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Me and The Devil - Luke Muzzic
Spiderhead - Cage the Elephant
I Was Made For Lov'n You - YUNGBLUD
The Ouija board appeared ever more ominous when it was covered in your coworker's blood. Like a sign to a hospital that is abandoned, forgotten. Only these letters were covered in dark blood. The type that comes from slashing someone’s throat.
Your lover had instructed you to use your magic, and aim for the jugular, promising she’d scream less this way too.
Your face and arms were splattered with the blood that once allowed this twenty-year-old barista to live. Hands clammy, gripping at her neck like a drunk man would feel the bottom of the boat for a leak, unintelligent enough not to realize the water is up to his shoulders.
You’d pregamed this brutal act, having downed half the bottle of whiskey, but found that in this moment you didn’t need a drink to help. It was easy, almost too easy.
It made you feel more alive then ever.
You’d never considered yourself a murderer, but then again you had never before fallen for a spirit before.
When you’d moved into the Westview House out of college, you’d had very few things. A duffle bag of loose belongings and a silly board game. An antique version of Ouija. Which had been your mother's last wish for you to keep, never be without in fact.
Maybe when you were handcuffed at the station, with detective Agnes booking you for murder - you could plead mental illness.
How else were you to explain how you’d fallen in love with a dead witch who spoke to you through a board game? They’d pity you a bit, college drop out moves to shitty rental in shitty town. Antisocial, drinker, with a minimum wage job and an infinity to all things dead.
Your favorite thing about yourself was that family airloom. A board game and a mental illness was all you had in this world.
It sounded a little too Jumanji, but you were being honest.
When you’d moved into the Bohner house, it was cheap rent. Mostly because of the Hex and Harkness rumors. You didn’t care.
Or you didn’t until you set down your Ouija, not even opening the door, just putting it out as you moved. And the planchette moved, and that’s how you met your….girlfriend? That sounded bad, but you had fallen for Agatha Harkness.
So you’d spent far too much time with lit candles, blood dripping from your palm, and the hope of a love that time would stop for.
It wasn’t easy dating a spirit, with your only communication being that stupid board. So you hatched an impossible plan. Agatha would need a body.
That’s why you had to kill this drunk millennial. And who would really miss her?
She was an idiot, you had lured your unsuspecting acquaintance into the woods with the promise of a Halloween party. A kegger with college boys, city boys with drugs, and Black Flag cliche tattoos.
And this wanna be 90’s grunge babe who cut her own bangs had caved instantly to such an invite. Even if it was from you, the awkward emo freak, the one who weird things happened to. Fires started, people getting hurt, bugs appearing in strange places.
You were unusual….Unbeknownst to you that’s why Agatha had picked you.
Agatha slowly taught you magic and you found that it all came too easy. Sorta like murder.
But you still had problems with the shadows, as you were able to make them bend to your will. But sometimes they still spoke to you at night, and they were so very loud. Causing you to never get a nights rest.
This is where the board game came in hand, Agatha wanted to comfort you.
The witch had said many a beautiful thing to you as you stayed awake for all hours.
You figured she was manipulating you, just like everything else that spoke through the cracks in your door.
Still - you’d brought up bridging Agatha back to this realm, and she’d been hesitant. Obviously, she wanted to come back, but she was also a tad afraid of what that kind of magic would do to you, if you were truly ready. But in the first week of October. And you knew this time of year was when the veil was thinnest. It was now, it had to be now.
So when your tar colored magic slit the innocent woman's throat before she could ask where the rest of the party was, and you tried to remember her name but couldn’t. Only the smell of her pumpkin spice Baileys liquor.
You didn’t have time to ask why that was so fun. As the last bit of life disappeared, you reached out to caress the shadow before it disappeared into the dark night. Her body collapsed, you stuck your fingers into her neck to retrieve more blood from the source, like a quill would an inkwell.
You were no longer intoxicated from the whiskey, but you felt drunk off of something. Something deep in your soul, dark magic flowing in your veins.
You go to the biggest tree in the forest you can find, and start drawing. It wasn’t runes, it wasn’t something of this world or this century. But it made sense to you, you eventually use your magic to carve the girls throat open up to her pierced ears. Needing more blood to ooze. Now she’s no longer cute, her head detaching from her body. So it hangs as though it were a child's backpack with the zipper open. You fist the insides of her for more ink, dragging her corpse closer to the tree. You write and write, you don’t notice that your fingernails come off, you don’t notice the light completely fade away. No moon in the sky now, only darkness and shadows.
You write in a bloody script, with an innocent corpse lying next to you, and you whisper a dead language you didn’t know you spoke. In the hopes to bring a lover you haven’t met yet back to the land of the living.
It takes six hours, which if you were comparing, it took the false profit six days to create the world.
And you were stealing a life back from Death in a mere six hours. Not to brag or anything, but you did always like to make an impression.
It isn’t until you run out of space on the wood that it cracks open, bark ripping wetly from bark.
Not dry as a tree should, but onyx shine and gooey, it strings and tethers. As though it was the dead girls hair in the gears of a meat grinder.
You panic and grab the mutilated body and feed it into the tree.
It’s not an exact science, and you’d only read bits of what a body snatching ceremony even resembled.
After scrolling through too many adaptations of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, it was clear you’d have to imporovies.
You shove the sole of the dead girl’s left foot, and the tree takes it all.
Not exactly ‘The Giving Tree’ of your childhood books, but it seemed to be even more wise. It’s spinley limbs reaching into the night sky as if to scratch and tare the fabric of this world. And open up something horrid from beyond, where gods prayed on witchlings and mortal babies alike.
Your fingers are bleeding now, nails gone, pads of skin long rubbed off. And for the first time you felt the burn, realized your own blood was dripping onto the dirty forest floor. Not meaning to cast a different sort of spell, praying to an altar more satanic than you even knew.
Your blood sunk down though. Down deep past the layer of wet leaves, stones and mud, past the earthworms. Deep down below, where the centipedes slept in their dank safety. Your blood dripped into the root of the roots, into the pits of the earth, where your chaos magic had just cracked fate’s skull open. Changing everything in a mere six hours.
The sound could only be compared to what you had already heard in life, like a hefty black boot does a simple man's bone. The snap of chicken thighs, the spine of a book long forgotten, banned from the light of day.
The hand that shoots out of the tree still takes you by surprise, and you jolt at the appearance, falling back a bit. But as a wet membrane pulses out of the opening, its black, veiny placenta-like case shines with blood. And you hesitate, wondering if by chance you had done something wrong.
If you’d brought a demonic entity into this world, or even the stupid barista back.
But as the second hand uses its nail to open the mucosa, purple magic fries the sides of it. The smell of burning flesh singes the inside of your nose, and you should vomit.
But you propel off the forest floor with dirt and blood-stained hands, deciding whatever this was, it was yours. Made from the horror, or what you could do, and the result of the murder that came too easily to you.
So you reach out a hand to aid this thing, and a groaning noise can be heard. Not like you thought, a lot less Frankenstein’s Monster and far more annoyed middle-aged drunk aunt in rush hour traffic.
Yet still, you grab the second arm, which holds onto you too hard. And you yank and tug. Both of you are grunting now, at this small opening in the tree. And the brutal birthing is taking place.
It isn’t until dirty, wet brunette curls become visible that you think you may have a person even. The arms and the grunting should have told you that it was something, but this was 2025, and you had communicated with a spirit through an Ouija board that came out in 1890…from a blood and carnage sacrifice….in the middle of a forest in New Jersey.
You had reason to think this would all go terribly wrong, or not work at all.
But as this person’s head breached, sticking out. Her nose and mouth finally moved past the thick cell case. She spit out whatever fluid that was in her….pod? Maybe you should have paid more attention to Invasion of the Body Snatchers?
But after she spit for the sixth time she stopped and looked at you. Eyes crystal blue, nose adorably shaped, hair long and wild…a sort of motherly tenderness about her.
And she grunted as her hand came out to your shoulder.
“Keep it up my little Gloom, almost there.” She spoke, and you almost dropped her torso. But this creature held on tight, so you lifted her by weight and got her chest out. And the black goo fell onto the forest floor in gallons now, and you tried to keep your hold firm. Even though it was a little disgusting if you were going to be honest.
By the time her hips were out, her knees were easy. And her barefeet fell to the ground and you hadn’t expected the slurping noise or the dead weight on your body.
So you fell and your personal Frankenstein creation fell right on top of you. Grunting as all of the air escaped her lungs.
“Ouch.” A wheeze out and tried to free your arms from under her weight.
“Oh my little beetle, I’m afraid I don’t have full use of my legs yet. Did I hurt you?” The being asked truly concerned for you. And aren’t sure if this is real. But the nicknames are so sweet you gotta ask.
“You keep calling me that, who are you?” You quip and flip the gooey goddess onto her back, but the dark-haired beauty flexed her hands slowly, and purple floated like tiny smoke between each finger. As though the power was purring for her mistress. Then she settles on your form, appearing to like what she see’s too.
“Why, I’m your long distance lover. You don’t recognize me from the picture you pinned to your room?”It’s flirtatious and yet a cold sweat forms and your fight or flight kicks in.
You get on your knees and back away, not really believing her. Which was silly since you had just pulled her out of a tree and spoken to her from the ‘beyond’ for six months. The hellish beauty grabs your knee to stop you.
“Don’t run from me my sweetness. At least let Mama get her legs back so I can chase you.” The witch cackles, and you blinked like a stupid victim in a slasher film moments before getting your own throat sliced. Maybe you deserved that, after all you had just ripped a girl away from her friends…her family..her life.
“Now don’t be so morose. After all my little shadow, I agree with you. She was a dreadfully vapid thing. And my, what power you showed.” Dark hair spiraled out, and as the unworldly woman shook her head in delight at what she’d witnessed of you.
“You aren’t real.” You say lamely, but she had just read your mind and it was hard to ignore that.
“My little bug, don’t be silly, you know better.” Her eyes are blue, and you get a little lost in them. She was covered in black goo but..she did resemble..the photo…
“You-You’re-” You gulp.
“The names Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.” Your girlfriend’s fingers seductively run along your leg, and you jump back.
“No.” You whisper your mouth hanging open just a tad and she ignores you for a moment as she moves the ligaments of her body.
“For a being so young in your powers, you sure showed up for Mama.” She complimented you more to herself than to you and you looked at her in utter bewilderment.
“No…but that would mean I’m….”
“My betrothed?” She grins at you, her white teeth a contrast to her dirty form. Fingernails long, witchy long dark hair curling like tendrils on some temptress in folklore.
“Not crazy…” Your eyes snap down at your bloody fingers and really take this fact in. It had never occurred to you, that they were wrong..and you were not.
Agatha can’t let this sit for another second, she moved slowly, as to not scare you more than you already were. But her hands fell to the back of your damaged knuckles. Cressing your skin like she wanted to pay respect to everything that held you up.
“They were wrong, and you are magnificent. So powerful, so much potential. You, my dear, are going to make history. And with Mama’s help, we’ll do things you never imagined, cooped up in that bedroom, hiding from the noises. My love, I’ll show you things you never dreamed.” It’s enticing as all hell but also sinister.
“You don’t, I mean…aren’t you going to kill me?” You whispered, and Agatha’s black gunk skin didn’t bother you as she cupped your face more intimately, and you sighed at the contact. Like the first touch of your lifetime not in pity or pain.
“Why would I kill you? My love?”
“I just like Re-Animator’ed you. Besides you killed all those witches, siphoned their magic…drained them..Aren’t you-” You finally look up to see a bit of hurt in Agatha’s face.
“I like you far too….and we have too much to achieve together…”
“Won’t someone..I mean I messed with the natural law of things, right?” You’d done your fair share of reading, and Agatha arched an eyebrows impressed.
“Rio will come eventually to find you. But you don’t belong to her, and you have your own path. Still, she’ll want to meet you. But don’t worry, you are mine, and I intend to keep you safe.” Agatha let her thumb rub your left eyebrow, the spot where it had scarred from a particularly bad night, a trauma scar you hated. And she touched it with such affection you felt as though you must be dead.
“Funny…” She says looking at your fingers and you try to understand what’s funny about your fingers, until you notice they’re black…not dark blood..but black like charcoal-stained.
“Is that permanent?” You ask stupidly.
“I’m afraid it is, your blood is what forged the darkhold. You my love are what is woven into fabric of fate, a prophecy. And you must finish this spell if I’m going to stay in this body, earthbound and all.” Agatha adds at the end and you are still transfixed on your now soot-stained hands.
“They’ll never go back?” You murmur sadly.
“Babycakes, if there’s anyone in this whole universe who won’t be bothered by your hands it’s me. Now finish what you started.”
“I don’t understand.”
And Agatha seems to like that answer, putting her hands on her hips in awe of you.
“Darkhold weaver doesn’t know how to finish a spell, I do have much to teach you. Something tells me you’ll be a quick study, so I’ll help you now. Kiss me, we’ll start there.” Agatha cups your face again, and your body responds leaning in but you still question her methods.
“Kiss you?” You croak. And Agatha tosses her head back in laughter, but it doesn’t feel condescending somehow.
“Oh, sweet inkpot, you can wax poetry to me through the seams of life and death. You can murder a girl you can’t remember the name of in cold blood, but you blush like a virgin when I ask you to kiss me? You do remember what I told you through your spirit board?”
“You want me?” It doesn’t sound sure, because you aren’t sure.
Agatha curls her bottom lip into her mouth and bites it like she’s famished for you. Her nose bumps yours affectionately.
“I sort of just figured my powers and you’d….use my body or something.” You admit and Agatha’s eyes get big before she dismisses it as child's play.
“Now that’s a dirty thought.”
“No I mean like possess me or poltergeist or something out of the Conjuring or something.” You had been ready and willing, too depressed to be alone one more minute in your own head.
“I told you before you watch too many movies, and I didn’t mean we’d body double dearest. I’m going to mentor you, yes, but we’ll be wed too.” Agatha let’s her lips just brush against yours and you jump out of your skin backwards.
“WED?” You shriek and she giggles, catching your arm so she doesn’t fall over. New body still not fully functional yet. She rolls her eyes at your youthfulness.
“Mhmm, prophesied and besides, once you're mine, not even Death can take you from me.” The witch declares, and you don’t understand her.
“I-I” You mumble and Agatha tugs you closer once more, and your body can’t help but listen to her every whim. Even as you are more nervous than ever before.
“Calm down, let’s start with a kiss for your recently out of Hell Witch first, huh?”
You open your mouth to say something else, and Agatha grabs you by the back of your head and crushes your lips together. You gasp but don’t pull away, melting into the seam of her body, unable to help it.
Whatever mythical bits made Agatha Harkness had crafted you out of the scraps.
You two fell into a kiss that lovers their whole lives could never reach, a passion and heat that no little blue pill could ever achieve.
You forgot to breathe, you forgot who you were, you devoured the witch.
Your hands greedily gripping the base of her skull under her hair, bringing Agatha closer, so much closer.
When Agatha bit your lip hard and drew blood you broke apart to grab at it.
“I’m glad we won’t have to worry about that. Now strip my sweet.”
“St-strip?” Your voice cracks like a high school boy. And Aggie pushes your leather jacket off your shoulders. As she let’s you get your nerves out.
“We’re going to finish the spell you started.” The witch lies, but you don’t know that.
“I-I”
“Take off the dirty clothes, or I’ll rip them from you. You choose pet.” Agatha puts it simply.
You take the base of your sweatshirt over your head, the t-shirt underneath it was dark purple and the end was unraveling. Agatha was losing her patience, and you looked behind you.
“No one will come here. If someone was stupid enough to walk into the dark spooky woods, I’ll kill them. Now take off your pants, you’ll find patience isn’t my strong suit.” Agatha says, irritated, and you don’t want her to get upset with you.
You kick off your docs and your jeans. You don’t get to your underwear, as Agatha drops to her knees, surprising the fuck out of you.
“Wha-”
But she rips your underwear down your thighs and her mouth zones in on your cunt.
You jerk away, and she sweeps your knee, making you fall bareass against the woods.
“FUCK!” You yelp, ass bruising on contact. But Agatha ignores you. In favor of licking and sucking at your clit like it’s the cup in the last supper.
‘Don’t fight me, let me in.’ Agatha forces into your mind, and your eyes roll back as she takes over. And she’s in, she's in your mind, she’s in your very being.
Agatha was taking stock of every memory, every person you’d ever spoken to, every pill you’d ever ingested. The horrid things your abusers had said, the first time you got used to magic. The first animal you ever brought back to life. Your first vinyl, first kiss, first spell you uttered under a full moon.
Agatha wasn’t just feasting on your cunt, her tongue expertly working you to a whimpering mess.
Tears streaming down your cheeks, and you aren’t sure if it’s the pleasure, or the weight off of your chest at someone seeing every bit of you. Every bad thing you’d ever done, and only slurping at you harder.
‘No more fear, you are mine.’
You whimper, and Agatha uses her tongue inside your hole, and you scream out into the night.
‘MOMMY FUCK’ You think, but bite back, only making a ‘Mmmm’ noise, and Agatha chuckles.
‘Say it, out loud whore. You are mine, no use in hiding now. I know what you rub yourself to. I watched you every night. I told you I wanted you. Fuck does Mommy want you. I watched you touch what’s rightfully mine. And now you’ll address me properly, or I’ll teach you how cruel I can truly be. Agatha pushes into your mind forcefully. Her black goo hands holding your legs open, not letting you back away from your shared destiny.
You gasp and look down just as the infuriating witch arches a perfectly sexy eyebrow.
‘Tell the trees, tell the dark forest, tell the dead who lurk under us who owns you. Speak to the moon my shadow witch, tell them I own this cunt.’ She thrusts into your mind and you just about howl into the night as you gush against Agatha’s lips. Losing your mind and humping her face.
“MOMMY FUCK AGGIE I’M YOURS FOREVER FUCK I LOVE YOU MOMMY OWNS ME MOMMY MOMMY MOMMMY!” You chant and them it becomes incoherent until Agatha recognizes another language. One you spoke earlier, it’s the dead language used for the Darkhold.
Agatha had spent so much time deciphering it, but she never once heard the language spoken, not even Rio could.
And here you were, and the tree branches snapped at attention, a rattling and Agatha watched, stunned as your magic pulled the moon closer.
Harkness stopped it, siphoning the excess, and you signed so happy it was no longer inside of you. But it didn’t work the way it had with Agatha’s victims, and she knew that. You gave freely, and didn’t even notice, and your chaos magic was far more powerful than the Scarlet Witch or her spawn, Billy.
You were oozing darkhold, oozing shadows and souls. Your mind would break if Agatha didn’t take from you, but she couldn’t explain all of this yet.
And as you panted naked and ruined in the dirt, you didn’t care.
Your eyes are closed and you think ‘fuck I’m dead, this is too good, I must be dead.’
“Not dead dear, very much alive. Now let’s get out of here, grab that hideous board.” Agatha stumbled back, and you caught her arm to help her, which throws you both off guard. But Agatha’s grin started slow and then curled larger up her cheeks at you. “We’re gonna be just find my sweet nightshade. Get your things, Mama needs you.”
“You read my mind a lot.”
“You like it, now get up.”
With a little bit of trouble, you got Agatha back into your rental, or rather her home, or Bohners' house. Putting your bloody Ouija board on the sofa and kicking off your mud-caked shoes. Bohners place, or yours or Agathas - Whatever it was where you’d been paying, and Agatha threw her arm around your shoulder and you assisted her new doe like legs up the big wooden staircase towards the bath, which she knew and needed no introduction to the layout of the house.
She stripped of the things she died in, as they were black and mucky from her tree exorcism. Or birth or whatever you could call it, you panicked and looked anywhere but at her naked back. Deciding that running the hot water and trying to understand if you should ask Agatha if she’s going to have a bath or a shower?
But as Agatha turns to you and you look the opposite way, she chuckles and takes your clothes off.
“I’ll just be out-” You start to walk away, and Agatha grabs your hair close to the scalp like it’s a leash, and you shriek as you are stopped in your tracks.
“Get in.”
“What?”
“We are bathing, get in and don’t hog the hot water I’ve been dead for ten years.” You decide sarcasm coming out of Agatha is sexy, even if it freaked you out.
You awkwardly climb in first, and then Agatha releases you when she’s sure you won’t run away. Putting her head under the hot spray first, black gunk and chunks of something ancient and demonic fall away.
And you are sure that your plumbing isn’t gonna love that.
After a few minutes of Agatha letting the spray hit her faceshe rubs at her cheeks and eyes and then looks at you.
“For Asmodeus in love, you are sure prudish.” Agatha whispers under her breath and you don’t completely catch it.
“What?” You blush only hearing love, again your witch chuckles. But bends down to find your shampoo and she starts to use large gobs of it in the hopes of getting all of that death out of her hair.
“When you brought the girl to the woods I was furious at first, I thought you’d brought her to fuck. But killing her and feeding it to the Yew Tree worked wonders. As above so below, a life for a life. Still, no one else has ever done it.” Agatha spoke with eyes closed as she lathered her scalp and then finger combed the twig out of her hair.
You tried to make sense of the words but your eyes fell to the newly clean skin, the valley of her breasts, the perfect color of her nipples as they hardened in the stream.
The bush that was just a bit darker than her hair, wild and free like the witch.
You got wet, and not from the spray.
“Hmm you don’t listen well, we’ll have to work on that.” Agatha’s voice brought you back to the bathtub.
While you were staring she’d been talking and had both conditioned and soaped her body, all while you stared drooling.
“Sorry I can-”
“Stop running away, and look as much as you like, I waited for centuries for you. I’m going to look and touch as much as I like, I urge you to do the same. Now spin around for Mama.”
“Why?”
“So I can start with your hair, you aren’t getting into my bed with some other bitch’s blood on your neck.”
You find that your mind is fried the second Agatha begins cleaning you. She speaks to you, and still you zone out. Unable to breathe as her hands firmly work soap in, rinsing with tenderness saved for someone who hasn’t killed as many souls as Agatha.
But here she was, lathering your lower back and getting the tension out with her talented thumbs.
When she’s done, you both rinse one final time, water having gone cold long ago. And she towles you first and then herself, and you go to grab clothes and she once again grabs you by your hair, water dropping on the floor.
You moan at the sensation and Agatha lets out a full laugh.
“My my, a bad listener but a kinky little thing all the same.” She jokes, but your nipples get harder than they ever have before.
“Sorry I…” You fail to find words.
“Do you like it when I tell you you're kinky?” Agatha taunts watching water drip down your spine and deciding if you’d combust if she licked each drop up.
You nod once.
“Do you like it when I make you do things too?” The witch pushes.
Once again a nod.
“Get on the bed, be good for Mama. Or I’ll not let you touch me, I’ll make you sleep naked cuddled against me with the dirtiest of dreams to haunt you.
“I I can’t sleep I-” You sadly tell her.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, I’ve got you now. But first, let’s see how far your little humiliation fetish goes.”
“I don’t - don’t have a” You turn around in defiance, and Agatha likes your spunky attitude. But she drops her towel to the floor ,and you look up at the ceiling, blush spreading against your chest.
“Shhhh, don’t lie now. I’ve lived in this house with you. I know what you do at night. And in case you forgot, I was on the otherside of that board. Telling you to fuck yourself, showing you how I wanted you to do it.” Agatha’s hands start at your collarbones before ripping your towel completely off your waist. And letting her palms trace over your ribs.
“You’re not real.” You say closing your eyes. No one would ever touch you like this.
“Oh my little shadow wielder, I’m very real. And I promise you, you’ll never be without me again. You may live to regret bringing me back, naughty thing you.”
You gasp as Agatha grabs your throat and squeezes, and you wonder if this is it, the moment she kills you. But she guides you back out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. And you fall backwards onto the bed with a thud.
But Agatha is quick; she climbs up onto the mattress, keeping her hold. She pins you onto the flannel sheets like she’d tie you down if you put up a fight. One hand holding your throat. Then the naked dripping wet goddess straddles you. You both moan involuntarily at your wet skin meeting for the first time.
“Prophecy said it would be good, but I must admit. I couldn’t have imagined this.” Agatha tells you, her mouth hanging open as she sighs. The chemistry exploding and reforming over and over with each touch.
You shiver, and her long thumbnail digs into your neck just enough to leave no room to wiggle.
And Agatha grabs your limp right hand. Inspecting it, seeing the dark wounds now. Blue eyes find yours as she makes sure you were paying attention, like you’d look anywhere else. And she plants loving kisses on each finger.
And you clench your jaw waiting for pain, but it doesn’t come from your lover. Instead, the witch brings your hand down to her own wet pubic curls, past the coarse hair, ignoring her aching clit, which your knuckle brushes, and she jerks just a bit. Air leaving her lungs, but Agatha doesn’t stop, knowing what she needed.
And you moan high-pitched and needy as Agatha guides your hand inside of her molten heat. Her cunt sucking you in, and your fingers fit like a glove.
You try to sit up now, something lighting inside of you, but Agatha reminds you to stay down with her choke hold.
“It’s alright, my little shadow, let Mama take,” Agatha tells you as she pulls you by your wrist out of her pussy, and then she sinks bad down.
And you are practically drooling, and something in you breaks. Call it the edging of dirty talk via an Ouija board, lusting after a ghost and finally bringing her to life, or the blood lust of slitting a woman's throat.
You push up against Agatha’s hold surprising her, but as she tightens her grip, scratching your neck, you don’t care, you don’t react.
Crushing your lips against hers again for a kiss that was so dirty and hot it could have made a church combust.
Agatha whines now as you push four fingers inside her cunt, stretching her past what her hour-old body was ready for. But loving it, this side of you she wasn’t sure she’d get this decade. Thinking maybe you needed more time before you - it doesn’t matter. Because you are here.
You cradle Agatha’s lower back, damp from the shower and you guide her. And the witch killer lets out a half laugh - half sigh and begins to ride your hand. With each time she sinks into your lap, you curl your fingers and rub hard against her G-spot.
“My, not so shy are we my beloved?” Agatha whines just as you pinch your thumb nail down on her clit painfully. And she whips her head back.
You don’t know where this is all coming from, but you know how to make love to Agatha. Not from your long-distance toying, but something in you knows what to do to her.
So you follow your instincts and bite her shoulder hard, and it draws blood and Agatha squivels her hips, driding down harder on your hand. And you love the desperate noises that are flying out of her now.
You aren’t aware that your floor boards are curling, that the screws have come out of the walls. That black beetles, spiders, and those friendly black centipedes are crawling in through the seams of the house. You were doing magic without even meaning to. Magic far beyond your own knowledge. And you were feeding Agatha without even meaning to. And in turn, Agatha was having the best sex of her life.
Her nails shred your back, and you only thrust harder inside of her, hurting her, hoping it hurts. And it only brings you new levels of obsession. Agatha swears to the divine mother she’ll never let you out of her sight again.
Your witch’s cum runs down your black stained wrist, unable to stop herself now. Agatha lifts her hips and rams down on you harder and harder. Grinding and falling out of rhythm, but chasing you more. More of you, anything she can get. Her hands wrap around your shoulders, and you lick up her blood. Agatha makes messy love to you like it’s your wedding night. Faster and faster, like the witch’s riding for her life. And maybe the she was.
But you move your teeth and bite harder right next to it. Blood coming out of your mouth at the intensity of your jaw. A crow flies into your downstairs living room and knocks plates over, you don’t hear it. Too busy with the sounds of Agatha in your ear.
“FUCK! That’s right baby, I’m yours. Bite Mama hard, let me feel those pretty canines! Fuck, oh right there!” She screeches and you realize Agatha is about to cum from less than two minutes riding your hand, and it’s hot as hell.
What you aren’t privy to is that Agatha is close to breaking the rules. Taking you and binding you. If you weren’t so powerful and adorable, she’d make you her sex slave. Keep you safe, keep you away from your destiny. Your touch does more than wake her up from death. And it’s bringing Agatha close to tears. Not expecting you to make love like this. Agatha pants sinking her nails into your skin, she wants to mark you, own you, ruin you. Her purple seeps out, the magic is crackling and you two kill all the neighbors lawns, your intensity wreaking such havoc.
You push your Darkhold black thumb against the hood of her clit once more, and gushing noises from her cunt and wet bud fill the room. And she uses a hand to grab your hair and yank hard so you two would lock eyes as she held you in place and came.
Agatha screamed your full name into the night and came harder than you’d ever seen or experienced before.
You kiss under Agatha’s chin over and over, and it’s stronger than any ‘I love you.’ And Agatha pushes her knees with the last bit of energy she hand and you fall backwards, and your love lands on top of you. Trapping you under her.
“Did we finish the spell?” You ask sweetly.
“What spell?” Harkness can’t lie right now, not when you are in her arms like this.
You laugh, but when Agatha doesn’t, you realize she isn’t kidding. And you try to move to see her face but she kisses your neck and licks it a few times, making you squirm.
“Do we need to find you a coven or a witch to kill? I mean do you need a…recharge?”
“Oh my little bug, you gave Mommy more magic in four minutes than witches have done for centuries.” She tells you, her hand falling over your chest, right over your heart. And you are confused, but you stay still as she catches her breath. Unsure of what you should say, but just as you are about to settle on another question you jerk to the side seeing a rather large centipede touching your leg.
Causing Agatha to follow your reaction down.
“Hmm, don’t be frightened. They’re attracted to you, it’s okay.”
“Why the fuck are they attracted to me? Am I Beetlejuice of something? Did you kill me?” You take Agatha first reaction of hurt at the accusation and shock at your reaction to fall off of the bed and out from under her. Agatha goes to grab your arm but you run to the bathroom. Which you see now has more black goo coming out of the sink, Stephen King style. And you look to the bath which has bugs coming up the drain. The sound of rats scratching in the walls is ear piercing to you for some reason. And your body grows cold.
“The fuck!” You shout in horror and then meet your foggy reflection in the mirror, wiping the excess dew off of it from the shower. To see your eyes are black, save for your iris which glow a sort of 90’s toy green.
You look like the lead singer of a screamo band in the 2000’s.
And your naked ass falls to the ground next to a snake that made it’s way up the drain, and you pop off the floor and back out of the house of horrors only to fall against Agatha who’s holding your waist tight so you can’t fight her. As much as you try at first.
“Easy, easy! Don’t fight me, you are fine.”
You push and shove at her chest, but Agatha is tougher than she looks.
“WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME!” Your voice cracks in fear, and Agatha only loosens one arm to move up to where she’s cut your neck in bed earlier with her nail. She wipes it show you it’s black like the goo from the tree. It’s coming out of you now.
“What is going on?” You sound so young. A bat slaps against your bedroom window and you jump again, but Agtha doesn’t seem in the least bothered by your unwelcomed friends coming to say hello.
“My pretty little shadow, you are fulfilling your destiny. It’s natural that the dark little beasts are attracted to you, it’s okay.”
“What about this is okay? AGATHA WHAT AM I?” You almost want to blame her, for doing this, for doing whatever this was. But your lover takes a deep breath and tries to find a way to explain.
“You are destined to write the darkhold. Sweetheart, you do not need to fear. I love you, you are made for such greatness, and I will be at your side the whole time.” Agatha says like that makes any of this better.
“What am I?” You repeat realizing she still hasn’t answered you. And Agatha brings your body closer to her own, you two pressed together.
“People have called you many things, none of them matter! What matters is-”
You break away from Agatha to stare at your hands. Still black and no fingerprints, you were changing it was all changing. And Agatha is at a lost, unsure of how to make you feel better. Because she only see’s the beauty of what you are, and what you will become, and you only see the ugliness.
“Rio wanted to be the one to tell you, and I told her no. I need you to listen to me my love.” You keep hearing that name, but you don’t want to know who it is. You stick with other key words.
“Prophecies? You said something about marriage? I killed a girl and I…I don’t think I’m sorry? Am I, am I even real?”
Agatha closes the gap again, grabbing both sides of your face to bring you back to her.
“Darling, all it took was a change of aesthetic and some unloved creatures and you are wondering if you are real? Of course you are, real and so very much mine. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, remember I promised you.” Agatha needs this to comfort you, because she’s clinging to it herself.
You close your black eyes and shake your head and the witch tisks.
“I thought I was a witch?”
“You are, to some.” She whispers hesitantly.
“Am I a demon? Or Lucifer or Death?”
“Rio will laugh at that.”
“I’m not laughing!” You reason, opening your eyes to look at Agatha, who only seems to have love to give you back.
“Come back to bed,” your girlfriend asks, and you are conflicted. As she holds your hand and sits on the side of the bed.
“Shouldn’t I….You said I write the Darkhold….that’s a fucked up thing. I shouldn’t be-”
Agatha’s entire being shifts and she’s terrifying now as she put her finger up to you in anger. And you plop down to the bed from the display of her rage.
“Never, never think that again. I promise you, I will love the universe for you. But I cannot bring you back as you did me. So you will never entertain those thoughts ever again, do I make myself clear?” Her voice is furious, and you nod more from fear of what the witch would do if you didn’t. And Agatha sighs and closes her eyes before grounding herself.
“We will sleep, and then I’ll take you to Rio. And all of this will get sorted.”
“You love me?” You ask, and black tears fall from your eyes now, Agatha kisses your forehead and wipes at them. So you won’t be scared, she couldn’t stomach more of your self-hate.
“Love is an understatement, what I feel for you they wrote about in stone. And everything will be okay, because together we’ll make it so.” Agatha whispers to you, and it calms you more than you’d imagine it could. The bugs settled in for the night, just as Agatha lifted the blankets and wrapped herself around you, like the snakes in your bathroom. Not letting an inch of you go without her hold.
“Some board game.” You yawn, and Agatha snorts at your joke. You had no idea how right you were, but you were going to find out.