer towards you to whisper something.

“Now, sweetheart. You don't have to be so formal with me outside of the classroom….”

Your body feels like it’s about to catch on fire. The older woman moves back, but you keep your gaze firmly on her, stumbling over your words.

“I’m sorry… Sorry, Ms- Profess- Marilyn…” 

A small smirk forms on her lips at your pathetic fumbling. She’s definitely amused now.

“I’ve been wondering,” she says as she clicks her tongue, “if there’s something you’ve ever wanted to tell me.” 

You furrow your brow in confusion at her words. To play it safe, you don’t reply and wait for her to explain further. The silence prompts her to continue.

“You know I don’t judge,” she muses out, and finally, the timer on the bomb strikes the final second. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me during class.”

And all of a sudden, your world freezes – or so you think it has, but your botanical teacher keeps going. You don’t even have time to digest the current situation or the words that casually keep coming out of her mouth.

“... You’re not very discreet, darling.” 

You swallow thickly; the humiliation of your professor knowing that you have a crush on her suddenly hits you like a train. Dying on the library floor feels quite desirable right now. You’ve always loved the library, so you figure it wouldn’t be such a bad final resting place.

“I-” you stutter out and whip your head around to see if the other person, who was also sitting on the floor, is still there. Gratefully, they had already left. 

”I just- I’m sorry-” 

She cuts you off. “First of all, don’t worry; I saw them leave a while ago.” She’s still looking at you, but her expression has changed to one that is terribly indecipherable. 

She moves in closer once again. “Second of all….” you watch her eyes drop to your lips.

“Don’t apologise for wanting the same thing as I do.”

Your heart suddenly feels like it’s stuck in your throat. All your semblance of self-control and calmness is starting to dissipate from your mind — you can feel it leave your grasp because you find your own gaze dropping to her lips. 

It's as if some invisible force is causing you to do the unthinkable. Because all of a sudden, you find yourself crashing your lips into hers, the heat of the moment a catalyst for your actions. 

After a few seconds, you realise she hasn’t kissed back yet, so you pull away, greatly embarrassed. Pillars of stone and cobble come crashing down in the back ends of your mind — all sense of certainty and confidence starts to slip through your fingertips just like that. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry- that was really stupid of me, I-” you panic and begin to gather your things from the desk. You had to get out of there immediately.

As you start to stand up with books in your arms, you suddenly feel your body being pushed against the desk. A gasp leaves your lips.

“Now… Not so fast,” Marilyn subtly smirks, taking the books from your hands and placing them back on the desk. As soon as they hit the table, your professor moves like lightning, flipping you around so that you're facing her. She doesn’t like to waste time, it seems. 

She hungrily surges at your lips, and it takes you a moment before you kiss back, wanting nothing more but to drown in the feeling of her soft lips against yours. You feel like you’re in a dream-like state: body on fire and lightheaded as you get high on the drug that is her – Marilyn Thornhill. 

The kiss is messy; desperation starts to consume the two of you, leaving no room for any decorum. You deepen the kiss, only to then feel her wet tongue snake its way inside your mouth. 

Marilyn pushes you further into the desk, causing you to moan inside her mouth. She grabs the back of your neck to steady herself before biting down on your lower lip and releasing it ever so slowly. She then pulls away slightly, leaving a small space between your lips and hers. 

Your breath is all quick and shallow; lungs greedily attempt to capture every bit of air they can get. Lips are already swollen, and sweat is already visible on skin — the two of you are barely getting started. 

The t-shirt you’re wearing gets yanked over your head, and all you can do is hold both of your hands up in the air to help her pull it off your arms. As soon as the material is free, it’s thrown carelessly onto the floor somewhere. 

She pecks at your lips, missing the taste of you already. You realise she’s still clothed, so you decide that needs to be changed.

Marilyn allows you to take off her coat, but when you go to unbutton her blouse, she grabs your wrist and tsks. You look at her, confused. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” she drawls. “Not yet. I want to take care of you first.”

You’re about to say something to her, but you’re cut short as her lips crash into yours once again. Her kiss is hungrier than the first time she kissed you. This one is all ferocity without any restraint. She’s not going to hold back anymore. 

She’s like an animal who's just been liberated from its cage and hasn’t hunted in a while. You enjoy feeling like prey to her — heart set in your stomach, beating frantically as you wait for her to strike and devour you bit by bit. 

Marilyn walks the two of you away from the desk, lips still locked on yours. She’s an excellent kisser and knows what she’s doing, so you just let her lead. Even just the mere thought of how experienced she probably is makes you even needier. 

Your back hits a bookshelf, and spines of textbooks dig into your skin as the older woman continues to ravage you. Her lips move down to suck and kiss the area around your collarbone. You let out a sigh at the feeling of her tongue on your skin.

Suddenly it hits you, and your body just stills at your realisation. 

You remember that the two of you are in the school library — a public space where anyone could still be lurking around the place. What if the librarian was putting some books away and happened to stumble upon the botanical professor making out with her student? 

Marilyn senses that something’s wrong, and she stops, detaching her mouth from your neck. It’s as if she can read your mind because she starts to reassure you.

“If you haven't noticed, it’s way past closing time,” she turns a wrist over and shows you the time. 

“But… Isn’t the librarian still here? The lights are still on, and the windows are still open,” you point out. Marilyn just grins with self-satisfaction.

“Well,” she whispers, “I told our lovely librarian earlier today that I was going to remain on school grounds until late, so I insisted that I would close up the library just for today.”

“It just so happens that you were here.” Her lips are now on the shell of your ear, teasing you. You suppress a moan; she hasn’t even touched you yet, and you're already all worked up. 

“Now,” she runs a hand down your cheek, “I need to know if you really want this or not.” 

Her thumb continues to caress your cheek as she patiently waits for your answer. 

You wet your lips before responding. “Yes, I want this. I need you.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Please, I need you so badly,” you breathe out. 

It’s all a bit surreal — this entire moment. You would’ve never guessed that you’d be pressed up against a bookshelf about to be fucked by your professor whom you have a crush on. You almost laugh at the mere thought of it until you feel fingers nudge at the entrance of your mouth. 

“Be good for me, won’t you, darling?”

You feel heat rush to your core at her words. Fuck, you thought to yourself. You nod your head and swallow thickly before she gets to work.

You allow her access into your mouth. She enters and you take the hint and start swirling your tongue around her lithe digits, moaning when your mouth is abruptly right up at her knuckles. 

It’s almost as if she’s starting to fuck your mouth with her two fingers, slowly and sensually rocking them back in forth while you simultaneously suck on them. 

You can see it in her eyes that she’s enjoying this as much as you are. Her eyes are fully blown, darkly clouded by lust and want. You wonder if your eyes are the same… What does your display of desperation look like to her?

Her breathing starts to get ragged at your movements around her fingers. Satisfied, she pulls them out slowly, and you watch as the spit from your mouth connects to her digits. Honestly, it might be the most erotic thing you've ever witnessed. 

“Please,” you pant out, starting to get impatient.

She looks at you and winks before her eyes dart down to the waistband of your pants. You think you understand what she wants, and you go to unbutton them — however — out of nowhere, a hand firmly grabs yours. 

She roughly yanks your hands above your own head, pinning them in place on the bookshelf. 

“Uh-uh.” Her eyes rake you up and down at your current position. “Let mommy do the work.”

She unbuttons your pants and nods at you to wriggle out of them, kicking them away from you once they're on your ankles. Marilyn sighs as she takes in the display that’s presented in front of her: you in black lace underwear, hands together above your head and a thin sheen of sweat covering your skin. 

“My gorgeous girl,” she briefly licks her lips as if she’s at a fine restaurant about to devour a five-star meal. 

Her hand goes to cup your clothed core, feeling some of your wetness having already seeped through the material. 

“Fuck…” she murmurs out. “So wet for mommy already.”

She starts to rub circles through your underwear. You bite your lip at the sensation. God, this woman is going to be the death of me, you think to yourself. 

Marilyn starts to speed up. Her eyes then flicker back up to yours. 

“How’s that, darling?” 

“Good,” you sigh out, “but I need more.”

“Oh, you need more?” She ceases her movements. “Greedy, aren't you?”

You whine, “I'm sorry- please….” 

A smirk forms on her lips, and her fingers start to move past the waistband of your underwear. She instantly feels your arousal on her fingers, causing her own underwear to become soaked. Her fingers work through your folds for a moment, and without warning, she enters you.

You bite down on your bottom lip, afraid that you might moan so loud that someone on campus is bound to hear. She starts to fuck you slowly, relishing in the gentle noises that start escaping from your lips. It feels so good, the way her fingers fit so perfectly in your cunt. You only now realise that your own fingers never feel this good — not even close. 

Her pace becomes too steady and slow for your own liking. You start to grow frustrated, knowing she’s purposely teasing you like this. 

You try rolling your hips, meeting her thrusts midway in an attempt to get more relief. She notices this and slows her pace down even more. You whine out in frustration. 

“Do you need something, sweet girl?” She pouts mockingly. You nod your head, and she cruelly coos back in response.

“Use your words.” 

“Fuck me harder- please, mommy,” you whine out. You never knew how desperate you could get until this very moment. 

She takes pity at your begging and begins to speed up. Her thrusts become rough and fast, and you no longer can contain the noises that emerge from your throat. To make it more difficult, her thumb finds your clit and starts working on it. 

Her mouth finds its way to your neck, attacking the skin and ensuring marks will be left once she’s finished. She wants you and everyone to know that you now belong to her. 

Usually, you would think that you’d be greatly humiliated by something like this: the sounds of your own loud moans and your wetness filling up a room that’s technically a public space.

“I’m so close- oh fuck!” You choke out. She lets go of your hands that are above your head.

You’re about to cum, but suddenly she stops and drops to her knees and drags your underwear off of you at the same time. 

“Not yet. I need to taste you before I let you cum.”

You feel yourself become more wet at her words, and not long after, you feel her pry your legs open, immediately bringing her head to your cunt. She slowly licks a stripe, wanting to taste every bit of your arousal and taking her time with you.

“Oh, fuck!” You twitch against the bookshelf. Instinct takes hold of you, and your hands fly to her auburn hair, tugging roughly, causing her to moan against your cunt. She’ll only allow you to do that just this one time. 

Marilyn keeps going, occasionally sucking on your clit, which earns a high-pitched noise from you. She sticks out her tongue inside your cunt, and you now find yourself deliciously riding her mouth.

It doesn't take long for you to feel that pleasurable sensation build up again. When she uses her thumb to rub at your clit, it becomes all stars in an instant. Your eyes feel like they're going to roll out the back of your head, and you have to steady yourself by grabbing a fistful of her hair much tighter than before. 

Yet, she doesn’t slow down even when you’re cumming right into her mouth. She hungrily licks up your arousal and then uses her fingers to fuck you through your orgasm. Your moans become broken and throaty, but to her, it becomes her new favourite melody. 

Soon, you're cumming for the second time, roughly throwing your head back once again. She slows down and gently pulls her fingers out when she thinks your breathing has slowed down. 

Marilyn rises slowly to her feet before languidly placing her fingers, which are covered in your arousal, into her mouth. She accentuates a groan and looks right into your eyes as she sucks her own fingers. 

She then pulls them out and licks her lips. “My good, good girl.”

Your hands latch onto her waist, and you pull her flush against your own body, kissing her passionately. You can faintly taste yourself on her lips, and it's enough to get you spurred up again.

“Now,” she holds the base of your chin in her hand, “get on your knees, darling.” 

She looks at the time on her other hand. “We still have some time left before I have to actually close up. Let’s see how fast you can make me cum.” 

God, this was going to be a very, very long evening.

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #wlw #wednesday netflix #wednesday 2022 #christina ricci #laurel gates #ms thornhill #marilyn thornhill smut #wednesday

[d4rkhold]

hey everyone! hope you all are well. i’m not dead; just popping in to say I’m working on my agatha fic and a marilyn thornhill one shot :)

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #wandavision #wednesday 2022

[d4rkhold]

oh god i just read times have(n´t) change the final chapter and im fucking sobbing, it was so gooooood and so heartbreaking

you are a really good writer i was trapped within the story, mesmerize

thank you for putting it out in the world♡ 

i am absolutely delighted to hear that you enjoyed it! thank you sm for your support and your lovely thoughts about my fic! 💜💜

#asks #geinobinarie #times have(n’t) changed

[d4rkhold]

times have(n't) changed - final chapter

A/N: Due to popular demand, here's a final/second chapter. Enjoy! :)

(If you haven’t read the first chapter, here’s the link: https://at.tumblr.com/d4rkhold/times-havent-changed/zo0fcwzdxokm)

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

Conductors of war know the consequences of treachery before they even pursue their battles. They understand that a single bullet can take down even the most skilled and strongest soldiers; it is just the meticulous calculation of the firing of a gun that determines if someone lives or dies. 

The blonde woman looked as if she had just crawled out from a battlefield; she didn’t know if she was living or dying at the moment. Her hair, usually done in a neat updo, was slightly out of place. Along with that, the expensive coat that she adored had the top three buttons recklessly undone, and wrinkles were quite visible on the material. In other circumstances, she would be furious, but right now, she frankly didn’t care.

At the moment, she looked to be in a terribly compromising position. She imagined the possibility of one of the teachers walking into her office with a query in mind, only to catch the headmistress and Wednesday Addams’ mother sharing a strange moment of intimacy in the dimly lit room. Getting caught would threaten the demise of Larissa’s career and everything she had worked so hard for. It could all disappear just like that. 

It was always like this, Larissa thought. Even after many, many years, she was still willing to risk everything for Morticia — still willing to throw away her efforts and achievements to receive even just the slightest attention from the woman with jet-black hair and pale skin. 

The headmistress of Nevermore academy sat in her great armchair with Morticia Addams in between her legs, tilting her chin upwards in a firm grip. Larissa felt the way long, and wet fingers clutched at her jaw, forcing her to gaze up at her former roommate. Morticia had been nothing but a tease for the past half an hour, using her fingers to prod the inside of Larissa’s wet mouth. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say, Larissa?” The words left Morticia’s lips in a husky tone, sending a shiver down the other woman’s spine. Quiet ambience rang throughout the spacious room, slowly becoming louder and louder with each passing second. 

Larissa tried to shake her head to answer the other woman’s question, but the grip on her jaw was so firm that she wasn’t able to convey her response freely. 

“Use your words, darling.” A slight smirk that was almost unnoticeable started to form on Morticia’s lips. 

The blonde opened her mouth to speak but hesitated at the last second. Did she want to humiliate herself further? Or was she already too far gone to even care what pathetic pleas and meek confessions would involuntarily spill from her mouth? 

She suddenly had an idea in mind. 

Morticia batted her eyelashes. “Do speak. I don’t really have all the time in the wo-“

And just like that, something shifted within the blonde — something almost carnal. She started to stand up as she gently tore Morticia’s grasp off her face. Her remarkable stature caused her to loom over the woman draped in all black, enforcing an unintentional domineering force between the two. However, the physique does not always reflect the mind or the situation. 

“When did you ever get so curious about me?” Larissa scrutinised the shorter woman. “From what I remember, you never looked my way.” 

Larissa took a few steps closer to Morticia. “I think times may have changed, dear,” Morticia remarked, gazing up at the blonde. “Or maybe you had never caught me looking your way.” 

It was almost like a dance: Larissa would take a few steps towards the other woman, only for Morticia to take a few steps backwards. Their strange little tango didn’t last very long as Morticia abruptly felt her back hit the wall of the fireplace. She basked in the contrast of cold and warmth: a pillar of frigid stone that nudged at her back and the latter being the heat of a warm body — which was her former roommate’s — being terribly close to her own. 

Larissa rested a hand against the wall next to Morticia’s head, relishing how the stone gently scored the surface of her palm. 

And it started up again — eyes locked on one another’s — desperation, competition and scrutiny all mixed into one heady tonic that lingered in the air between the two women. It seemed they could converse just by the mere glance of an eye or a bat of an eyelash. There was a silence that stretched for what felt like hours, neither of them daring to speak as they were both afraid to break the tension that was seemingly held by the world’s thinnest rope.

And what happened next was something the pair had not anticipated to occur. 

Larissa felt like she had dived into an ice hole. The unexpected move from the shorter woman made her entire body freeze up and her knees weak. The frigid water felt as if it was trying to engulf her whole while the cold sensation penetrated her skin relentlessly. 

Morticia, on the other hand, had also not expected herself to kiss the woman in front of her, but something magnetic and palpable had drawn her to envelope the taller woman’s mouth with her own. 

It wasn’t long before both women started getting used to uncharted waters. They wasted no time; mouths became desperate as if they were both underwater, exchanging oxygen and sharing raspy breaths to keep one another alive. Larissa and Morticia knew how to swim (they used to swim competitively back in their Nevermore days), but presently, the pair felt as if they would be willing to drown in something intoxicating and slightly daunting. Neither of them could figure out what was laced in the waters.

Larissa deepened the kiss and felt Morticia’s hand grasp her chin to pull her closer. The taller woman shoved it away, only to do the same to Morticia seconds later — roughly grabbing the base of her jaw to kiss her harder. Larissa wanted to be in control; she would not settle for second place this time. 

Morticia bit Larissa’s bottom lip, causing the blonde to hold back a groan from emerging from her throat. She wouldn’t allow Morticia to see her weak and longing for her; it would completely throw her off the boat. For once, she wanted Morticia to succumb to second place, almost as if it were a pathetic fantasy of hers.  A fantasy that she would’ve spent time cultivating at the back of her mind during days that were slow and tedious but were now being brought to reality. 

The desire fuelled something almost bloodthirsty and needy within her, causing the headmistress to ferociously bite back at Morticia’s bottom lip, ensuring they’d be swollen later on. Morticia let out a breathy moan and drew back slightly as she tried to catch her breath. She couldn’t lie to herself; she was surprised at Larissa’s sudden act of defiance. 

When Morticia received a message from the principal of Nevermore saying her daughter was underperforming in some of her classes, it was laughable. Now that she thought about it, she could have sent a simple letter back to the school denying the claims and telling them, specifically Larissa, that she would not waste a journey for such ridicule. But the truth was, she wanted to see her former roommate after the many years that had crawled past. She also had been contemplating telling the other woman about important news that could be detrimental — more or less. 

Their lips were only inches apart from each other. Larissa swore she could have tasted it in the air of the room, almost certain that the nearing of her own victory was almost on the tip of her tongue. 

“My dear Larissa, stop for a second. Please.” Morticia almost whispered, suddenly remembering why she came here in the first place. 

Larissa felt taken aback. She was about to ask if she had done anything wrong, but Morticia was not finished. 

In a quiet voice, Morticia spoke, “I have something important to tell you.” She maintained eye contact with the taller woman and attempted to straighten her back against the wall of the fireplace.  

“My daughter recently notified me about a terrible vision she had.” Larissa narrowed her eyes, completely lost with where Morticia was going with this. Why would she suddenly bring up her daughter now — at this very moment? Isn’t this a little bit unnecessary and inappropriate for our current situation? Larissa thought to herself. 

“Larissa, you were in her vision.” Her chest started to heave again. The blonde listened to her with the most stoic semblance.

“She said that something bad was going to happen to you and your life would be at risk. I knew you were being ridiculous about Wednesday and her academic situation, but I just had to come and tell you about that,” she continued. 

“You have to understand… If we continued and the vision was true, I would not be able to live with myself,” Morticia steadied her breathing. I don’t want memories of your scent, your blonde hair, your lips etched into my mind, she thought to herself. 

“I don’t want memories of us to haunt me, Larissa,” she finished.

If one could see the last words that Morticia had just spoken physically, they’d be able to see how the individual letters of each word quivered as they flowed out of the raven-haired woman’s mouth. 

It was unnerving how Larissa suddenly threw her head back in a fit of laughter. Morticia slightly flinched beneath her, confused with her reaction to the news she had just delivered to her. 

“You’re acting as if my death is absolutely certain, Addams.” Larissa tore her arm away from the wall and shook her head in disbelief. “Something bad always needs to happen to me. Doesn’t it, Addams?” 

Morticia opened her mouth and attempted to speak but was immediately cut off. “And nothing bad ever happens to you.” Larissa turned her head away from the other woman and strode back towards her desk. She would never admit it out loud, but her outburst of irritation slightly involved the fact that she didn't get to finish avenging her past demons.

“Larissa, that is not true.” The headmistress scoffed and started to rub her temples. Morticia couldn’t see the expression on Larissa’s face as her back was still turned. 

“So, you’re telling me whatever just happened between us was a mistake and wasn’t your initial intention at all?” 

Larissa waited for the other woman to respond to her question — yet deep down, she knew what the answer was going to be. Perhaps, both of them already knew what the answer was. 

But it never came. 

Instead, Larissa was met by the tender contact of her arm. She felt the way gentle fingers squeezed the material of her sleeve. Morticia had pushed off the wall and made her way to where the blonde stood. Larissa kept her gaze down, staring at the swirls of oak that embellished her desk. 

“Things never change for us — for you and me,” Larissa muttered quietly, almost as if she was speaking to herself. She would not bring herself to look at Morticia or the grip on her arm. 

There were a few minutes of silence that hung almost sourly in the air. 

“If I apologised, I dare say you wouldn’t accept it…” 

“Witty as always, Addams.” Larissa almost sneered. 

-----

The next time Morticia was in Larissa’s office was when she picked up her daughter for semester break. She sent Wednesday to the car, telling her that she just wanted to reminisce about her old school by herself for a little while. 

She stood alone in the vast room. It was almost humiliating how they decided to drape plastic sheets over her exquisite furniture and put her belongings in ugly beige cardboard boxes, which were stacked in a far corner of her office. 

Their family was notified by a letter one evening; Morticia couldn’t recall the exact day when they received news of the death of Nevermore’s headmistress. The messenger had held out the letter in an outstretched arm, and splotches of rain were visible on the envelope. The message was still readable, even though some of the ink was smudged. 

She wondered if Larissa had tried to prevent her death in any way or if she simply disregarded the vision and decided to continue her life as if everything was almost normal. 

Morticia slowly made her way towards the centre of the room. She ran her eyes over the two beautiful chandeliers that hung from the ceiling near the headmistress’ desk and the intricate patterns that decorated the walls and arches. She knew the fireplace was to her left, but she did not turn her head to look at it. She even had to resist the urge to side-eye it; she couldn’t allow memories from that night to re-emerge and find residency in the back of her mind. 

Deep down, Morticia wondered if Larissa had taken some of those memories with her to the grave. She pictured Larissa on her deathbed, packing bags in her mind, throwing memories into each one before her time was up. 

Morticia still forbade herself a single look. So she did what she had to do:

She pretended that it had never happened. She pretended that the scent of the entire office was foreign and didn’t have traces of a woman she once knew. She pretended that everything was just one ridiculous livid dream.

Her resilience, in a way, was a buoy for her. That’s why she’s never sunk before; she just perseveres and carries on swimming because she knows that things could have been worse. 

But now, there was an unfamiliar pang in her chest that seemed to throb simultaneously with each breath she took. It seemed that the buoy was slipping from her fingers for the first time in her life. 

Perhaps, memories of that night weren't the only thing Larissa had taken to the grave with her; it could have been that she had also managed to take the gold medal from Morticia and slip it around her own neck as well.

It could be that times have finally changed.

#wednesday 2022 #morticia addams #larissa weems #principal weems #wednesday #wednesday netflix #morticia x larissa #morticia addams x larissa weems #morissa #catherine zeta-jones #gwendoline christie #wlw #larissa x morticia

[d4rkhold]

times have(n't) changed

Link to the second/final chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/d4rkhold/706693383516749824

OVERVIEW: Larissa has something she'd like to ask Morticia after all those years since they went to Nevermore together.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

“Do you care to truthfully explain why I’m here?” She studied her nails which were black and glossy, just like her long hair that cascaded down to her lower back. 

Larissa had her hands clasped together on the surface of her empty desk, which was usually cluttered with paperwork and letters. Her former roommate sat on the other side, wearing a dress that was dark as night with a plunging neckline that was almost a little bit improper to show off when visiting a school. 

“Were you always this inquisitive, Addams?” Larissa raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall that you were.” She leered at the woman who sat across from her. Her large brown oak desk separated the two of them like a barricade between two worlds — a trifling contrast between the light and the dark, each respective one in a contest against the other to see who could fill the room up with their presence first. 

Morticia neatly placed both of her hands on top of her knees and allowed a subtle smirk to form on her lips. “Times have changed, darling.” Larissa pursed her lips in response. 

“Now do tell. I don’t have all day.” Morticia suddenly spoke sternly. “Sending us a letter saying that Wednesday was failing some of her classes was almost laughable. My daughter is an excellent student; she doesn’t fail.” 

“Fine.” The blonde woman straightened her back and kept her gaze firm on the woman sitting opposite her. “Do you remember the week during the Rave’n when we went to school together?”

“Larissa, I don’t have time for taking trips down memory lane. You are ridiculous.” The raven-haired woman stood up abruptly, chest slightly heaving as a result of her annoyance towards the other woman’s blatant attempt at reminiscing.

She wondered where Larissa was going with this. Could it be? Did she know the truth about what happened that night? What if she knew it was actually her who had killed Garett Gates and not Gomez? If she knew the truth, who knew what sort of blackmail she could have against her? The Addams family already had many eyebrows raised at them for their “unusual” and “weird” behaviours, but having a scandal that was buried almost 30 years ago, come back to haunt them would be troubling to have in the present. 

When Morticia did not speak, the blonde carried on. “I always wondered if you would have said yes to me if I wasn’t so slow and meek that week.” 

Morticia tilted her head in confusion and opened her mouth to question the other woman, but Larissa had simply held up a finger, gesturing to the woman not to speak just yet. 

“What I mean is,” She cleared her throat. “If I had asked you before Gomez did….” Larissa trailed off, hoping that Morticia now understood what she was referring to. 

Morticia stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity. The only noise that could be heard in the principal’s office was the crackling of the fireplace and the gentle gusts of wind that tapped against the window occasionally. 

The lack of speech, of reprimanding — of anything, in that very moment, made Larissa suddenly regret being so vulnerable to the other woman. At present, she wished she could just dissolve into sweat and blood to seep through the cracks of the floor where she wouldn’t have to wait for a response from her former roommate. 

No one spoke — not even the principal, who was suffering in the silence. She feared she had reached her limit of allowing such words to come out of her mouth. Such a price to pay for my own insolence, Larissa thought to herself. 

Morticia slowly rounded to the side where the blonde was sitting. Larissa’s eyes tracked her every movement as the woman gracefully moved towards her. She had lost count of how long the silence had infected the air in the vast office of hers they were in. It was almost starting to choke her. 

She stood in front of the blonde and allowed her right hand to rest outstretched on the oak desk. The proximity between the two women was not inappropriate, but it was close enough for Larissa to have the air in her chest temporarily freeze. Morticia stood there, looming over Nevermore’s principal with a curious look in her eyes. 

Dark brown irises bore into blue; there was a moment of almost ‘unfamiliarity’ that lingered while the two women looked at each other as if they were trying to search for a door that led to the past where they would both find familiar ground.

From Larissa’s angle, she noted how the luminescent licks of flames from the fireplace outlined the gentle curves of the woman standing in front of her. The floodgates in her mind had failed,  and improper thoughts of her and Morticia swam to the surface; it was as if she were a teenager again, unavailingly longing for the dark-haired woman. 

Larissa sat unmoving while her fingers twitched on the armrests of the chair. A thought spurred into her mind: her pulling the other woman into her lap. She resisted the urge to act on such an intrusive thought. How appropriate of you, Weems, she scolded herself in thought. 

However, Morticia could read the woman below her like an open book — she was always able to — even back in the day. She had known if Larissa was lying or hiding a secret; they co-existed together for many years, and it was hard not to know each other almost inside and out. Or alternatively, it could’ve just been that Larissa was never any good at concealing her emotions. 

Morticia brought a hand to Larissa’s face, gently raking her long nails against her soft skin. She could tell that the woman below was trying so hard to appear strong and unmoved by the gesture, but sometimes, even the strongest soldiers were defeated. 

The ‘strongest’ does not always mean that something can’t be broken. It just takes relatively more time and effort to tear down — and Morticia prided herself in being good at doing that. 

“My dear, Larissa.” Morticia’s voice almost dropped to a low whisper. “Is this what you’ve been longing for?” Larissa’s eyes widened in shock at her words.

Morticia threw her head back and brutally laughed. “I mean, for closure, that is.” 

Larissa parted her lips as if she was about to respond but suddenly felt something rest on her bottom lip. Her chest started to heave at twice the pace it was before. 

Morticia’s thumb had snaked its way onto the blonde’s mouth, her pale digit basking on red lipstick. The two women had not broken eye contact; it was almost as if they were competing to see who would surrender first. 

When they went to school together, Larissa felt she was always in Morticia’s shadow. She felt as if she was constantly competing against the other woman, but no matter her efforts, she would always end up in second place. 

Larissa gazed darkly at the woman above her, parting her lips more to allow Morticia’s digit greater entrance into her mouth. 

It seems that times don’t really change after all. 

#wednesday #morticia addams #larissa weems #wednesday 2022 #morticia x larissa #morticia addams x larissa weems #morissa #wednesday netflix #catherine zeta-jones #gwendoline christie #larissa x morticia

[d4rkhold]

the quietest crescendo (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2

CHAPTER OVERVIEW: Your feelings for your new piano tutor are becoming more intense, and the tension between the two of you starts to grow. You have your first lesson with her today.  

WORD COUNT: 4.6k 

WARNINGS: None in this chapter.

A/N: I deeply apologise for taking many months to post this chapter... I was stressed with exams and other uni stuff - it was not a fun time. I hope you all enjoy this chapter (and I assure you it won't take 500 years for me to put out Chapter 3). Many thanks to the two new people that beta-read some parts of this chapter. Lots of love for those guys!! 

[Also my musical knowledge is not super good, so please excuse any parts that don't make sense...]

“Oh, I enjoyed that one.” You said with a polite smile as you placed the receipt on top of the book. “I think it’s one of my favourite books I’ve read this year.” The customer — a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties with sandy-brown hair, thanked you gratefully and said that he was looking forward to reading his new purchase before leaving the store. 

It was usually quiet like this on a Saturday morning; Friday night party-goers were probably hungover, and sleep-deprived students were catching up on all the few precious hours of sleep they could get. The bookstore you’ve worked at for the past year and a half was a ten-minute walk from your apartment and wasn’t too far from campus either. It looked sorely out of place compared to its neighbouring stores of fluorescent lights and bright colours that grabbed one’s attention from afar. Whereas the bookstore stood humble on the street with its ivy-coloured paint on senile bricks and a display window showing a handful of novels under this month’s theme, which was murder mysteries. If one entered the store, they would suddenly be subjected to the chorus of the brown hues of the wooden floorboards and shelves that reached the ceiling — stacked with an abundance of books of countless genres. 

You enjoyed your job — apart from the fact that you had to start early on some days when you would’ve very much preferred to be sleeping in. And unfortunately, today was one of those days.

“Y/N, are you able to do me a favour?” John Collins, your boss, called out from across the store. He appeared to be restocking the classical literature shelves. You walked over to him, rubbing your eyes as you saw the boxes of books by his feet. The word “CLASSICAL” was scribbled in big red letters on all of them. 

“Of course. What’s up?” You watched as he opened a box which revealed a dozen books neatly packed together. 

“Are you able to close up on Monday evening? I know it’s not your usual shift, but Sam says his parents are visiting from overseas for a few days and wants to know if someone could cover his shift.”

You told him that you would be more than happy to close up on Monday. The bookstore was one of your favourite places. When you first got the job, you weren’t surprised at how quickly you fell in love with it, and you knew you would never get sick of being surrounded by the copious amount of colourful spines on wooden shelves. Mr Collins was also a cordial boss, which you were incredibly grateful for, as in the past you did have a few bosses that would make you slightly dread going to work. Mr Collins gave his employees an awfully generous discount that made you question if he was actually allowed to do that. Well, you couldn’t complain as it encouraged you to bring home a new book with you every week.

---

The weekend had gone by quite quickly, and it was already Monday, and you were back in the bookstore after finishing your lectures for the day. Monday evenings were your shortest shift, but today you had to work until closing time. This evening, you were placing price tags on some new books that the store had received earlier today.

The sun was starting to go down, hurrying to trade places with the moon, afraid it would be left behind in the night sky. You found it quite lovely that Mr Collins allowed the shop to stay open until late into the evening. It added a nice touch to the atmosphere, making the whole book-shopping experience more serene.  

Cross-legged on the floor, you ran a hand over the cover of the book in your hands before placing a price tag on it and adding it to the stack next to you. The shop door opened; however, you looked up just a beat too late, only catching the fabric of a dark-coloured coat drifting behind a bookshelf near the front of the store. Maybe you might ask if they needed any help finding a particular book.

You were just about to place the price tag on the last novel you had to do for the horror shelf and find whoever had entered the store when you suddenly heard a low hum from behind you. 

“What a pleasant surprise this is….” A familiar voice caused you to cease your actions, causing a sticker reading “£12” to linger on the tip of your forefinger, frozen in time just like you were at that moment. When you turned around and looked up, you were suddenly reminded of the weight those cerulean-blue eyes held as they gazed down at you.

Agatha Harkness was there, and she loomed over you like a lamp post that flickered in its luminescence during the ungodly hours of the night. You crouched there on the ground in silence for what felt like ages — like a worshipper at the altar of God, gathering and preparing their thoughts before a prayer. But you knew a follower of God would most likely feel a sense of serenity as they prayed to a holy being — whereas you, on the other hand, felt an unruly knot of fire starting to coil in the pit of your stomach at the very sight of the woman who you had consecrated in the back of your mind.

Oh, how oblivious you were to the Devil as he shuffled his deck of cards, observing the game with a smug look plastered on his face. It seemed that he had nothing better to do these days.

Today, Agatha was wearing a dark purple coat and a cream-coloured scarf which was draped around her neck several times. You contemplated how good the colour purple looked on her and noted the traces of sweet lavender essence that filled your senses when she was near.

“Professor Harkness… What brings you here?” A small curve formed on her lips at your formalness. 

Perhaps you had forgotten how to stand up at that moment — or that your nervousness had tied you to the ground below your feet, relentless in not letting you go. This is how you felt around the woman — entrapped and enticed by her being; a prison where you would willingly stay, a key you were happy to lock the door with and swallow it whole afterwards. She fuelled a strange feeling in you — a cryptic ache in your stomach you could not decipher every time she looked at you. 

“I had finished work for the day a little bit earlier than I had anticipated and decided to take a stroll through the city.” She turned her head towards the front of the store, and you watched as the remaining fragments of sunlight trickled onto her face and cascading brown hair. The older woman then turned her attention back onto you. “I then happened to stumble upon a bookstore that was still open during this time of the day.”

You chuckled nervously, meeting her gaze. “Yeah, it is a bit strange that we’re still open at a time like this. But I think it’s really nice to be in a bookstore while the sun goes down in the background. It’s really beautiful.”

She hummed in agreement, her eyes never leaving yours.

You looked away and found yourself checking your watch for the time in an attempt to escape being subjected to Agatha’s fiery blue-eyed gaze any longer, despite craving it so much. You feared that the longer her eyes were set on you, the faster she would scratch the surface of your composed façade and read your mind of the thoughts you had of her.

“What time do you finish tonight, dear?” You embarrassingly realised that the price tag was still on your fingertip, which caused you to quickly place it on the book's cover and settle it onto the pile near your side. You rechecked your watch as if you hadn’t just checked it a minute ago. “In about 15 minutes.”

As you rose to your feet, you looked at the ground as if it was so interesting all of a sudden. “And it looks like I have to start closing up.”

“Do you mind if I keep you company?” Your eyes shot up to meet hers, and you felt the beating pace of your heart quicken. She quirked an eyebrow, waiting for a response from you. 

“Oh, not at all.”

You cleaned the shop: dusted the shelves, vacuumed the floor and counted the till. It was greatly appreciated that the remaining customers had started to leave the store on their own and that you didn’t have to awkwardly remind them that it was near closing time. Agatha was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you finished up for the day. You offered to give her a chair, but she declined, saying she had already been sitting down all day. 

You didn’t notice that your nervousness temporarily subsided as you and your new piano tutor talked — mostly her taking the lead in the conversation (which you were grateful for). You learnt that she used to compete professionally but had stopped a few years ago to lead ensembles and teach students, which reminded you of your former tutor. 

Agatha spoke about the most ordinary things, such as how dramatic the weather was in this city and that she desperately needed a glass of wine when she got home. However, that didn’t stop you from trying to cling onto every word that left her mouth. You could not understand why you felt this way.

And when she asked you about why you chose to play the piano, you gave her your little ramble about how your mother used to play and how she wanted you to follow in her footsteps. Agatha did not reply, for all you earned was a slight hum and an indecipherable expression from the older woman.

The night started to settle down; its blackness oozed across the skyline, painting it the darkest of colours and scattered pin-pricks of stars across its canvas. The city's buzzing atmosphere from earlier today had finally died down as most people had finished work by now, and nobody really went out to the city on a Monday night.

Once you made sure that you had done everything you needed to do, you told Agatha that you could now lock up the store. You made your way to the front, holding the door open for her and smelling her faint saccharine scent as she walked past you. With a flick, the lights inside the shop went off, and you fished out a key from your back pocket and proceeded to lock the door. 

“Well… Goodnight Professor. I’ll see you on Friday.” You bid her a shy smile. “Thank you for keeping me company.” 

“No worries, dear. It was my pleasure.” Heat rose to your collarbones at the pet name, and you were thankful for the darkness of the night, as you probably were starting to become crimson all over. “Now, how are you getting home?” The older woman asked as she pulled out something from her coat pockets. 

“Oh, I don’t live too far from here, so I normally just walk. It’s just a few blocks away.” 

She tsked at you. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk home alone in the dark.” 

“It’s no problem; I’ve never had any trouble walking home from work.” You shrugged.

“Well, if you want to be like that….” You squinted and saw that she was putting on her signature black gloves, and not long after, you felt her gloved-hand tug at your bare one. “Darling, where’s your place? I am going to walk you home.” You opened your mouth to protest but were interrupted by the older woman. 

“Do not argue with me.” She replied sternly and gently pulled you onto the sidewalk where lamp posts dimly lit the now-empty streets. You could see a few buildings draped in the glows of neon lights from shop signs and trees that stood along the sidewalk, casting silhouettes of outstretched arms of branches onto the road below.

When she let go of your hand, you found yourself missing the momentary contact between skin and glove — a superimposition of fire and ice. A heart was set ablaze — which was yours, and her cold enticing demeanour somehow was like lighter fluid that started to provoke the sporadic flame that caressed the edges of your heart within you. You wondered how she would react if she discovered that most of your thoughts had her name plastered all over them these days.

The walk back to your apartment was a silent one. The only loudness was when Agatha looked at you once in a while as the two of you walked side by side. You would notice her looking at you, and when you tried to catch her gaze, you would always be a second too late and miss it. 

“What?” You turned to look at her, searching for answers in her indecipherable expression. 

A soft upwards curve formed on her lips. “Nothing.”

You enjoyed the comfortable silence. However, you wondered what she was thinking about when she kept turning her head to look at you. Maybe she was still baffled that you were fine with walking back home alone at night, or maybe she was thinking about something piano related, and how proficient you were at playing — or perhaps she was just contemplating what bottle of wine she would drink when she got home.

A dog barked in the night, and the sound of autumn leaves scuttled on the pavement, lightly rustling in their path as the two of you turned a corner. As you approached your place, you searched your bag for your apartment key. 

“How are you getting home?” She only chuckled at your question. You didn’t think what you said was funny. 

“Darling, you don’t need to worry about me.”

---

Only a handful of days had passed since your encounter with your new piano tutor. Everything from that evening had never left your mind, causing all your thoughts to fumble around the place, distracting you from your everyday activities, which now seemed to be more mundane than usual. 

You tried to push the thought of her to the back of your mind, but somehow you always found your thoughts drifting towards the older woman who was so mysterious and alluring. Along with those minor distractions, you had not told any of your friends yet — but you wouldn’t be surprised until someone like Darcy figured out that something was up with you. It would only be a matter of time until you would have to come clean.

Darcy and Bucky were over at your place today. It was a Thursday afternoon, and you three had decided to grab a few pizzas and do some studying together at yours after lectures had finished for the day.

“What!? Nah… I’m pretty sure that assignment was only worth 10%.” Bucky scoffed as he took another slice of pizza from the box that was laid on the coffee table.

Darcy sighed, clearly unamused at his uncertainty. “Are you serious? The professor literally said multiple times before the due date that it was worth 20%.” 

Your eyes were fixated on the view outside of your apartment window, deep in thought. Your friends were sitting around the table on the floor, debating about assignments and tests. However, at that moment, the world around you started to melt away, your mind wandering back to the woman with eyes as blue, cold and captivating as the Antarctic Ocean.

You thought about Agatha walking you to your apartment that night and how her gloved hand ran down the length of your arm as she bid you goodnight — her mouth terribly close to the shell of your ear. You could smell the lavender scent that she usually wore, but this time, you were so close to its source, swearing that the perfume particles had her name written all over them. 

And you stood there on the front porch of your place, watching her as she drifted away into the night, her hands in her pockets and her silhouette trailing after her. The streets were so unusually quiet that you were even able to hear the faint clicking of her boots against the concrete, fading away with each step. 

And you had waited. 

Waited for her to look back at you. 

Even just once. 

Oh, but she never did.

Soon you couldn't hear the bickering of academia between your two friends, only then realising that they had stopped talking as all eyes were on you. 

“Earth to Y/N? Hellooooo, are you there?” A waving hand in front of your face abruptly pulled you out of your daydream. 

Darcy squinted in your direction, crossing her arms with a suspecting look on her face. “Is there something you would like to share with the class? Because I really think there is something distracting you.”

You rolled your eyes and elbowed her side. “Oh, shut up, Darcy. I’m fine.” You shifted awkwardly in your seat. “It’s just been a busy week, that’s all, and I’m just stressed about all the assignments coming up.”

She continued to stare you down, slightly unconvinced at your response, but she decided not to push further. You knew that later she would attempt to pry something out of you. “As I was saying before….” Darcy blinked a few times before continuing. “I even asked someone last week, and they said that it was worth 20%. Y/N, what do you think?” 

You nodded and hummed half-attentively, still partially lost in your thoughts. “Yeah, 20% sounds right.” You heard Bucky groan next to you as Darcy playfully shoved his side in supposed triumph. 

---

In your peripheral vision, you could see that she was standing by the window as her back faced you. Your fingers lightly danced on piano keys as you played Für Elise for the fourth time during today’s lesson. Annoyingly, you still hadn’t grasped the piece's second section, and at this point, you were almost convinced that Beethoven had cursed you. However, Agatha reprimanded you, saying that it takes hours and hours of practice for pianists even to play a single piece half-decently. 

After finishing the section, along with making some small mistakes, your tutor finally turned around, hands intertwined behind her back. You waited for her to speak — to say anything. You inhaled, holding the air in your chest momentarily before exhaling a shallow breath. 

Did you play well? Was it okay? Or did you just completely slaughter one of Beethoven's profound pieces?

Today she was wearing a dark violet waistcoat with a beige shirt underneath and black trousers. You watched as she buried both hands into her pockets and made her way towards you in silence. You swallowed, realising she still had not commented on how you played just then. You looked back at your music book, where the corners of the pages were bent and crinkled from shoving it into your bag so many times. There were also tiny annotations in pencil; sections of notes were circled, and small reminders crawled on the margins of the page, reminding you to execute mezzo fortes and to adjust your pace at certain parts.

Something had undeniably shifted in the air — perhaps it was that invisible chord of palpable tension or the thick film of an enigma that surrounded a certain brunette finally being cut. Your suspicion was confirmed when suddenly you felt a thigh graze against yours; the unexpected contact almost made you jump in your seat. She had sat down next to you on the stool, and — good lord — the sheer proximity between you and the older woman suddenly made your entire body freeze.

Her gaze was set forward, ignoring the slightly flushed look she knew would probably be plastered all over your face. She straightened her back and hovered her hands over the keys for a moment before delving into the piece as if the most delectable meal was suddenly set out in front of her. You’ve heard that Agatha Harkness did not leave room for any sort of clemency when she played the piano.

You watched as pale, slender fingers started to move with grace, coaxing gentle melodies out of the piano. She was decisive with her movements and never once faltered or fell victim to silly mistakes as you usually did. Beethoven would have been in awe of the subtle aristocracy she poised as she flaunted her competence with the piano so effortlessly — dominating the piece so flawlessly. She was in her element, and you took in each of her manoeuvres, wishing you could embed the spectacle in front of you into the back of your mind to replay over and over endlessly.

It couldn’t be helped, but you were envious at that very moment of how that creature of wood and ivory received so much attention from the woman that was Agatha Harkness. The mere object being subjected to her physical craftsmanship and commanded by the pianist herself — it simply was not fair.

She altered between E’s and D-sharps, executing the diminuendo and taking her time with it. She did not rush; her tempo was perfectly steady. When she had to reach over to play a section of relatively low chords, her arm brushed against yours, causing the air to freeze in your chest momentarily. For all you knew, the corners of her mouth subtly quirked upwards, a small smirk playing on her face as she knew that the piano wasn’t the only thing in the room willing to give in to her.

You continued to watch her perform, focusing on how her hands moved so delicately and swiftly. The end of the song was approaching near, and you already started to wish that you could relive the moment once again. She was bizarre — one could not simply just continue with their day after witnessing a woman like Agatha Harkness thoroughly wring out the most refined melodies from the piano. They’d be entranced for what would feel like an eternity — not just from how she plays that beast made of ivory, but also from the timeless beauty and peculiar aura she carried with her wherever she went.

When she finished playing, there was a long silence before either of you spoke. Just as you were about to open your mouth to compliment her performance, she cleared a throat and began to get straight to the point about how you had played before her.

“You need to work on your crescendo, dear.” She turned to face you, observing the star-struck expression on your face. “I fear you play too monotonously. And at the end of the section, you play it too fast.”

Your brain had not properly processed her criticism, as you and your mind were preoccupied with attempting to play back her breathtaking performance that just happened a few minutes ago. “You play so beautifully, Professor Harkness.” The words that left your mouth sounded meek to your own ears. 

She only smiled at you. 

“Now, let’s try that section one more time, shall we?” 

---

You sailed through the first section smoothly, maintaining a steady pace as you approached the second section of Für Elise for what felt like the 50th time today. The first section of the piece was never a big struggle for you as it was quite repetitive and more gentle in a sense, compared to the other sections. 

You were coming up to the parts that contained crescendo where it mattered most — and this time, you reminded yourself to execute it more audibly and with more vigour. You needed to get this part right; you couldn’t mess it up this time. Raw focus ignited within you, causing your surroundings to ooze away until all you could think about was how you would redeem your attempts of homage to Beethoven. A puff of air escaped your lips as you momentarily flexed your fingers before diving into the second section, head and heart, in a wary combination: the former — a source of an adequate amount of determination and the latter being your internal metronome. 

Wrists dropped delicately, and your back straightened. You entered the section, treading carefully and caressing the keys as if it were one’s lover. However, you did not abandon the slight ferocity that was needed to ensure that there was a balance of both elegance and intensity in Für Elise. 

“Good girl. Keep going; you’re doing well.” The unexpected praise almost made you slip up on the current stave you were playing, but you forced yourself to remain composed in order to avoid humiliating yourself in front of your tutor, either by screwing up Beethoven's music or fainting right next to the older woman.

It seemed to you that your current playthrough of the current section was an improvement compared to your previous attempts. You hadn’t stumbled on any parts this time, and you managed to keep up with the tempo consistently throughout the piece. You heard the older woman beside you hum in seeming delight, causing a slight grin to form on your face as your silent speculations were confirmed. Your breath hitched in your throat as you suddenly felt a hand rest upon your knee, rubbing gentle circles encouragingly just as you started to near the end of the section. Time felt like it had slowed down; each passing second felt like aeons of lingering contact between her skin and the material of your jeans.

A few beats passed until you realised that you had finished the piece and that her hand wasn’t on you anymore; it was as if it had never been there in the first place. It could’ve been that your admiration for Agatha had caused your brain to conjure a cruel hallucination on you — a mockery to tease you of the fruits you could never reach from the tree. 

“Better than before. But there’s still more work to be done.” She got up abruptly and headed towards the window with her hands behind her back. “Other than that, you are progressing well with that second section.”

You swallowed. “Thank you, professor. I’m glad to hear that.” That stupid beating heart of yours was seriously going to be the death of you. It felt as if it was going to bore a hole through the layers of your chest and jump out the window right there and then. 

“You may go now.” Her back was now facing you as she looked through the panes of glass. “I’ll see you next week.”

You grabbed your bag, ignoring the incessant heat that was starting to simmer over your collarbones. God, you had to get out of that room immediately before something ridiculous could happen, such as spontaneously exploding or melting into a puddle of skin, bone and blood. It wouldn’t be very nice for the cleaners to have to clear that up, you thought to yourself. 

The Devil clasped his hands as he knew he had played his cards correctly. You — the mere doe-eyed deer — were finally caught in the hunter’s trap without knowing it. Agatha Harkness was a seductress for the eyes and ears; she could kill two birds with one stone if she wanted to. And you? You were taking damage but enjoyed every single blow she cast upon you.

During the heat of the moment, paired with a strong tendency to rush out of the music building, unbeknownst to you, you had forgotten your music book that was still sitting on the piano. It was only when you arrived home and emptied your belongings from your bag that you realised you had left it. You didn’t really feel like going back to fetch it, as you could manage without it for the rest of today. You figured that you would just pop in tomorrow morning to pick it up. It was no big deal.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #wandavision #agatha x reader #coven of chaos #agatha coven of chaos #marvel #agatha harkness smut #agatha all along #agatha wandavision #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness imagine #marvel au #kathryn hahn

[d4rkhold]

sorry for the delay of chapter 2 of ‘the quietest crescendo’… i wrote half of it and then writer’s block hit… ANYWAYS, I WILL BE AIMING TO FINISH IT BEFORE THE END OF THIS MONTH :)

see you all soon X

*edit: okay… actually early november*

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #the quietest crescendo #kathryn hahn

[d4rkhold]

thinking about writing a wandagatha fic…. hmmmmmm I’ve got an idea in mind… i miss them so much it’s not even funny

#wandagatha #wagatha #wandavision #Wanda maximoff x Agatha harkness #Wanda x agatha #marvel

[d4rkhold]

the quietest crescendo (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

OVERVIEW: Your current piano tutor moves away to take up a new job in a different country, and you are left with a new teacher - a strange and alluring creature who inevitably draws you into her orbit. For what you didn’t know, her world was painted in a purple that was harsh and almost monstrous.

WORD COUNT: 3.7k 

WARNINGS: None in this chapter.

A/N: Hello everyone! Here’s an Agatha-related AU that I have been thinking about in my head for a few months (only for me to give into the urge of throwing all my ideas onto an actual draft and turning it into an actual fic)... This will be several chapters - however, I only have Chapter 1 finished and Chapter 2 roughly planned out. Special thanks to my two lovely friends who beta-read this for me (they won’t see this, but I LOVE YOU GUYS). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy reading this fic! (Also if you want to be added to a taglist for future chapters, feel free to let me know & DMs are always open). You can also find me on AO3 (same user as this one). 

“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” - Edgar Allen Poe.

Your curiosity had betrayed you tonight as you looked at the empty doorway and stopped to hear for any signs of movement nearby. Fluorescent lights from buildings and traffic signals out on the streets were the only illumination source where beams of light seeped through the large window of the hallway outside the office. The carpet under your feet, which was usually soft, felt like eggshells as you were conscious with each step you took, slowly making your way around the large oak desk. You couldn't tell if the murmuring noises you initially heard before entering the room were getting quieter or if your thumping heart was trying to drown out the unnerving commotion.

Exquisite paintings decorated the walls amongst dark green paint, and an unlit fireplace was concave within the walls of one side of the room. You noted the items on the desk: a simple lamp, a brooch with a motif you were unfamiliar with, and sheets of music scattering the desk's surface with scribbles of blue ink on them. You clutched the score in your arms tighter as you suddenly realised the strange sounds were getting louder. 

They seemed to be coming from one of the draws, which led you to open the top ones, only to find more arbitrary personal items within them. But when your hand reached the bottom drawer, the sounds ceased for a second. You almost thought you had imagined the whole unusual situation until you pulled open the drawer to reveal a charcoal-stained book with peculiar shapes and symbols on its cover - and to your dismay, it was glowing slightly amber. A lump formed in your throat, and you poked up above the desk's height to observe any movement in the hallway again.

Right, you had to do something about your terrible nosiness later, as now you had the book in your hands, heavier than you anticipated it to be. You grazed a hand over the jagged cover, eyes wide in awe of its peculiarity, for you had never seen something so unusual before. As you began to open it up to the first page, the murmuring noises started up again, but this time they were more aggressive and high-pitched, causing you to drop it unexpectedly.

As if the book itself had snitched on you, a familiar figure suddenly stood in the doorway, her eyes cold and piercing. You felt your throat go dry and your heart threatening to claw its way out of your chest as if it also didn’t want to be there at that moment.

“Aren’t you a nosey one, darling?” A low voice muttered from the other side of the room and you swore you saw a purple glint in her eye. She stepped into the office, shutting the door with a click, and you felt the world around you diminish. There was also the sheet music for Brahm’s Intermezzo, left forgotten and wrinkled, on the carpet floor near your shoes. You could not think of a better alternative to dying at that very moment.

---

The sound of laptop lids simultaneously shutting echoed throughout the lecture theatre. People around you shuffled in their seats, shoving laptops and books into bags, eager to head out and into the weekend. It wasn’t a surprise that the classroom today wasn’t packed as it usually was, considering that semester break was only a week away. “That’s it for today. Have a good weekend, and see you all next week.” Chattering filled the room that was jarringly silent about a few minutes ago. “Oh, and class - don’t forget your last quiz of the semester is due next week.” 

Physics was not your best subject, but it also wasn’t your worst. You enjoyed it a reasonable amount, but you were still trying to adjust to the amount of work that was expected of you. Yet, it was an interesting subject to learn about, as your class was currently learning about quantum physics which you really enjoyed. 

You were still typing away while almost a third of the theatre had already started to empty out. As you finished up typing a to-do list for the weekend, you felt the hard nudge of an elbow dig into your side. “Ouch! What was that for?!” You exclaimed. 

Darcy had an unamused look on her face. “Everyone is almost gone! Class is over; can’t you finish that later?” She crossed her arms. You sighed and rolled your eyes as you saved your notes and shut off your laptop. “You don’t have a single ounce of patience in you, do you?” You muttered, grabbing your things and shoving them in your bag.

“I really do not,” She grinned. “Anyways, it’s Friday, and Monica texted me earlier today asking if you want to grab a bite to eat and head back to her place. Kate’s coming as well,” You stood up and started to follow her out of the classroom. You and Darcy Lewis met during first-year physics and have become good friends ever since. She had told you that she was planning to go into astrophysics and thinking about doing a PhD afterwards. However yourself? Well, you weren’t too sure where you were heading but had some vague ideas about what you wanted to do.

You were just about to tell her you were keen to come along, but then you remembered the wrapped gift in your bag. Today was your last piano lesson with your teacher, Professor Woo (he always urged you to just call him Jimmy), and you wanted to give him a farewell gift. He was one of the state’s finest pianists and had stopped playing professionally a few years ago to become a piano teacher. Aside from his astounding skills, he was patient and got along with people of all ages. The reason for his resignation was that he was offered to mentor a group of young “prodigies” in New York, aiming to play professionally one day. Speaking of ‘playing professionally’, your mother had wanted you to become a professional pianist. You’ve been playing the piano since the age of ten - enrolled by your mother, who was a beautiful player herself and had played competitively during her youth. However, you always kept piano as a side hobby and nothing more, despite your mother’s frequent suggestions over the years that you had great potential and should pursue it further. 

You loved playing the piano. It was your catharsis through thick and thin; with each melody of every song you played, you could feel it unravel the tension of the day within your body. You weren’t the greatest player, but you were somewhat proficient and could keep up with a couple of relatively complex pieces after many hours of practice. 

“Crap… I have my last piano lesson with Jimmy today, and he’s moving away for good,” You sighed. “I won’t be able to make it tonight; I’m sorry.” 

“You’re so boring-” Darcy winced as you punched her shoulder playfully. “Ouch, I was just kidding!” You laughed at her reaction, and she stuck her tongue out at you. 

The two of you exited through the doors and saw Monica leaning against the wall. She was holding a stack of textbooks in her hands and perked up when she saw you and Darcy approaching. She seemed to struggle to balance the items in her arms as she tried to give the two of you a wave but struggled as she tried to prevent her books from falling onto the ground. “Hey, Monica… How’s it… Uhh… going?” Darcy’s eyes widened as she repeatedly looked at Monica and back down at the books in her hands as the two of you approached her. You held out your hands to Monica, who passed a couple of books and gave you a thankful look. 

“Oh Lord, thank you, Y/N,” She straightened her back. “Well… As you guys can see,” She cleared her throat. “It’s not looking too good for me… Professor Hayward said that our exam is in five weeks, so I decided to get some extra resources from the library because he teaches so badly. As well as that, my back has been killing me with all these books I have to carry around all day! I’m so over this week.” 

The three of you started to make your way outside. It was only the middle of Autumn, and you noticed that it became slightly colder every day. Star-shaped leaves of various shades of orange and brown scattered the ground like a mosaic of earthy hues while rows of trees stood unmovingly and bare in the still afternoon. “Oh yeah, Monica, Y/N said she’s not able to make it this evening because it’s her piano teacher’s last day. How lame of her, don’t you think?” You rolled your eyes upon seeing the smirk on Darcy’s face. “Darcy, don’t be a bully… It’s fine, Y/N, have a good lesson, okay?” Monica smiled.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys next week,” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as a cool breeze passed by. “Tell Kate I said ‘hi’.” Monica nodded and waved at you with her phone in hand. “We’ll text you! And of course.” Darcy was busy trampling the leaves on the side of the path, which produced a satisfying “crunch” every time she stood on one. As you turned to leave, you swore you heard a protest from Darcy as Monica urged her: “Hurry up, we still have to get food!” You chuckled to yourself as you started to make your way to your lesson. 

---

It only took around eight minutes to get from your last lecture to the music building you were so familiar with, situated just on the outskirts of the city. The building itself was considered ‘old’ to many who set their eyes upon it. It must have attained its prehistoric label due to the fact that there was an old church not so far away from it and how every other surrounding building seemed to appear relatively more modern. You often thought that the music building would’ve been renovated or upgraded by now, but it hadn’t been, and you were somewhat relieved. You loved it the way it was; its ‘oldness’ stuck out to you with its corinthian-styled pillars at the entrance and the tall archways that decorated the exterior and interior. 

Every time you stepped into the building, there was a feeling of something similar to sanctity in the air as you stood in the foyer, where an old resplendent chandelier hung elegantly from the high ceiling above you and groups of people lingered and talked before and after music lessons. You made your way through a set of large wooden doors and then proceeded to make your way up a set of stairs. The building was around four stories tall - and it wasn’t just pianists who were getting lessons: there were violinists, trumpeters, drummers, and many more to name. 

When you reached the top of the stairs, you made your way down the hallway, heading for the room where Jimmy always tutored you. Entering the small room, you let out a gentle huff as you placed your bag down and sat on the piano stool. Just after a few minutes, there was a knock on the door, and you perked up when you saw a familiar face poke around the corner with a warm smile. “How’s it going?” 

You crossed your arms in mock anger. “Actually, I’m not doing very well because somebody is moving to a different country to lead a bunch of tiny future Frédéric Chopins.” Jimmy laughed at that as he closed the door behind him and sat on the chair next to you. 

“‘Future Frédéric Chopins’... That’s funny.” He put down his own bag on the floor. “Well, there goes that humour I’m going to miss. As well as that, you’ve been a fantastic player and a pleasure to teach as always.”

“Thank you, but please don’t make me cry - the lesson hasn’t even started yet.”

45 minutes had passed, and Jimmy was going over some parts of Beethoven's ‘Für Elise.’ It was such a gentle and graceful piece to play - certainly one of your favourites. However, more often than not, you did slip up on the second section of the music - the more virtuosic part, which was relatively more complicated to play at a satisfactory speed. “You don’t need to rush. Just slow it down. Remember, we need to slowly build up our tempo and rhythm before diving right into this section.” Jimmy gave you an assuring look, and you nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Alright, I think that’s all.” He smiled warmly. “Well done today. You’re doing well. Beethoven would be proud, in my opinion.” You let out a small laugh, then remembered the gift you had for him. You almost jumped out of your seat, ignoring his quizzical look and pulled out a wrapped-up box from your bag to present to him. 

“You are very generous, thank you.” Jimmy smiled as he took the box from your hands. He began to unwrap the gift to reveal a woolly dark green scarf. He gave you an appreciative smile, which made you start to feel tears well in your eyes because you had reminded yourself that this was the last time you would most likely see him. You gave him a hug. “Thank you. It’s fantastic. This will definitely go well with the snow in New York.”

After a brief moment of shedding tears - which were mostly yours - and saying your goodbyes (and to your surprise, he presented you with a small gift as well), you both fetched your things. “Oh, I just remembered. The tutor who will replace me is in the building today. Do you want to meet her now? She won’t bite, I assure you.” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed with amusement. “Sure, it won’t hurt, I guess.” He chuckled and made his way out the door to fetch your new teacher, leaving you alone in the room.

For a moment, you stood alone in the small familiar room with the brown piano that was perched against the wall, trying to listen intently to the noises coming from nearby rooms. You could almost faintly hear the sound of a violin through sound-proof walls and light laughter coming from the stairwell. The building today was quieter than unusual — probably due to the fact that it was a Friday afternoon and the start of the semester break was closing in very soon. You turned and headed to the window to gaze outside, observing how the sky was becoming quite gloomy, threatening to rain later on. There were cars whizzing on the streets below, as well as the flowing crowds of people on the pavement, all hurrying to get to their destinations.

It was interesting to think about who would become your new tutor. In all honesty, you were somewhat nervous about meeting the person who would now be teaching you how to play Beethoven and so on. What if you didn’t get along with your new tutor, or what if the two of you wouldn’t see eye-to-eye? Some musicians you were acquainted with mentioned that some instrumentalists were excellent at playing but weren’t as good at teaching. Taking in a breath, you assured yourself that it would be a fresh start nevertheless and wouldn’t be that big of a deal. 

You continued to stare out the window until the gentle clearing of the throat all but caused you to break away from your daydream. Turning around, you saw Jimmy enter the room, followed by a woman who suddenly made the breath in your throat hitch. So much for not being a big deal, you thought. 

Aphrodite had nothing on her, for the woman had wavy brown hair that fell past her shoulders and cerulean-blue eyes which were more captivating than any ocean you’ve ever seen, urging you to sink and dive into the depths of her oceanic irises.

Jimmy closed the door. “You’re lucky that I caught her; she was just on her way out.” 

Hands in pockets, she made her way over to you, pulled out a hand, and held it in your direction. “Hello darling, the name’s Agatha Harkness.” She spoke, her voice low and alluring. In all her beauty, you noticed she had a mysterious demeanour, an unusual coolness and a formidable aura that surrounded her. As well as that, ever since she entered the room just minutes ago, you could faintly smell traces of lavender essence in the air. She was the earth's electromagnetic field, and you were drawn to her orbit, her mere presence making you want to shy away but be close to her simultaneously. You told yourself that you were just lonely in terms of romantic interests. Nobody really has piqued your curiosity for a long time - or as Darcy had bluntly put it: “You hardly leave your apartment, of course, you’re not going to find anyone to swoon over.” In all honesty, she was somewhat correct - you didn’t really go out that much as you were busy fretting over your studies most of the time. However, that led to you having a lack of experience with proper relationships and an occasional melancholic prick to the heart.

You took her hand and shook it, thumbs and fingers brushing against hers while you met her gaze, a sudden heat creeping over your collarbones. “‘I’m Y/N Y/L/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Harkness.” 

A soft smirk formed on her lips. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Woo has been telling me how much of a lovely student you are. I’ll just have to wait and see how you play, though, my dear.” You felt your face grow warm, her sultry words and piercing gaze suddenly becoming too much. It took every inch of your body to resist averting your eyes to avoid coming off rude. How can one being subjected to Agatha’s sole attention threaten to ignite a smouldering fire within you? You thought to yourself.

“Harkness’ lessons with you will be at the same time and room on Fridays. There has been no change to the schedule, which makes it easy. She will be happy to discuss further matters with you later on.” Jimmy spoke and checked his watch, sighing. “Sorry to you both, but I have to get going. I have to get ready for a farewell gathering with some friends very soon.” You and Agatha bade your tutor a final goodbye and all the best for the future. Watching him walk through the bone-coloured hallways for the last time made you feel a wave of saturnine wash over you. But you smiled to yourself, knowing you’ll soon probably see his name in news articles and receive awards for leading an extraordinary ensemble in New York.

There wasn’t much to talk about between you and your soon-to-be tutor, which led to the two of you standing outside the music building after a short while Jimmy had left. Agatha’s effect on you was strange, for you were afraid to speak - intricately curating each response in your mind, and each time you spoke, your awkwardness was apparent to the woman. However, Agatha pretended to pay no mind to your sheepish behaviour, filing that slice of information away for later.

You sensed that it was time to part ways as the two of you stood outside on the pavement, the end of Autumn being evident as the evening was much colder today and the sun was starting to drift out of view, ready to trade places with the night very soon. Looking down, you watched as Agatha pulled out a pair of black leather gloves from her pocket and started to put them on, and only then did you notice her slender, pale fingers. The older woman in front of you cleared her throat, and your eyes shot up to her face, which she had an indecipherable look. Her mouth formed into a small curve. “I’ll see you next week, Y/N. It was a delight to meet you, dear.” Hearing your name fall from the tip of her tongue made your stomach coil and your throat dry up. It was as if you were an ocean, and she was drinking every single drop of water, savouring it slowly while you were suspended in time and immobile in your own body — sip by sip, you watched her take everything from you. 

Before you could reply, she had already turned around and started to make her way in the opposite direction, and you stood there on the pavement, watching the woman walk away from you. It could’ve almost been an ending scene of a film — her brown hair dancing gently in cooperation with the slight breeze and the people - who looked so ordinary compared to her - walked past her. She was like a goddess among mortals, and you wished for nothing but to be graced by her presence endlessly. 

Nearby, the church bells rang out - the long, deep sound you heard so frequently - but today, it sent an eerie shiver down your spine and reverberated in your chest. You then turned and made your way to a set of stairs close by, which led to the underground train, attempting to brush off the unusual feelings at the same time. 

The London Underground was teeming with people who, most of them, had finished work. Around you, you could hear the sounds of shoes hitting the concrete and light chatter amongst people who were also waiting for their ride home. Once you got on the train and sat down, you contemplated the weekend, silently cursing as you remembered you had to wake up early for work tomorrow morning at the bookstore. How annoying - you were looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow after a long week of staying up to study and waking up early for lectures. 

It was only for a small portion of the journey home that you were thinking about the coming events of the weekend until your thoughts had slowly drifted to your encounter today with the woman who was Agatha Harkness, for she had bewitched you in an unfamiliar and tantalising way. 

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #wandavision #agatha harkness imagine #agatha wandavision #marvel au #agatha x reader #agatha all along #kathryn hahn #house of harkness #marvel #agatha harkness smut

[d4rkhold]

WHEN WILL KEVIN FEIGE FREE THE WOMAN THAT IS AGATHA HARKNESS... 

#agatha harkness #wandavision #marvel #agatha #dsmom #house of harkness

[d4rkhold]

kylo ren’s saber  |  skywalker saber

[d4rkhold]

The Levihan in this episode is strong