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You hadn’t seen it coming. You never expected them to be so efficient and precise in their attack. One moment, you were gathering herbs in the quiet part of the city, lost in the tranquillity of the night, and the next, you were surrounded. The witch hunters had been tracking you for weeks, and now they were closing in. Before you could react, they were upon you, using both magic and technology to bind you. Their enchanted restraints sapped your energy, stripping you of your powers and leaving you vulnerable. No amount of magical strength could help you now. They overpowered you with force, shoving you into a van, and darkness swallowed you whole.
—
Agatha Harkness had always lived in the shadows, watching the world unfold from a distance. Her magic was vast, her knowledge unparalleled, but she preferred to remain hidden. She had her reasons—trust wasn’t something she gave lightly, especially not in a world that feared and hunted witches. But then there was you . You were different. You had a kindness about you, an openness that Agatha couldn’t help but be drawn to. Despite her usual detachment, she found herself watching over you, protecting you in subtle ways. You and your magic were the complete opposite of her: gentle and compassionate. Agatha could never let anyone harm you.
When the witch hunters began to make their presence known, Agatha was wary but confident in her own ability to stay undetected. She had lived too long and become too powerful to be caught. But when you failed to come back after your usual late-night walk through the city, Agatha felt a strange sense of unease gnawing at her. Her instinct was always right. Something was wrong.
—
The first thing you become aware of is the sharp, aching pain in your head. It feels as if the world is spinning, though you can’t tell if it’s your body or the room itself that’s unsteady. You’re lying on a cold, metal floor, your arms chained to the wall. The weight of the cuffs around your wrists makes it hard to move, the magical inhibitors in them pulling away your ability to summon even the smallest spark of power. You breathe through the nausea, forcing yourself to focus on one thought: Agatha will find you. Agatha always finds you.
But the darkness around you presses in, suffocating and endless, until a voice cuts through it.
“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” A man sneers. His voice is cruel, heavy with derision. “Running around with your magic like you’re something special. But look at you now—trapped. Helpless. Powerless.”
His words sting, but you don’t respond. You can’t. You feel his footsteps approach, his presence looming over you like a stormcloud.
The first blow comes without warning. A punch lands squarely on your face, making your head snap back. The jarring sound of a chair scraping against the concrete floor grates in your ears as another figure steps closer.
“Tell us what we want to know,” someone else demands, their tone sharp and impatient.
You grit your teeth, ignoring the sharp sting spreading across your cheek. I won’t tell them anything. You repeat the thought like a mantra, clinging to it as they strike you again, this time a vicious kick to your ribs. The pain ripples through your body, but you refuse to cry out.
Then they escalate. Rough hands grab you, their grip bruising, and a sharp needle pierces your skin. Icy pain radiates from the injection site, making you shudder as the potion floods your veins. It burns, cruel and unrelenting, designed to strip you of strength and magic while forcing you to remain awake and aware.
“Let’s see how long you last,” one of them jeers.
—
They force you to stand for hours, your legs trembling, the chains biting into your wrists. Every muscle screams for relief, but you refuse to give them the satisfaction of your screams. When they press a glowing sigil in front of your face, its blinding light sears your vision, disorienting you and leaving your thoughts muddled.
Each hour blurs into the next. The pain is unpredictable and deliberate. They are methodical, breaking you piece by piece. They demand names and locations—anything that could give them power over the witch community—but you remain silent. The only thing keeping you going is the thought of Agatha.
When you still refuse to answer, they change tactics.
They drag you to a machine humming faintly with unnatural energy. The cold metal is laced with glowing runes and wires that pulse like a heartbeat. You try to pull away, but they force your hands into place, clipping small, sparking devices onto your fingertips.
The moment the circuit completes, searing pain shoots through you. The machine vibrates, drawing the essence of your magic from your body. The sensation is unbearable—burning and crackling as if your veins themselves are being syphoned dry.
“You feel that?” one of the hunters taunts, his voice dripping with malice. “That’s your power. You’re nothing without it.”
They twist knobs and flick switches, each adjustment sending fresh waves of agony through your body. It’s more than pain; it feels like they’re tearing away a part of your soul, unravelling the very threads of your identity.
“You’re pathetic,” another spits. “All that power, and it can’t save you.”
The world becomes a fog of pain and confusion, but you cling to the hope that Agatha will come. She has to.
—
Agatha moves through the shadows with precision, her anger burning hotter with every step. She had been tracking the faint echoes of your magic for hours, each pulse weaker than the last. The hunters were clever, masking their trail with layers of enchantments and misdirection, but Agatha was older and far more powerful. She unravelled their spells one by one, her determination unrelenting. When she finally found the building—a run-down warehouse cloaked in wards meant to deter magical detection—she didn’t hesitate. The faint flicker of your magic inside made her breath hitch. I’ve got you, she thought. Hold on just a little longer.
Her entrance is swift and deadly. The first guard falls without a sound, a flash of purple light dissolving him into nothingness. Another tries to raise the alarm, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. There’s no room for hesitation, no space for mercy.
She finally reaches the room they’re keeping you in and stops in the doorway, her breath catching. You’re lying on the floor, still connected to the machine, your body slack, your face pale and lifeless. The wires pulse with what remains of your magic, twisting it into something unrecognisable. The sight sends a cold fury surging through her veins.
From the shadows behind you, the hunters emerge, their eyes gleaming with malice. “Well, well, if we’d known this was all it took to lure the great Agatha Harkness, we’d have done it years ago,” one of them sneers.
Agatha’s voice is low and dangerous. “You shouldn’t have touched Y/N.”
The fight is brutal. Agatha moves like a force of nature, her magic slamming into the hunters with a ferocity she rarely shows. One by one, they fall, her anger giving her no room for restraint. “You dared to hurt them?” she shouts, her voice echoing as she sends a hunter crashing into the wall. Another disintegrates in a flash of violet light as she hurls a spell with deadly precision. Her fury is as unstoppable as it is justified, every attack laced with her rage and anguish.
—
The room is quiet now, save for the hum of the machine still feeding on your magic. Agatha rushes to your side, her hands trembling as she frees you from the clips and chains. You slump into her arms, your body too weak to hold itself up.
“Sweetheart, look at me,” she murmurs, her voice soft but urgent. Her hands cup your face, brushing away strands of hair. Your eyes flutter open, hazy but still searching for hers.
“Agatha…” Your voice is faint, but it’s enough to break her.
She lifts you into her arms with ease, holding you close. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I should have been here sooner.”
“It’s okay,” you rasp. “You found me. That’s enough.”
Agatha’s lips tremble as she smiles, her protective instincts taking over. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
—
The moment the two of you cross the threshold of your shared home, the adrenaline that has kept you upright vanishes. Your knees buckle, but Agatha is there, her strong arms catching you before you hit the floor. She doesn’t say a word, just holds you close, her cheek resting against the top of your head. After a moment, she whispers, “Come, darling. Let me take care of you.”
She leads you to the bathroom, her hand steady on the small of your back, guiding you as if you might drift away. The familiar space, once a refuge of routine, now feels foreign in your state of exhaustion. Agatha waves a hand, and the bathtub fills itself, the water shimmering faintly with a soft healing magic.
Agatha helps you sit on the edge of the tub, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins undressing you from your torn, bloodied clothing. You flinch when her fingers brush against a bruise on your arm, and she freezes, her eyes searching yours with worry. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll be gentle,” she murmurs, her voice soft as a caress.
When you’re finally settled in the warm water, it takes a moment for your body to adjust. The heat seeps into your muscles, loosening the tension, though your heart still races from the memory of what you’ve endured. Agatha kneels beside the tub, dipping a soft cloth into the water before running it over your skin. Her touch is featherlight, avoiding every cut and bruise with care.
She works in silence at first, her focus entirely on you, but then she begins to hum—a soothing, lilting melody you’ve never heard before but feel as though it has always been a part of you. Her voice wraps around you like a blanket, grounding you as she gently cleans the grime and dried blood from your body. Every now and then, she whispers words of reassurance. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. No one will hurt you again.”
As Agatha reaches your hands, brushing the cloth over the tender, raw skin where the chains had bitten into you, something inside you breaks. Tears well in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. Your shoulders begin to shake, and you let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with shame. “I should’ve been stronger, but I couldn’t—I just—”
“Shh, no,” Agatha interrupts gently, setting the cloth aside and leaning over the edge of the tub to pull you into her arms. The water soaks her sleeves, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You were strong,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your temple. “You survived, sweetheart. That’s all that matters.”
You cling to her, your tears soaking into her shirt as sobs wrack your body. Every emotion you’ve bottled up—fear, pain, helplessness—pours out of you in a torrent. Agatha holds you through it all, her hands stroking your hair and trailing soothing patterns down your back.
“It’s over now,” she whispers. “You don’t have to hold it together anymore. I’m here, my love. I’ll always be here.”
Her words are an anchor, grounding you as the storm inside you begins to subside. The safety of her embrace makes the world feel bearable again, even if only for a moment.
—
After the bath, Agatha wraps you in the softest robe you own, bundling you up like she’s shielding you from the world. She carries you to your shared bedroom, settling you onto the bed as if you’re the most fragile thing in existence.
She climbs in beside you without hesitation, pulling you into her arms and tucking the blankets around both of you. Her warmth surrounds you, her heartbeat steady against your ear. “Close your eyes, darling,” she murmurs, her voice like honey. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You let yourself relax against her, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. Just as you begin to drift off, you hear her humming again, the same soothing melody from before. It wraps around you like a spell, lulling you further into sleep.
“I’ll keep you safe,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your forehead. “No one will ever hurt you again. You’re mine to protect.”
Her words stay with you as sleep pulls you under, the fear and pain replaced by the comfort of her love. Even as your consciousness fades, you feel her hand stroking your hair, her presence anchoring you to the safety of home.