Chapter Text
It was like a physical pull.
Tangible in her chest as if something were guiding her with a firm hand at the small of her back.
It was the early 1700’s, on a balmy summer evening in Salem.
Long exiled from her own coven, if she could even refer to them as such, for decades now.
Her skin which should have been leathered and sagged with age remained milky and supple, and her power only grew by the day. Spending her days on her lonesome training and studying, sourcing the finest resources and research to hone her craft, years accumulated hunched over cursed textbooks passed down from her ‘sisters’ in the craft into her greedy little hands.
Never having felt much sisterhood from her fellow witches, these were her rebellions teenage years, so to speak, despite her being far older. Acting on reckless whims with little regard for the sanctity of her gift, nor her own (and certainly not others) safety.
Killing on a whim for nothing at all, just to feel the rush of magic course through her veins, just to feel that power. Agatha adored power. It was addictive.
Only this past week she had slain some keen maiden, still nude, limbs tangled, chest heaving and flushed from the throes of passion simply for weeping after sex- emotion bored her, people bored her.
Far more preferable to spend her days alone…
Well, almost alone.
Though her odd little lovergirl could hardly be described as a person.
This wasn’t about her, though.
This was about you.
That fateful evening. Sun low in the sky, life thrumming all around her making her magic crackle at her fingertips as she strolled through the towns market.
She didn’t really want for anything, she knew this simple fair trade would have very little to offer her. Yet that didn’t stop her from lacing up her boots and trekking down into town from her little tucked away cabin on the edge of the village by the creek, away from her precious studies, and safely runed walls.
Moving on autopilot, as if she had forgotten something, as if she knew she had something to do today but couldn’t quite remember what. Or that it was so obvious what she was looking for that her mind didn’t even bother to remind her of what.
Letting her fingertips tickle along the carts of herbs and spices, no, she wasn’t here for them. Weaving her way through the humming bustle of town. She had to find it, whatever it was she was looking for, suddenly frantic without it.
Boots crunching along the dirt path as she strode assuredly through the settlement to a slightly more tucked away street. Feet carrying her to exactly what she was looking for, breath rapid now as if panicked, fretting over what she was returning to- no, who she was returning to.
This anxious tightening in her belly that she was apart from something she needed.
But Agatha Harkness needed for nothing and nobody, didn’t she?
However something about this felt consequential, fated, as she rounded the creaky old doorway of a house she was sure she had never looked twice at, at the end of the deserted street.
The stench of death hitting her like a brick wall immediately.
Pace faltering as she took in the sight before her.
Ah, there you were.
Just who she had been wanting to see.
She had been looking everywhere for you.
In every face she had ever seen peer up at her from between her thighs, in every crowd she had ever found herself feeling strangely displaced in as if not whole, in every cold night where she felt oddly as if she were waiting on bated breath for someone to climb under her blankets with her. Though they never came.
Some nights, when not even a cricket dare sing, she would wake up in a cold, fearful sweat, as if she had forgotten something as integral as breathing. Her breasts aching, and her heart racing.
A mother’s reflex.
But Agatha Harkness had no children, didn’t she?
“There you are,” She sighed, relieved.
Because for the single most important moment of her entire life, it felt rather simple. As if she had only popped out to the market for a few moments and had returned back to you, just where she belonged.
As if she already knew you, already knew your name, your age, exactly what had happened to lead to the scene splayed tantalisingly out before her. Unsure wether to thank magic for that, or the thrumming, pulsing life of your intertwined souls
The scene, as it was, left you on your knee’s, flimsy nightgown ripped deeply across your front. Blood smeared across your budding breasts from the body of a mangled carcass (for which she knew inherently to be your mothers) before you on the floor, still oozing and festering in the balmy summer humidity.
Sweeping over to you on the floor without hesitation to draw you close into her lap. Hands everywhere, fussing over you, checking you for injuries she knew you didn’t have, and letting the shredded garment of your night slip fall from your lanky form for fear of over-heating she knew you didn’t feel. Feeling the throbbing purpose of your lifeblood thrumming throughout your body as clearly as she did her own as she let her lips peck you all over your exposed shoulders and cheeks and neck.
Uncaring for the way the claggy, half congealed blood smeared across her mouth as she dragged your deliciously bare skin against her own, almost ferally.
“I found you.” She finally said after pulling back, soft face cradled in her palms as she met your eye.
Eyes wide and red and wet from tears in a way that made the older witches heart race.
You were perfect.
How had she existed for all this time without knowing how it felt to have the heat of your body beneath her lips, or how your course pubic hair felt dragging against her bare thigh where her skirts gathered as she knelt.
You looked a little shell shocked, unsure of how long you had been sat here, collapsed in your own mess, sobbing over the body of your own mother whom you had killed.
Too much power in such a small body and absolutely no clue as to how to wield it.
Small hands taught over Agatha’s hips, holding her to you, as if terrified she would pull away, trembling like a spooked mouse. Her frightened little girl, she was going to make it all okay.
You looked frazzled, but not confused, no, you knew exactly who Agatha was, just as she knew exactly who you were.
You had been waiting for her to arrive ever since the early hours of yesterday morning, when the light was still faint and blue, and all you could think about was how something…someone was coming to save you from all of this. Only when the dashing brunette stepped foot into your mothers’ shabby little cabin did you know just who it was you had been waiting for your whole life.
In everybody, anytime anybody had ever entered a room, any face that had peered over your bassinet as a babe, in every stranger whom you’d bumped shoulders with at the market, everybody.
“It’s…you.” You croaked, little fingers so tight that Agatha’s sex warmed at the possibility of little purple crescent moon kisses over her hips later that night.
Suddenly remembering just where you were, and just what was puddled and sticky beneath you.
“Oh, I-I’m so s-“ Tears gathering fat in your waterline as your chest grew blotchy and pink with fearful shame.
You had not meant to kill your mother.
It had all started in the wee hours of the morning, when not even the frogs croaked.
Pulled from the comfort of your shared bedroom by some invisible force to where a crow lay groaning and clawing at the churned up earth of your garden, just before your porch. It had been trying to get to you, a streaking trail of crimson following it closely. It had been injured, a knife, or an arrow.
Something human, and it enraged you.
Kneeling down into the dew kissed grass, uncaring for how the mud smeared your nightie, hands warm and shaky with feeling as you held the dying animal close, and whispered your reassurances into its smooth, feathered head. Going limp for a few moments as you felt your chest tighten with it, until it flinched to life suddenly, and burst from your arms and flew away into the warm night air.
It wasn’t the first time you had been able to do this, no, your very first memories toddling out into your garden and bringing limp little earth worms wriggling back to life with your chubby little toddler fingers. Not even taking much note of it anymore, just a fact of being.
However, your mother certainly took note of it from where she was watching you through a window in your shared house. Taking heed of the way when you rose back up to return to bed from where you had been stooped, and the way the previously trampled and flattened grass rose back up with life alongside you, seeming to preen towards you.
It had all kicked off rather disastrously after that.
A screaming fit ensued, insisting she drag you by your hair to the town pastor that very moment and rebuke whatever malignant entity was befouling her child, and persuading her into the shadows of sanctity.
It all became too much. Your breath grew ragged and a fearful nausea crept up your throat, until you felt as if you were cowering beneath her like that same little girl who had endured her violent rage since before you could remember.
Not even realising what you had unleashed until you were coming-to, wet and sticky with something red and dank smelling, as you hovered above your own mother’s dead body.
“Shh, shh,” Agatha hushed, sweeping your curls back from your face, thick with congealed blood, which she thought made you look beautiful.
“Messy girl.” She mused, as if the blood were nothing but applesauce across a babes’ cheeks. “You needn’t fret over that,” Cocking her head to the flies circling the body of your mother. “There will be plenty more to come.” She grinned sadistically.
“She was a mere placeholder, anyway, and I think you can feel it too, can’t you?” Nodding along without even realising what you were doing, like your body had this instinctive pull to agree with anything she could possibly say.
“It’s alright.” She soothed with a smile more maternally comforting than your own ‘mother’ ever had the wherewithal to be able to muster, and it sounded so good you couldn’t help but release this preening little whimper.
Seemingly pleased with your reaction, she leaned forward to rub her nose against yours, like a mother lioness to her cub. “Just like a frightened little mouse,” She mused pleasantly.
Faces pressed so closely that your lips rubbed together, eliciting an excited, surprised gasp from you which she took full advantage of as she claimed your mouth with her own.
Slow and indulgent as you both committed every moment to memory. Agatha claimed your mouth with her tongue greedily, letting her tongue trace the smooth bluntness of your teeth, feeling every groove and divot as she languidly swept it over your own heat, groaning into your mouth at the flavour of her baby.
Tasting the addictive, florally bitter tang of iron, as the evidence of your power smeared against her lips, kissing you deeper. Needing more. The blood heady as the air surrounding you seemed to stir and throb, magic within both of you beginning to pulse as if pleased, this was how the Earth Mother willed it to be when she brought you into this world as a gift to Agatha to be treasured.
Smiling into the kiss when she felt you excitably begin to press back into her mouth, silently begging for entry as she allowed you your turn to play with her mouth as well, like an explorative little kitten. Moaning wantonly when you suckled in the tip of her tongue like a hungry babe, she could taste that you were new. Written in the indents of your foot prints that no other would own your mouth, nor your body, and especially not your heart.
Nobody but Agatha…well, Agatha and-
“Oh,” Agatha’s grin turned wicked and excited, as she chuckled darkly into your mouth, soft steps could be heard padding up the creaky front porch. “Daddy’s home.”
“What do we have here?”
A voice came, startling you as you jumped closer in Agatha’s embrace like a frightened lamb, though she remained calm, smiling widely up at the stranger.
Though…no, she wasn’t a stranger at all, was she?
Familiar, just as Agatha was, yes, she was supposed to be here too. Looking up into those big doe eyes which looked as inquisitive and quietly curious as a cat, you found no trepidation as you relaxed in Agatha’s arms.
Rio, yes, that was her name, you were sure of it.
Agatha hummed at your thoughts, reading them with gleeful ease as you felt your magic crackle just under the surface with all of you here together.
Looking down on you, her robes and skirts looked expensive and thick, like winter ones belonging to that of a Lady with prowess. She stood tall, and with the evening light slowly fading she seemed to almost glow.
Carrying a scent with her that seemed hauntingly familiar, like the smell of the pillow in your cot when you were a very small child. Or that damp mossy smell right before a thunderstorm, where the world seemed to hang on natures every whim with bated, electric anticipation.
Noticing then that there seemed to be a small gathering of little critters waiting at the entrance of the house, their beady little eyes peering in, watching the scene play out as if it were something monumental and natural. Blending in with the natural landscape as if you were one of their own. A part of their ecosystem more so than you had ever been the other humans.
“I missed you,” You suddenly gasped to both of them, overwhelmed with the significance of it all, and a bit anxious at the fact you seemed unable to lie to them.
Agatha held you closer at the admission, and Rio’s face seemed to soften.
You knew exactly who Rio was…what she was, you could smell it on her, taste the truth of her very being as if it were perfume against her dusky skin. However, with Lady Death here knelt before you, her skirts bunched about her waist as she leant forward to press your noses together- just as Agatha had. Like animals greeting each other after being apart for far too long, you couldn’t feel any proposed malice leech into your skin, at all.
“I missed you, my little Raven.” Moaning into your skin with trembling breath when she dipped her head to press her nose to your throat, inhaling deeply.
“Spirits, Agatha, she really is ours…” She practically groaned, taking you in.
Your wide eyes, cat like and curious, just like your father, which had seen such massacre for being so helplessly innocent now. Soft, baby-like cheeks, and (Currently) wild, dark hair, just like your mother. Which shimmered pretty and blue like a raven in the low light.
Agatha reaching out to smooth back the entities hair fondly as she rubbed you over your hip, relishing how you clung to her like a frightened baby. Pressing her lips to your soft cheek as she spoke closely.
“Do you remember how you came into this world, little one?” Frowning, you shook your head.
“You were born with the first lambs of spring, after a long, cold winter.” Rio continued, a cold hand reaching out to rub you over your exposed belly affectionately, where your slip had ripped, feeling your cheeks warm with the familiarity of the touch, and how natural it felt to receive it.
“The winter frost melted into the earth, and thus came our baby’s first breath on this plain.” Her hand joining Rio’s to intertwine over your belly as you looked between them confusedly.
Not needing to utter a word for them to feel your confusion at the possessiveness in the phrase ‘our baby’.
Rio’s smile deepened to something carnally excited as a weighty silence hung between you.
“Do you remember that night, my love?” Rio promoted with this giddy grin, as Agatha hummed indulgently, letting her hand trail up higher, splayed over your whole abdomen as her thumb grazed the bottom of your budding breasts.
“How could I forget, hmm? The night we first met our girl.” Pressing a kiss to your crown as she breathed you in. “My darling I have been searching for you ever since.”
Looking up at her with that perplexed innocence that made her chest and cunt ache.
Oh, how she had missed you, how could she ever have forgotten that the empty cavern within her chest had a name and it belonged to you.
Rio kissed you then at the corner of your mouth, and her scent made your head swim with pleasure as she let her full lips trail down your jaw. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognise your own parents?”
Gasping then, capturing Agatha’s hand where it had begun to creep up even higher over the swell of your nubile breasts.
“What lies you do weave!” You hissed, but they only chuckled at your hysteria.
Suddenly their hands felt everywhere, although they only had four, you felt they were groping you in places they dare not reach as you flushed and fussed in their embrace.
“Such postulation…” Agatha chimed, rather infantilisingly, like someone might muse to a small child, however the worst part is you didn’t entirely dislike it, it felt like how you were meant to be talked to.
“You-“ Cutting yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut suddenly as you clapped eyes on your mother’s corpse once again.
“My mother is right there!” You cried, eyes welling as you remembered all over again what mortal sins you had committed to bring yourself here, before Agatha jumped in.
“Oh, no, no, no little one, that’s where you are mistaken, you see,” One hand splayed across your hip and belly, and another holding your chin so you would meet her eye, albeit tentatively.
“She was but a host, a vessel for our manifestation, our little masterpiece…” Exchanging a knowing look between them before their attention fell to you with such warm reverence it made you squirm.
Expression hardening to something possessive as her hand clamped over the bone of your hip, breath close to your throat as she breathed you in.
“I wish I could have born her myself, I can feel it in her creaky bones that old cunt didn’t wean her for long enough, my little darling I would have let you suckle at her breast till you were long grown…”
She cooed with such viscous jealousy you felt juxtaposed by your humiliated pink cheeks and quivering inner thighs, pressing her breast into your side as if she wished your rapt lips were around them now.
Rio frowned at the vindication in her loves’ tone, leaning forward to press her lips lovingly to her sharp cheekbone. “I know, mi amor, but you know this was fates whim.”
Mouth a firm line, looking as if she were about venomously contradict her lovers reassessment before you jumped in, scandalised.
“No, I…I have a father- somewhere, and you are…ladies.” You hissed as if scandalised, and it made them chuckle darkly as they leaned in and kissed over your neck as if pulled by the same thread.
“My, my, how prudish, it appears we have some work to do to teach the little one of the ways of our world.” Rio beamed as if she couldn’t wait.
Agatha continued, cutting your train of thought off before it even began.
“Yes, ‘our’ world,” She reiterated. “Mommy and daddy paid extra close mind to ensure you were as gifted and brilliant as you have all the promise to be.”
Flushing beet red at her reference. “Agatha, I-“
“Mommy,” She corrected cooly, before evening out her teasing tone to something more patient.
“You are not…biologically ours, not in the mortal ideal of the word anyway.” Flippant as she continued. “But in mind and soul you are mommy and daddy’s treasure. Our creation.” A hand laid over your heart, flush with your bare breast, though she paid that no mind, smiling faintly at the steady, strong thuds of your heart against her palm, as if begging to reach her.
“You see, when a cosmic, natural, godly entity, and a witch with the accumulated knowledge and power of thousands behind her become intimately intertwined, the aftereffects can be rather…fated.” Agatha attempted to explain in simple terms.
“I knew you would come to us, our little raven, you always do, in every life, In every universe you are ours…” Rio trailed off, sucking her teeth. “However in this universe fates whim seemed to bend slightly more…dramatically.” Brow drawn together as you tried to keep up with the story as if your (currently) mortally educated mind could ever try to make sense of the gravitas.
Agatha rolled her eyes slightly at the less than satisfactory explanation. “Listen, it seemed that this time instead of waiting out the natural course of this timelines fate for all of us to be brought together, our combined bond ached so dearly for its completion that it…rushed the natural order a little bit.”
“We are fated, little one, bonded by time, by nature, by magic.” Lady Death smiled widely down to you as the words sunk in.
“So…” You drawled. “Like soulmates?”
Remembering back to a time the notion had been whispered about in church class by some love-sick girl before being harshly shut down by your minister, for being tales of debauchery from perverted poets. Though the tale had always remained with you somewhere strangely familiar.
Agatha chuckled as Rio groaned, kissing your temple in praise.
“Exactly like that, my clever little girl,” Rolling her eyes at Rio’s dramatics as she grumbled beside you. “Ignore her, my modern maiden, she’s older than the hills.”
“It is not proper,” Rio scolded. “She must learn the tradition of the craft.”
“And so she shall,” The brunette reassured easily. “Let her be a romantic, I think it’s charming.”
Turning back to you with a wide smile, continuing easily. Enjoying how you clung to her every word like a mystified child.
“What she was trying to so eloquently retell,” Apparently enjoying irritating her love as Rio grumbled dejectedly to your side. “…Is that usually we would not have had to conceive you, our darling wife, you would have been born naturally without tampering from our magic. We are soulmates, as you so lovingly put it, our magic is one, we thrive and feed off of one another to function.”
Breathing in deeply with a little pleasant shudder as she felt your life-force thrum happily against hers once again.
“However this lifetime, for whatever reason, our paths have been yearning for you more violently, apparently so deeply that they took to alternative routes of conception with a more…hands on approach.’ Side-eying the entity who batted her lashes innocently.
“Your part to play was equal, my love, it takes water and soil to bare fruit…”
Ignoring her helpful addition as if she hadn’t heard it.
Seemingly bored by the conversing as she pinched at your exposed nipple just to enjoy the sound of your yelp. “A maiden indeed.”
Relishing in the sound, Rio let her hand scrape down your soft belly, breath quickening at how you shivered, and seemed to arch into the touch, before Agatha lightly slapped her wrist.
“Gentle, my love, no marks, she’s not ready for that.”
Soothing over your lower navel as you found yourself hot at their attention. Never in your life feeling so exposed and so ecstatic.
Your old nightgown in tatters, hanging loosely from your bloodied form, exposing all of your sacred intimacies, and yet you didn’t feel even a touch bashful. As if your natural reflexes shrunk beneath the whims of the older women, and something far more primally unguarded came out.
Enjoying how you writhed pink and wanton between them, Rio continued.
“You know we are not…the same as everyone else, don’t you?” Grinning understandingly when you seemed to wriggle uncomfortably at her words.
Although she remembered less and less of what it was like to exist under the confines of human culture, whether she had ever been mortal at all. Unable to remember being a child, having a mother, true pain- whether physical or otherwise. She knew it to be stifling, especially for women like you all. And you were hers, so completely, and yet you had never known it, and had probably been living your entire life dreadfully, hopelessly lost as to why you couldn’t simply be as everyone around you was.
How lonely an existence, she couldn’t wait to show you how the world could look, could feel.
You would never be lonely again.
Hand cool to your flushed sternum as you leant inadvertently into the touch. “That’s us. That’s mommy and daddy.” And you weren’t sure you had ever been looked at with such love. “A perfect combination not of biology, but of magic…”
Whispering the last word like it were something worthy of worship. And you supposed, here, in the blue-light of a summers evening, with only your hearts to be beating for miles, it rather did.
The more she said the word the truer it became.
“But I’m not…your daughter, am I?”
Voice hushed as if it were too scandalous to say above a whisper, feeling the way a keen arousal rippled through the women at the mention of such an idea like something tangible, like you all pulsed and thrived from the same source.
A connection none of you were in control of.
Clearing her throat, Rio’s legs shifting slightly. “No, no, not in the mortal way you refer, at least.”
Her words making Agatha scoff in a way somewhat possessive, flippant, envious. “You mustn’t fret over the mundanity of human morals anymore, my sweet, you abide witches law now, which is far more fun…”
Suckling on your bottom lip, her low chuckle at the way you bucked into the touch made your lips vibrate, warming your centre.
“You are our daughter of the craft, our precious little witching. We may not have made you in blood, but we made you in power, and isn’t that far more fun?”
Agatha almost begging you to agree as her hand tightened at your navel, dull nails biting into the sensitive skin as you whined and nodded. Hearing how clouded with lust and possession her tone was, making the hairs at your centre damp with promise.
“Witches…” You murmured against her mouth, as if tasting the idea, the thought.
Letting it linger on your tongue and all that came with welcoming such a lifestyle.
Though it wasn’t as if you had any choice, you had been born with this affliction-
“This gift.” Rio interrupted your train of thought, only then realising she had been reading your thoughts as you soft cheeks pinkened.
Supposing that you were still high off of adrenaline from your first physical, tangible explanation of power, and the violence it sought, otherwise all of this monumentous information surely would have sent your fragile, mortally conditioned sensibilities into a fit of seizures.
But the scent of dank, festering death had faded as the women crossed the threshold, and you found the only scent remaining was their skin, and the herbal remedies beneath Agatha’s fingernails, and the earth caked into the seemingly unending life lines of Rio’s palms.
Rose coloured glasses making the blue evening hue shine gold with prosper.
These were your parents, your lovers, the very womb that had bore you, and the seed that had spilled inside, the first child to ask you to play on the playground, the first bug that had landed on your finger in the garden, the dreams of love and lust that left you warm and ponder-some on mornings which you awoke with no memory of your dreams, only a lingering feeling of comfort, satiated for but a moment, till your hunger longed for them in ways you had no words to name.
You could feel no fear here and now, because even if your body had long forgotten, your mind remained lucid and sure.
This was where you were supposed to be, even with your kins blood- cold and congealed, staining your underthings, the warmth of their wandering hands quelled any possible chill.
Soon they would take turns leeching the remaining life force from your mother’s corpse till it was a mangled mess. Feeling yourself grow with power and a lust you had never felt before as your body adjusted to the ecstasy of its natural state. Like the rush of being just below the surface of a vast, cold, unforgiving ocean your entire life, and you had just breeched the surface. Your virginal cunt hot as your lungs heaved with the relief of it.
Afterwards, they took you violently and lovingly atop what was left of your mother’s dead body.
Shedding their robes till you lay a tangled, heaving, wanton pile atop the blood and gore. Her body was distantly, morbidly tepid, as they took turns passionately fucking you into the mess. Seeping and congealing into your hair and slicking all of your pale, keen bodies starkly in the clarity of the clear blue night.
Words utterly superfluous as you tasted each other’s spit and sweat and desire. The only sounds to be heard the heaving of your breaths, and the primordial trills of pleasure you simultaneously released. The slick, lewdly moist, hollow sound of bare skin sliding against torn, mangled flesh making your chest flush a deep rouge.
Soaking up the magic of your first budding orgasm from your nubile body, with hungry mouths and greedy hands. Lapping up the blood and need from your deflowering until you collapsed from the intensity of it.
Shaky memories of them mounting your thighs, and smearing their lust for their daughter against your milky flesh, until they carried you home to somewhere warm, smelling of earth and skin and them.
Graciously tucked away from prying, judgmental eyes, home, not from the shielding walls around you, but because your souls had found each other once again, in this life and the next.
Practically trembling with excitement to spend the rest of your life making up for lost time.