Chapter Text
“And yet it disturbs me to learn I have hurt someone unintentionally. I want all my hurts to be intentional.” — Margaret Atwood
“You’re driving her insane, buttercup.” Agatha snarls up at her, hands bound behind her back, eyes flashing. Wanda knew that if Agatha had the full span of her magic, she’d be dodging pulses of dark energy, as Agatha vented the full force of her frustration.
But she didn’t.
“Why do you care?” Wanda asked, flatly.
“Because it’s my body too, you idiot. And everything she feels, I feel.” Agatha grinds out. “I warned you that you didn’t know what you’re doing.”
Wanda blanches, but tries to keep her expression neutral. This was going about as well as she’d expected.
It had been a month since Wanda had managed to fly away from Westview, her broken heart and her vast unlocked power leading her to retreat. She found herself a little place- a cabin, far in the middle of no where, where she couldn’t hurt anyone else.
Her guilt was her only companion, and it was poor company, leaving her tossing and turning in her violet toned nightmares.
“Heroes don’t torture people, Wanda.” Agatha echoes in her mind, with flashes of the faces of the people she’d hurt, the lives she’d accidentally torn apart. It’s eating her alive.
She wakes up, every night, her magic sending her meager belongings flying across the room, shifting and bending as her power threatens to tear reality apart. She cries, silently, despite the fact there’s no one to hear her for miles around.
She’d managed to stay away for an entire week before she couldn’t take it anymore.
In the dead of night she flew back, drifting in the wind, to find herself outside Agatha - no, Agnes’s- bedroom window. Westview slumbers peacefully around her, the silence of a sleeping town creating the perfect facade of normality; everything Wanda had always longed for.
Wanda twisted her wrist, and dissolved, reappearing silently inside Agnes’s bland bedroom, her eyes gently glowing. Agnes slept on, peacefully unaware of her visitor.
Wanda sighed, flicked her fingers, runes glowing softly in the dark as they painted the walls. Then, gently, she called out. “Agnes?”
Agnes woke with a start, wildly flailing, before realizing who her intruder was. She beamed up at Wanda, adjusting the soft t-shirt she’d been sleeping in and smoothing her hair. It was cute, and Wanda squirmed with guilt, feeling like a voyeur.
“Hiya Wanda!” Despite it being two in the morning, Agnes looked delighted to see her. “Where have you been? I missed you?”
Wanda couldn’t bear it. She stepped forward, and sat down gently next to Agnes. “It’s good to see you Agnes.” She couldn’t meet her eyes, her shame boiling in her gut. “Go back to sleep now.” She reached up, and brushed Agnes’s wild hair behind her ear, letting her magic whisper in her mind.
Agatha glared back at her, and sneered. “Well, well, well. Look who came crawling back.”
Wanda shifted, uncomfortable. “Are you okay?”
Agatha threw her head back and laughed. “Fuck you, sweet cheeks.” She looked like she was about a thought away from trying to strangle Wanda, and only her uncertainty about why Wanda was here was holding her back.
This had been a mistake. “I’m sorry.”
“Take your apologies and -“
Wanda cut her off, caressing her cheek, and Agnes blinked.
“Here for a little after dark delight?” Agnes giggled, biting her lip, looking at her through her impossibly long eyelashes.
Wanda blushed, heat coloring her cheeks in the dark, before standing back up. “Sweet dreams.” She said, softly, sending Agnes back to sleep with a thought and fleeing back the way she came, her thoughts racing.
She tried again a few days later, this time during a late afternoon. Agnes was in her yard, diligently weeding the little vegetable patch she was growing. Her rabbit was grazing nearby, the sunlight lining them both with gold.
Wanda walked up to the gate and pushed it open, Agnes looking up with delight.
“Hi sweetheart!” Agnes stood up excitedly, smiling widely.
“Hey Agnes.” Wanda says, smiling, her hands tucked in the pockets of her hoodie. “How’s things?”
Agnes ushered her inside, chatting a mile a minute, filling Wanda in on the minutiae of the town, the strange number of people who are suddenly moving, what Senor Scratchy had for lunch. Wanda sighed, and let her babble, the words flowing over her like water. This was nice- after so many days in silence, with only her own thoughts to torment her, the stream of sound is a pleasant distraction.
Agnes neatly plunked a cup of lemonade down in front of her, and Wanda murmured her thanks.
Agnes sat down in the chair across from her, smiling widely. “Say, sweet thing, how’s it going? You look blue, and red’s much more your shade.” She giggles at her own joke.
Wanda winces and musters her courage. She leans over, cupping Agnes’s cheek, and Agatha lunges over the table at her with a snarl, knocking them both down, sending their drinks flying, and pinning Wanda to the floor, straddling her waist.
Wanda’s magic reacts, and she throws Agatha off, reversing their positions in a burst of red light, using her powers to pin Agatha’s hands to the floor. They’re both panting as they stare at each other, and Agatha growls, “You know dear, I’m usually the one on top.” She moves her hips suggestively, wedging her thigh into between Wanda’s legs and pulling an involuntary whimper from Wanda’s lips.
Wanda flails her hands, and ends up with her hands on Agatha’s breasts, completely by accident. Agatha makes a deep rumbling sound, like an overly large cat, and Wanda pulls back like she’s on fire, which makes Agatha cackle, her eyes burning.
Wanda cannot handle this, one moment Agatha’s attempting to kill her, the next she’s trying to seduce her. She panics. She pulls her traitor hands up to Agatha’s face, and runs her fingers along Agatha’s soft cheek.
Agnes blinks back up at her, smiling happily. “Oh wow hon, you know I have a bed, right?” She winks up at Wanda, who hastily climbs off her.
As Agnes is clamoring off the floor, Wanda subtly magically fixes the drinks and table, righting them, and putting the liquid back.
She immediately steps back, afraid to touch Agnes again, afraid to lose what little control she had, of herself or Agatha, she wasn’t sure. Once upright, Agnes looks a little hurt at Wanda’s sudden withdrawal, and says quietly, “Sweetheart? Did I do something wrong?”
Wanda smiled at her, and tried to reassure her. It wasn’t her fault that Wanda was a glutton for punishment. “No, everything’s fine! You just had a, um, slip. I fell on top of you, and you must have bumped your head.”
Agnes laughed at that, and rapped herself on the head. “Made of wood, I always say.” Agnes chortled at her own expense.
Wanda laughed too, half heartedly, and excused herself as fast as she could.
The third time, Wanda takes precautions. She arrives first thing in the morning, and pulls Agnes down to the enchanted basement, making an excuse about looking for some sort of seasonal decor.
Agnes babbles happily, not even noticing the sudden change from normal basement to witch’s lair. As she turned, rambling about boxes that she’d misplaced, Wanda placed a hand on her shoulder, and pulled Agatha to the forefront, at the same time binding her hands. She didn’t want a rerun of the last time, though the memory of Agatha’s body against hers made her ache with longing.
Now, she stares down at Agatha, who continues, “You made her like this, my dear. She’s obsessed with you.”
Wanda crosses her arms. “She is, or you are?”
Agatha shows her teeth. “She touches herself, every night, thinking of you.” She says, slowly, as though explaining something to a dense child. Her tone suddenly shifts, as she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You must have it bad for me, baby.” She coos. “To have warped the spell to give her such a strong infatuation with you.”
Wanda turns scarlet, and tries to protest, but Agatha ignores her, continuing.
“You can’t alter the spell, now that you’ve cast it, so you’re going to need to handle it.”
Wanda quirks up an eyebrow, trying to control the tremble in her hands, and the heat rising in her chest. “Handle it?”
“You need to fuck us.” Agatha says firmly. “Specifically, her. Then maybe she’ll finally stop daydreaming about how shiny your hair is, or how green your eyes are, or whatever insipid thing she’s hung up on today.”
Wanda holds up her hands, and back pedals, her mind whirling. “Agatha, I can’t, it’s your body-“
“Yeah, because that’s always stopped you before.” Agatha’s eye roll is predictably mean. “Don’t get squeamish on me now tiger. You’ve left me trapped in the most boring town on earth, sharing my mind with a delusion who’s so hot for you, she feels like she’s about to die. Fuck us, and put her out of our misery.” Agatha drags her hooded eyes across Wanda’s body, licking her lips.
Sensing an opportunity to take back control of this situation, Wanda steps forward again, and tilts Agatha’s head up with fingertips, her accent heavy as she drawls, “Just her?”
Agatha cackles. For a woman bound and on her knees, she looks completely unphased. “You couldn’t handle me sweetheart.”
She cocks her head to the side, leaning a little in Wanda’s hand, fluttering her eyelashes up at her, just the same way Agnes does. Wanda reflexively pushes into her mind, trying her best just to brush her thoughts, but Agatha’s strange mind is strong- Wanda almost immediately gets pulled in.
It’s not like last time, into one specific, horrific memory. It’s just a flash at first, of a feminine moan, then scattered images, hands and breasts and nails and teeth, then it’s overwhelming, a whirlwind of sensation, as Wanda is suddenly exposed to every time Agatha’s lust has overcome her judgement in the last 300 years.
Wanda feels like she’s on fire. Agatha’s everywhere, whispering in her ears, caressing her breasts, grabbing her ass, licking between her legs, all at once, and then, she’s gone again.
Wanda gasps, and pulls herself free, panting and tingling, as the echoes of Agatha’s memories sizzle under her skin. Agatha looks up at her, smugly.
“Fuck.” Wanda tries to sound aloof, but she still can’t catch her breath. The ache between her legs pounds in time with her heartbeat, as flashes of Agatha’s hands, breasts, legs, swirl through her mind. She stares at Agatha in a sort of stunned wonder, seizing on the only other face she recognized. “Did you have a threesome with Marlene Dietrich?”
Agatha bristles and glares. “Don’t slut shame me honey, you’re the one who shacked up with the high tech vibrator.”
At the passing mention, Wanda grows very still, and the lust burning inside her turns to rage. Without thinking about it, she and her magic move, slamming Agatha into the wall behind her, hand tightening around her throat.
Agatha moans around her hand, bucking her hips, and Wanda nearly drops her in surprise. She lets go of her throat, gently, and Agatha smirks at her.
“Kinky.” Agatha wheezes dryly, and she thrusts her body into Wanda’s, as much as she can with her hands still tied behind her, pressing the two of them together suggestively.
Wanda freezes, overwhelmed, and Agatha sighs disappointed, and yields ever so slightly, leaning forward to murmur into Wanda’s ear.
“I know you want me. I can see it in your eyes. Use us.” Agatha’s voice is dark, and twists around Wanda, pulling her towards something Wanda fears and longs for. “Your lust for me made her into your perfect little sex toy.” Wanda shivers, feeling Agatha smirking against the curve of her ear. “Have your way with her.” She nips at Wanda’s ear, then pulls back.
Agatha’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black, as she stares at Wanda. Wanda is tempted to reach into her mind again, she can nearly taste the wicked ideas Agatha has for her, and she feels the sudden urge to drink her in, to drown.
Then, Agatha smirks and Wanda’s hands tighten into fists as she shows her teeth, pulling herself together, suddenly angry that Agatha was so easily pushing all of her buttons, and so turned on that she feels like she’s about to lose her mind.
She pulls Agatha into her by the waist, and reaches, cupping her cheek. Agatha’s triumphant grin is replaced by Agnes’s wide, confused eyes as Wanda breaks the magical shackles around her wrists.
“Hi honey! What’s wrong-“ Agnes starts to ask, but Wanda’s done listening to her speak and pressing their lips together firmly, a little awkward as Agnes freezes in shock, then melts into her with a moan.
Wanda’s done waiting, done overthinking this. She conjures a bed behind Agnes, the plush crimson of the sheets sudden and stark against the gloom of the basement, and walks her backward, pushing her down and straddling her waist as Agnes pants underneath her, squirming warm and whimpering with need.
“Wanda honey, please, I need-“ Agnes’s confusion has melted away, and she’s begging for Wanda, her fingers, her lips, her body, and Wanda can’t find it in herself to deny her any longer.
Her hands are sure and steady, as she starts unbuttoning Agnes’s little button up, pulling her shirt apart to reveal Agnes’s demure cream colored bra, her nipples already hard through the sheer material. The sight of so much smooth skin, so soft and flushed, makes something snap into place in Wanda’s mind and she smiles.
She magics the rest of Agnes’s clothing away, her slim trousers and panties melting into the aether, as Wanda leans over Agnes, feeling for the first time like she has some sort of control over the situation. She’s beautiful, Wanda observes faintly, running her hands reverently down Agnes’s shoulders to cup her breasts. So soft, so smooth, and when Wanda seized her lips again in a bruising kiss, she tastes of cherries.
Wanda’s still in her jeans and her hoodie, and when she slips her thigh between Agnes’s bare legs, it elicits a low little whimper that echoes in Wanda’s mind and sends a pulse of desire straight between her legs. “Spread your legs.” Wanda murmurs, and Agnes complies immediately, panting, her eyes rolling back.
“Good girl.” Wanda whispers, and Agnes whimpers again. She looks debauched, her body spread under Wanda’s hands, her lips swollen from Wanda’s kiss. The faint red imprint of Wanda’s hand around her neck makes Wanda burn for a moment with shame, but Agnes starts to pant, and Wanda snaps out of it. “Please, sweetheart, please.” Agnes is writhing under her, hot and slick even through the thin denim of Wanda’s jeans. “I need you.” She moans.
Wanda moves gently, slowly dropping her hand between Agnes’s legs. She’s soaking wet, and Wanda’s fingers slip for a moment, trying to find purchase.
“Are you always this way?” Wanda asks quietly, suddenly wracked with guilt.
Agnes bucks her hips, whimpering, trying to get Wanda to move.
“Not always.” Agnes pants. “Whatever we were up to a few minutes ago sure got me going!” She frowns, as if trying to remember, then squirms, whining, “Please.”
Wanda smiles down at her, relaxing again, and Agnes gazes back up at her, adoringly. It’s an expression so unlike Agatha, it’s bizarre, and Wanda wonders for a moment how exactly her spell worked, bifurcating two such different personalities into one body.
She slips a finger into Agnes, hesitant, then more firmly, starting to set a steady pace. Agnes moans low and sweet, and something in Wanda’s chest aches for her, wants to make this good for her, as an apology for bringing her into being in the first place.
Wanda really doesn’t know what she’s doing, but Agatha did have a point- that fact has never stopped her before. She has a brief flash of Agatha’s memories, what felt the best to Agatha’s body, and she pushes two more fingers inside her, making Agnes tremble and flush as she stretches around Wanda’s curious hand.
“Is this good?” Wanda asks gently, and Agnes whimpers,
“So good honey. So good. Please, move, you have to-“ she bucks up her hips, and Wanda starts to move, slowly, pumping her fingers in and out, as Agnes balls up her hands in the sheets and holds on for dear life.
Wanda’s mind is overloaded, there’s too much to take in. Agnes is so beautiful, her face scrunched up in pleasure as she rolls her hips, riding Wanda’s hand, little beads of sweat starting to accumulate on her pale stomach. Wanda leans forward, mouthing and nipping at her as she tries to keep her rhythm going, and Agnes squeals in pleasure with every touch of Wanda’s mouth.
Agnes’s breathy little moans get higher and higher as Wanda pushes her to the edge, trembling under her, clamped down on Wanda’s hand like a vice.
“I need, I need, oh god-“ Agnes is whimpering under Wanda’s hand, and Wanda feels the words coming out of her before she can think it through, inspiration flashing from Agatha’s debauched memories.
“Beg for it.” She says, low and deadly, and Agnes wails and shudders, trying to find the breath.
“Please. Please let me come.” She moans and Wanda’s body feels like it’s on fire, she’s so wet it’s uncomfortable in her jeans, and listening to Agnes whimper sends a bolt of desire straight to her core.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Wanda barely recognizes her own voice, dripping with something dark and heady.
Agnes’s eyes flutter open and shut as she struggles to answer, “Yes, oh please, I’ll be so good, please let me, please, I’m yours, oh please, let me-“ Her voice breaks off into a little shriek as Wanda brushes her thumb against Agnes’s clit, swollen and red and aching for her.
Wanda smirks and her eyes glow. “Now.” She orders, and Agnes arches her back and screams, her body clenching and spasming as Wanda curls her fingers deep inside, pumping in and out and hitting her at just the right angle. She keeps going as Agnes relaxes a little by little around her, wanting to give her every last drop of pleasure, her own desire lost in the thrill of watching Agnes fall apart.
When Agnes finally sighs and melts into the bed, Wanda slips out of her, and rolls off, curling beside her in bed as Agnes tries to catch her breath, tracing little nonsense patterns on the smooth plane of her stomach.
Agnes rolls over to look at Wanda, her eyes dark and dreamy, pulling her into a languid kiss. Wanda cards her fingers into Agnes’s hair, pulling her close, trying to memorize the taste and feel of her mouth.
Agnes pulls away with a little laugh. “Say hot stuff, that was something, wasn’t it?” She wraps her arm around Wanda, pulling her in closer, and Wanda luxuriates in the feeling of their bodies entwined, their legs tangled on the bed. She rests there, taking her time, the throbbing between her legs quenched by the dread of what she has to do next.
Wanda sighs and buries her face into Agnes’s neck, breathing her in for a moment. Agnes feels her dejection, and whispers, conspiratorially “Why so glum, sugar plum?”
Wanda giggles despite herself, before pulling away from Agnes’s soft skin, and murmuring into her ear. “You’re the only person left who actually,” Wanda pauses, trying to find the correct words, “wants me.”
Agnes looks into Wanda’s eyes, adoringly. “That can’t be true, dear. You’re the sweetest, look at how well you just took care of me.” She kisses the end of Wanda’s nose.
Wanda blushes, and looks at Agnes, trying to catalog the planes of her face, the soft and sharp angles, her full mouth, her clever eyebrows.
“You aren’t seeing all of me.” Wanda whispers. “Just like you aren’t all of you.”
Agnes frowns, trying to parse out what she means, and opens her mouth to say something, but Wanda cuts her off, sealing their lips together.
I’m so sorry. Wanda whispers into Agnes’s mind, kissing her deeply.
Then, through their kiss, she dispels the magic, for good this time, setting Agatha free.