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You knew you were in trouble when Agatha left the rest of the coven huddled around a fire and joined you in the forest area, away from prying ears.
You needed some peace and quiet. The trials were emotionally tasking. Risking your life day by day, doing things such as drinking poison and performing a song while fire raged around you…
It was a lot.
But this was your life now.You knew full well what you were signing up for. Agatha had warned you, loud and clear.
The choice to come here was yours, and you would make it all over again if given a chance for what you wanted — what you needed — from the Road wasn't something easily attainable. You'd be damned if you were to give up now.
Some things were worth risking everything for.
"Y/N," Agatha said as she approached you, casual, hands in the pockets of her coat. Like she were on a walk in a park rather than a dangerous and deadly Road.
"Yeah?" You weren't really in the mood to talk, your batteries still low from the latest trial. It didn't help that you didn't feel fully at ease with the others. The kid was fine, but the other witches made you nervous. You didn't trust them. You didn't know them.
The only one you really knew was Agatha. Which was why you just stood there instead of moving away or feigning sleepiness as she walked over, something clearly on her mind. It paid off to have befriended her back in the day. It was by pure chance, an encounter neither one of you expected, but, in hindsight, you were both glad it had happened.
She had earned a listening ear, someone to confide in, who wouldn't judge her no matter what. Someone who would have her back even if the rest of the world were to turn against her.
You had earned a protector in a world that was dangerous for your kind.
"We need to talk," Agatha said. Her tone didn't reveal much; you didn't know what to expect.
You turned to her. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's peachy."
"Is Jen talking shit about you again? My offer to punch her in the face still stands," you said. You'd nearly done so a couple days back, but Agatha had held you back. She could handle Jen, she'd said. Her words had meant nothing to her.
It didn't make hearing lies and slander about your friend feel any better, but if she said she was okay, then that was that. Agatha was centuries old; much older than you. She may have been powerless now, but she could still hold her own. She'd heard worse. She'd lived through worse. Some random witch's petty insults didn't bother her.
Agatha chuckled. "Jen is… Jen. But no, she hasn't said anything."
"Then what's up?"
"I need to ask you something."
"Why do I feel like I'm about to be interrogated?" you said, nervous. You forced a smile. "Are you back in your true crime mode? Are you gonna manhandle me until I confess?"
"That's cute," Agatha said, rolling her eyes, prompting you to laugh.
If you'd known Wanda Maximoff had cast a spell on her, you would have come and gotten her out of it sooner — or tried to, at the very least. That was the thing about friendships that lasted for centuries; a lot of time was spent apart. It wasn't unusual for one of you to disappear for a few years and then pop back into the other's life. You missed her when she was gone, of course you did, but she had her life, and you had yours.
It was only when she'd showed up at your door with Teen in tow that you'd finally found out why she'd gone radio silent for three years. And, much to your disappointment, the witch who'd done it to her was dead, so you couldn't even punch her for it, or call her a bitch to her face.
Such was life.
"What are you doing here?" Agatha asked.
"What do you mean?" you said, taken aback.
"On the Road," she clarified. "Why are you here?"
Because you wanted something you could never have without it. Simple as that. "You asked me to come."
"No, I didn't. I told you I was going. You demanded I take you with me."
Right. You'd hoped that little detail would slip by her. You should've known by now she kept track of everything; her mind was as sharp as her magic.
"I haven't seen you in three years," you said, hoping that would be enough of an explanation. "I wanted to hang out with you. And, like, maybe get some more power along the way."
"Anyone ever tell you you're a shitty liar?"
Yes. She did. Multiple times in the past. Which was why, whenever the two of you needed to swindle someone — for whatever reason — she was the one doing the talking and you just nodded along and smiled.
"You did."
"Yes," Agatha said. "I did. Because you are."
You sighed. "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth."
"There's nothing to say."
There was a lot, actually, but you didn't dare open up that particular can of worms. Once it was said, it could never be taken back. So why say anything at all?
"Oh, is there?" Agatha said sarcastically.
"Don't do that," you said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
Because you're my friend. Because I don't want to ruin this. "Because I'm asking you not to. That used to mean something."
"It still does." Her voice was soft. Tender. Gone was the sarcasm, the defensive sharpness. It was just her now. Your friend.
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because I want to know."
"Leave it alone." You knew she wouldn't. She never did.
"Y/N," Agatha said, your name but a whisper on her lips.
You sighed. Was she really going to do this now? Why couldn't she just take you at your word and put up with a little white lie? Why did she have to be so damn stubborn?
"Why did you want to come here?" She wasn't demanding. She wasn't prodding. She was just asking.
She knew you couldn't resist her for too long.
The perks of allowing Agatha Harkness to be your close friend. She knew you too well for your own good.
A lump formed in your throat. Heat bit at the back of your neck like a curse about to swallow you whole. Your heart raced, a marathon booming in your chest.
There was a silence, long, drawn out. Then, in your quietest, softest voice, you said, "You know why."
She always did.
She always knew everything.
Secrets weren't secrets for long around Agatha Harkness.
You tried to tell yourself that you were being careful, that your emotions were in check at all times, but the truth was, your poker face was worse than your lying skills. You just pretended you were doing a good job, and Agatha went along with it.
To her credit, she never tried to take advantage. She never made fun of you for it, or played games. The deal was friendship, and that's what she gave you. Nothing more, and nothing less.
"I want to hear it from you."
A tear slid from the corner of your eye. Your cheek burned like a fireplace. Your mouth trembled, holding the words back, wanting to keep them trapped forever. But what would be the point, really? The truth was bound to come out eventually.
The truth had been out for a long time, written all over your face. A big, scarlet letter for all the world to know how you really felt. What you really wanted, but never felt like you could have.
"You." It felt almost freeing to say it out loud, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, allowing you to breathe in a way you hadn't for years. "I came here because I want you."
Really, what else could you have possibly wanted? You were satisfied with the power you had. You got by. Your life wasn't in danger. There was nothing for you to ask for, that you didn't already have.
Except for one thing you thought — you knew — was unattainable.
Agatha Harkness. One of the most powerful witches you'd ever gotten to know. Rumored to be cruel and ruthless, heartless. A remorseless monster. A serial killer of witches. Your best — and only — friend. The love of your life.
"Go on," you said after a few moments of silence. "Make fun of me."
"Now, why would I do that?" Agatha asked, appalled at the suggestion. Offended for sbe thought you knew her better than that.
Which was exactly why you were so afraid. She hid her feelings expertly. Rather than admit vulnerability, she preferred to go on the offensive. A scorpion stinging with its venom where it hurt the most. She cared about you, and she trusted you, but there was no telling how she would react to something like this out in the open.
You saw how she treated people. You watched her murder witch after witch and discard the bodies as if they were nothing. You watch her climb over others to prop herself up, to rise to the top.
What was to stop her from doing the same to you?
What made you so different?
Why had she never treated you any different than one would a friend? Why had she always had your back, without you even having to ask? Why had she taken lives — many, many lives — to save yours?
Why did she trust you with her story, with memories of her son and the failed romance with Rio?
Why did she feel comfortable to bare her soul to you and let the tears flow freely, a salty river down her face each and every time she revealed a piece of her history?
"I just…" You were nervous. You were scared. You wanted to die.
"You know, honey, you didn't have to be so dramatic about it," Agatha said, perking up. Teasing you like she usually did; a bit mean, but with no real malice behind it. Playful. A cat throwing around a mouse it had caught. "You went on the Road to score a date? Really?"
It wasn't really a date you were after, but her point stood.
You were stupid.
This was a stupid idea, and it had backfired, and now she was going to mock you for it until the day one of you died.
"You do know all you had to do was ask, right?" she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you'd ever give me the time of day."
Agatha pressed her hands to her hips, elbows sticking out. "Who's to say I wouldn't?"
Now she was definitely taking the piss. "Come on," you said, putting on your fakest smile you knew would never fool her. "You're this amazing, badass, smoking hot witch."
She preened at the compliments. The surefire way to feel heart. She was nothing if not an attention whore.
"You-you're everything." Your everything, and more. So much more. "And I'm a nobody."
"Don't you ever say that," Agatha said in her stern, no nonsense tone. No more Mrs. Nice Girl. All daggers and sharp edges. She grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in, and looked into sour eyes so intently it sent chills down your spine. "Don't you ever think you're a nobody."
"Everyone else thinks that," you said quietly.
It was obvious the others didn't think much of you. You could see it on their faces; the lack of respect, the underestimation. Jen had called you Agatha's pitbull to your face.
That was all you were to them. A pathetic witch whose only purpose was to speak up for Agatha. She may have joked about Teen being her pet, but it was clear to them all that that was your job. Agatha's witch familiar who was hopelessly in love with her and barked — but never bit — at every perceived slight against her.
"Who cares what they think?" Agatha said. "You're an exceptional witch, Y/N. They are nobodies."
"You're only saying that to make me feel better."
"Does that sound like something I'd do?"
No. It did not. She might use those words to manipulate some poor, unfortunate soul, but not you. Never you.
She always said it to you like it was.
"I mean, you do like to manipulate people," you joked. "And you lie better than I do."
Agatha rolled her eyes. "Everyone lies better than you do."
"True." There was no denying that.
She sighed, exasperated. "You really are an idiot."
And then her mouth was on yours, and she was kissing you, and your entire world exploded into fireworks and sparks and electricity, and, for a few short moments, you weren't in a dirty, creepy forest but rather somewhere warm and welcoming, and you never wanted to leave.
Agatha was everything you had imagined, and much, much more. Fire and ice all in one. Sugar and spice and everything nice and cozy and so fucking delicious.
Hers was the taste you never wanted to give up.
She tried to lean her head back, to take a break for breath, but you grabbed her chin and kissed her again, and again, and again. Hunger like you'd never felt before overtook you. Your nerves were on fire, legs weak underneath you, but you held on, forced yourself to remain standing. To remain kissing her for you never knew when you would get another chance.
If you would get another chance.
"Honey, I may be immortal, but I still need to breathe," Agatha said with a chuckle, right against your lips. Playful. Teasing.
Deciding it was enough, you backed away. Your lips were swollen, tingling. The taste of her, all of her, still on them, lingering like a ghost of your past. Forever imprinted on your mouth, a tattoo you hoped would never fade. You never wanted to lose it. Never wanted to forget what it felt like to be kissing her.
"Sorry," you said, blushing, nervous to hell and back.
Agatha looked you in the eye once again with the same fire as earlier. "Never apologize for taking what you want. You're a witch. The world is yours for the taking."
"I don't want the world," you said. "I just want you."
"Done." She said it so casually, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
You didn't buy it.
You quirked up an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"You knew I was…" Completely and totally in love with her. "...into you."
"You have a tell," she said simply. She always could read people like an open book.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I wanted you to ask for it."
"But why?"
Agatha sighed. "Y/N, what is it that I've been teaching you since the moment we met?"
"Fuck the rules?"
She nodded. "Fuck the rules."
"To be unapologetically me," you said.
"Because…?" she prompted.
"I'm a witch, and I've got nothing to be ashamed of. If I fuck up, that's fine. Shit happens. There's nothing that can't be fixed with a little bit of magic."
Agatha grinned, brimming with pride. "That's my girl."
That's what you really were now. Her girl.
A part of you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure that this was real. That it wasn't some dream or a hallucination the Road had inflicted on you as part of some fucked up trial.
The other part wanted to wrap her in your arms and never let go.
"Can I kiss you again?" you said, uncertain. Still not used to this new situation you'd gotten yourself into.
"You don't even have to ask," Agatha told you.
So you went for it. You kissed her. Once. Twice. Three times.
An infinite amount of times.
Later on, when it came time to get some shut eye, you kissed her goodnight, and she wrapped her arms around you. A protective cocoon, warm and safe.
And, in the morning, she was the one to wake you with a kiss of her own.
It was only fair.