harknessxo

[harknessxo]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 9)

Synopsis: A night out with friends turns into something far more complicated as emotions run high and unspoken tensions linger. You tried to keep your distance, but some things are impossible to ignore. 

Word count: 5.1K 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Angst, Unspoken emotions, Lingering tension, Mild language 

The room is quiet, except for the soft, steady breathing of your friends. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a faint golden glow through the sheer curtains. It’s peaceful—until you stir slightly, shifting in your sleep, and realize something feels…off. 

Your arm. 

It’s draped over someone. Warm. Comfortable. 

You blink, still groggy, but as your vision clears, the realization slams into you like a truck. 

It’s Agatha. 

Your breath catches in your throat. WTF? Your pulse picks up, your whole body going rigid as the weight of the situation sinks in. 

When the hell did this happen? You don’t even remember moving in your sleep, let alone ending up in this position. 

You need to move. Now. 

Very, very slowly, you start to retract your arm, making sure not to make any sudden movements. But then—Agatha shifts. 

Your entire body locks up as she turns ever so slightly toward you, her face now just inches from yours. Her breathing remains soft, steady, oblivious to your internal crisis. But you? You’re completely frozen, hyper-aware of the way her lips are barely parted, of the faint scent of lavender and something deeper, something distinctly her lingering between you. 

You swallow hard. She’s still asleep. It’s fine. Just move—carefully. 

Your eyes flick to the others—Wanda, still curled up on her side, completely knocked out. Jen, Alice and Lilia, equally dead to the world. No one saw. No one knows. Good. 

You take a slow, careful breath and start again, inching your arm away, moving like you’re defusing a bomb. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, you pull back completely. You don’t dare look at Agatha again as you carefully, so carefully, shift away from her warmth and push yourself upright. 

The second you’re free, you slip out of the mattress and quietly make your way toward the bathroom, your heart still hammering in your chest. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

You brace yourself against the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair’s a mess, your face is flushed, and your mind is racing. 

What the hell was that? 

Shaking your head, you reach for the faucet, splashing cool water onto your face, trying—desperately—to get it together. 

When everyone finally wakes up, you do everything in your power to avoid looking at Agatha. You keep your head down, focusing on your food, trying to act as normal as possible. But inside? You’re spiraling. 

Your mind keeps replaying the morning over and over. How long had your arm been around her? Did you move in your sleep, or—God, what if she had been the one to move closer? No. No, that’s insane. Right? You shake the thought away, stabbing at your scrambled eggs like they personally offended you. 

Meanwhile, Agatha is just casually eating pancakes, completely unbothered. Because of course she is. She doesn’t even know about it. Meanwhile, you’re sitting here, losing your damn mind. 

Wanda, ever perceptive, narrows her eyes at you from across the table. “You good?” she asks, sipping her coffee. 

You blink at her, then quickly nod. “Yeah. Just… head hurts. Probably a hangover.” 

It’s not a complete lie. Your head does feel kind of heavy, but that’s not really the problem. The real problem is the fact that you woke up cuddling Agatha-fucking-Harkness and now you have to act like everything is fine. 

The conversation at the table continues, and you do your best to stay quiet, to blend in. But then Lilia, ever the social butterfly, claps her hands together. “Okay, so. I was thinking—since we had a cute little slumber party last night, why not go all out and hit the town tonight?” 

“Oh, I’m so down for that,” Alice chimes in immediately. “It’s been forever since we had a real night out.” 

Wanda nods. “I could use some dancing.” 

You, however, tense at the idea. The last thing you want is another night of potential chaos, not when you’re still recovering from this morning’s crisis. “I don’t know…” you start hesitantly, but before you can even finish, Alice is already rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, come on. We’re all going,” she insists, nudging you. “Don’t be lame.” 

Jen raises a brow at you. “Yeah, don’t be lame.” 

You sigh, already knowing you’ve lost this battle. “Fine.” 

Jen grins. “Great! Then pre-game at my villa. Be there at six.” 

And just like that, your fate for the night is sealed. After breakfast, you retreat to your villa, hoping—praying—that you can shake off whatever this morning was before the sun sets. 

The time passes quickly, and before you know it, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting deep hues of orange and purple across the sky. You stand before the mirror, putting the final touches on your outfit—a black satin slip dress with a high thigh slit, paired with Bottega Veneta Spritz Strap Pumps. The thin diamond tennis bracelet on your wrist catches the light as you adjust your RCJ 14K Yellow Gold Long Polished Teardrop Dangling Earrings. Your hair is sleek and straight, every strand perfectly in place, and your makeup is soft glam—sultry but effortless. You throw on your Black Saint Laurent Le 5 à 7 Mini bag, taking one last glance at your reflection. 

You’re putting in extra effort tonight, not that you’d ever admit why. 

With a deep breath, you head out and make your way to Jen’s villa for pre-game. Music hums through the space, laughter fills the air, and the energy is already buzzing. You keep your distance from Agatha, making it a point to steer clear whenever possible. Not that anyone notices—after all, you and Agatha aren’t exactly known for being close. Just two people existing in the same space. That’s all. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

Drinks are poured, shots are taken, and the group is in high spirits by the time you all pile into the van heading to the club. The moment you step inside, you quickly drag Wanda to sit beside you, using her as a barrier between you and Agatha. You don’t even glance in her direction, focusing instead on the road ahead. 

Tonight, you’re determined to have fun. To forget. 

Or at least, try to. 

At the club, the music is pounding, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Neon lights flash in dizzying patterns over the dance floor, illuminating the crowd as they move in sync with the heavy bass. The energy inside is infectious—an intoxicating blend of excitement and chaos, like anything could happen tonight. 

You and your friends weave through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The bartender barely acknowledges you as he pours drinks with practiced efficiency. Once everyone has their orders, you settle into a booth across from the bar section. The conversation flows effortlessly, laughter mixing with the pounding music and occasional cheers from the crowd. It’s comfortable, fun—until your glass is empty, and you find yourself hyper-aware of a certain presence nearby. 

Agatha. 

You refuse to glance in her direction, even though you know she’s there, sitting with the others. It’s ridiculous, really—acting like avoiding eye contact will make the morning’s incident disappear. But the memory of waking up with your arm draped over her is still seared into your mind, making your pulse quicken despite your best efforts to act normal. 

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you announce, standing up. 

No one pays much attention as you weave through the crowd back to the bar. You slide onto a barstool, signaling the bartender. 

“Whiskey, neat.” 

As you wait, a figure slides into the seat next to you. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar voice says smoothly. 

You turn, and there she is—Rio Vidal. 

Your brain momentarily short-circuits. 

“Uh… hi,” you stutter, caught off guard. 

Rio smirks, clearly amused by your reaction. Her white silk shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be distracting, tucked into black tailored pants that accentuate her frame. Her hair is in a messy bun, and somehow, that only makes her look more put together. She looks effortlessly hot. 

“You were at my flower shop yesterday. And now here you are,” she muses, tilting her head. 

“Wow, fate,” you tease, mirroring her smirk. 

Your whiskey arrives, and you take a sip, feeling bolder under the influence of alcohol and Rio’s presence. 

“My friends are here, too,” you say, nodding toward your booth. 

Rio follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a raised brow. “And yet, you’re over here. With me.” 

“What can I say? I like good company,” you quip. 

The conversation flows easily. You tell her what you actually do for a living, and Rio raises an eyebrow, setting her drink down with a quiet clink. 

"Wait, you’re a CEO? Of a tech company?" she repeats, clearly impressed, but there’s also a hint of amusement in her tone, like she’s reevaluating you. 

“You don’t believe me?” you challenge, feigning offense, tilting your head slightly. 

“Oh, I believe you." She studies you for a second, then smirks. "It just wasn’t what I was expecting." She takes a sip of her own drink, her gaze lingering on you over the rim of her glass. "Guess I should stop underestimating you, huh?" 

Somehow, you find yourself bringing up last night’s dare. 

“So, funny story,” you start, grinning, “I actually texted you last night.” 

Rio tilts her head. “What?” 

“My friends dared me to text you. Just a ‘hey~’ but, um, yeah… you kinda blocked me,” you admit, laughing. 

Rio chuckles, shaking her head. “That was you? I thought it was some random prank. Guess I should unblock you, huh?” 

Before you can respond, Wanda approaches. She glances between you and Rio, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. 

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” she teases, but her eyes gleam with amusement. 

“Wanda,” you warn. 

“Rio,” Wanda greets, offering a polite nod. 

“Wanda,” Rio acknowledges smoothly. 

Wanda shoots you one last smirk before sauntering off, leaving you with Rio again. 

As the drinks keep flowing, you grow bolder, a little more reckless. Your fingers brush Rio’s arm when you laugh, the warmth of her skin lingering against yours. You lean in just a little too close, your faces inches apart, her cologne mixing with the scent of whiskey on your breath. And Rio—she doesn’t move away. Instead, she smirks, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The moment stretches, charged and unspoken, the club's music pulsing around you like a heartbeat. 

The conversation shifts into deeper territory. Rio talks about her work, her passions—the way she started her flower shop, how she loves the artistry behind arranging bouquets, how she finds peace in the quiet moments before the shop opens. She speaks with a quiet intensity, her hands moving as she describes the feeling of working with something alive, something delicate. 

You find yourself listening closely, watching the way her brows furrow when she talks about the struggles of running a business, how her voice softens when she mentions the flowers her mother used to love. There's something deeply personal about the way she shares these things, as if she’s not used to talking about herself like this. 

The way she gestures with her hands when she speaks, the intelligence in her eyes—it’s familiar. Too familiar. 

She reminds you of Agatha. 

That realization sits uneasily in your stomach, a whisper of something you don’t want to examine too closely. 

“Come dance with me,” Rio suddenly says, extending a hand. 

“Oh, I don’t really—” 

“Come on,” she insists, grabbing your hand before you can protest further. 

You let her pull you onto the dance floor, the alcohol buzzing in your veins. She’s a good dancer—confident, fluid. The way she moves her hips, the way her brown eyes lock onto yours—it’s hypnotic. 

And yet, as you sway to the music, as Rio pulls you closer, your mind betrays you. 

For a split second, you imagine Agatha in her place. 

That thought snaps you back to reality. 

“I— I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out, pulling away. 

Before Rio can respond, you slip through the crowd, your heart pounding as you make your way to the restroom, desperate to catch your breath. 

While you’re inside the cubicle, trying to steady your breathing, the bathroom door swings open with a loud creak, followed by the sharp click of heels against the tile floor. You freeze. Then, you hear it—that voice. 

Agatha. 

She’s on the phone. 

Your stomach tightens as you strain to listen, her words clipped, her tone sharp. At first, it sounds like she’s instructing Ralph to find something in their house, but the irritation in her voice grows quickly. 

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” she snaps. 

A pause. You imagine Ralph giving some lazy excuse on the other end. 

A scoff. “Are you serious right now?” 

Then, her voice changes—lower, colder. “I left you alone for two weeks. Two. Weeks. And you still can’t handle basic responsibilities?” 

There’s another pause. Then Agatha actually lets out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. "Must be nice to just sit back and have a good time while I’m the one keeping everything from falling apart." 

Your breath catches. 

She sounds nothing like the Agatha you’re used to—calm, in control, always with a teasing edge. No, this is different. This is raw, her voice trembling with frustration, exhaustion. Like she’s at the end of her rope. 

Ralph must say something that makes it worse because her voice turns even more bitter. 

“Real problems?” she repeats, disbelief dripping from her words. “What do you even know about real problems, Ralph?” 

Her footsteps pace across the bathroom floor, the sharp tap of her heels echoing in the quiet space. 

“You have no job. No responsibilities. You just sit in a house that I pay for, acting like you’re the one suffering.” 

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale—like she’s trying to hold something back. 

“You don’t even care, do you?” she asks, softer this time. But there’s something broken in her voice now, something she can’t hide anymore. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

It’s not your business. You shouldn’t be listening. But you can’t move. You can’t stop hearing it. 

Then, the final blow comes. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Agatha says, and her voice isn’t raised, isn’t full of anger—it’s just… final. “We’re done, Ralph. It’s over.” 

Silence stretches. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. 

Then, a quiet, “Okay then.” 

And the call ends. 

For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing. Then, the unmistakable sound of a quiet sob. 

Your chest tightens. 

You stay frozen in the stall, hands gripping your own arms, feeling like an intruder in a moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else to witness. 

Then, Agatha moves. You hear the creak of another cubicle door opening, then the soft click of it closing. 

Now’s your chance. 

You push the door open as quietly as possible, stepping out on light feet, careful not to make a sound. You glance once at the closed cubicle where Agatha is, then slip out of the bathroom, the air outside feeling heavier than before. 

You make your way back to the bar section, swallowing hard. When you reach Rio, she gives you a curious look, brow slightly furrowed. 

“Everything okay?” she asks, studying you. 

You force a smile, shaking off the weight in your chest. “Yeah. Just—needed a moment.” 

Rio doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press. 

You pick up your drink, taking a longer sip than necessary, forcing yourself to focus back on her. It’s fine. You’re fine. 

But out of the corner of your eye, you see Agatha walk out of the bathroom, heading toward the booth seating. She looks composed, but there’s something in her eyes—something not quite put together. 

And you know. 

She’s not okay. 

After some time, Jen walks over to you, looking a little uneasy. She sighs, rubbing her temple before speaking. "Hey, we’re heading out early. Lilia’s not feeling well—her stomach is killing her. And Alice… well, she’s a little too drunk right now." 

You glance over at Alice, who is giggling at something Wanda is saying, her head resting lazily against Lilia’s shoulder. Wanda looks like she’s already bracing herself for the chaos of getting them both back to their villas. 

"Do you need help?" you ask, already preparing to get up. 

Jen shakes her head. "No, we got it. But…" She hesitates, then nods in Agatha’s direction. "She doesn’t want to leave. Said she wants to drink more. Can you keep an eye on her?"  

Your stomach twists. Yeah, you do know why. 

You glance toward Agatha, sitting alone at the booth, swirling the last of her drink, her eyes distant. You swallow, forcing down the hesitance rising in your chest. 

"Yeah," you say finally. "I got her." 

Jen offers a grateful smile and squeezes your arm lightly. "Thanks. I owe you one." 

She turns back to Alice and Lilia, helping Wanda guide them toward the exit. You watch them leave, then exhale slowly, glancing back at Agatha. 

You’re still talking to Rio, but your attention keeps drifting. You steal glances toward Agatha, watching the way she nurses her drink, her fingers idly tracing the rim of the glass. There’s something heavy in her posture, something resigned. You know why she’s like this, and it breaks you a little to see her like that. It takes everything in you not to go to her immediately, to fix whatever’s weighing her down. 

Rio notices. 

She nudges your arm, her eyes flickering to Agatha. "Hey, I was thinking of staying a bit longer, but…" She trails off, tilting her head slightly toward the woman sitting alone. "Your friend needs you tonight." 

You shift uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You don’t want Rio to go—not yet. But at the same time, you don’t want to stay put either—you want to go to Agatha. But she’s right. 

"You sure?" you ask, glancing at her. 

Rio smiles, an easy, knowing look in her eyes. "Yeah. You got this?" 

You hesitate for a moment, looking back at Agatha. There’s something about the way she’s sitting, like the weight of the world is pressing down on her shoulders. 

You nod. "Yeah. I got this." 

Rio gives you a small smile and squeezes your shoulder briefly before stepping back. As she turns to leave, you call out, "Unblock me and give me a call, okay?" 

She glances back over her shoulder, smirks, and nods. "We’ll see." 

And just like that, she’s gone. 

You stand up from the bar stool and head toward the booth where Agatha is sitting. She’s slouched against the seat, swirling the last of her drink, eyes distant. You hesitate for a second before sliding in beside her, leaving just enough space to not feel intrusive. 

There’s a beat of silence before Agatha speaks, her voice laced with something unreadable. "So… is the date over?" 

You huff a quiet laugh, picking up your whiskey. "It wasn’t a date." 

She hums, taking a long sip of her drink like it’s water. "Could’ve fooled me." 

Something about her tone makes you pause, but before you can figure it out, Agatha lets out a shaky breath—and then, just like that, she breaks. 

Tears slip down her cheeks, silent at first. Then, her shoulders shake, and she quickly wipes at her face like she’s ashamed to be seen like this. Your chest tightens at the sight. 

You inch closer, hesitating only for a moment before placing a gentle hand on her back. She leans into the touch ever so slightly. 

"Are you okay?" Your voice is quiet, careful. 

Agatha swallows hard, staring at the table. It takes her a few seconds before she finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. "What did I do wrong?" 

She keeps going, her words spilling out faster than she can catch them. "I tried, you know? I really did. But it was never enough. It’s like… no matter what I did, he always had one foot out the door." 

You don’t say anything—just let her talk, let her get it all out. 

"It’s over, Y/N," she says, voice breaking. "Like, really over." 

You knew this already, but hearing her say it still twists something deep inside you. You squeeze her arm gently. "I’m sorry, Agatha. I know this… I know this hurts." 

She sniffles, laughing bitterly. "You don’t have to do that." 

"Do what?" 

"Act like you care. We both know I’ve been nothing but a pain in your ass." 

You roll your eyes, exhaling sharply. "Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You think you’re the only one? We’ve both been a pain in each other’s ass." 

Agatha lets out a dry chuckle, wiping at her cheek. "Fair point." 

You soften just a little, tilting your head at her. "But I do care, Agatha. More than you think." 

Agatha turns to look at you then, eyes glossy and searching. For a moment, you think she might say something, but instead, she reaches for her drink and downs the rest of it in one go. 

Eventually, the two of you move to the bar. The crowd has thinned out, leaving just a few stragglers nursing their drinks. You don’t drink anymore, but Agatha does. She’s still crying, though it’s quieter now, more subdued. 

She nudges you with her elbow, a small smirk playing on her lips. "You’re actually a good listener. Who would’ve thought?" 

You chuckle. "I have my moments." 

"Mm." She rests her chin on her palm, studying you. "I guess you’re not so bad." 

"High praise." 

The night stretches on, and before you know it, Agatha is completely drunk. You don’t hesitate to call an Uber. When it arrives, you help her up, but she stumbles against you, unable to walk straight. 

"Alright, come on," you murmur, wrapping an arm around her waist to guide her outside. She leans heavily against you, her breath warm against your shoulder. 

You place her inside the passenger seat and slide in beside her. The driver doesn’t say anything, used to late-night drunks, but you keep talking to Agatha, making sure she doesn’t fall asleep. 

"We’re almost there," you whisper as the car pulls up to the resort. 

She suddenly perks up, a drowsy smile on her lips, her head lolling slightly to the side. "You know what?" she slurs, blinking up at you like she’s just had the most brilliant idea. 

You tilt your head, amused. "What?" 

And then, completely out of nowhere, she starts singing, voice hushed and syrupy. "Can’t take my eyes off of you…" 

You blink, caught entirely off guard. "Agatha—" 

She points a wobbly finger at you, her expression serious despite the alcohol in her system. "You’d be like heaven to touch…" 

Your face is on fire, but you can’t stop the small chuckle that escapes. "Oh my god." 

She keeps going, her voice lilting unevenly, slightly out of tune but full of feeling. "I wanna hold you so much…" Her eyes meet yours, and for a second, something flickers between you. Something dangerous. Something you don’t have the strength to analyze right now. 

You shake your head, breathless in disbelief. "Alright, Frankie Valli, let’s get you to bed." 

She giggles but doesn’t stop singing, leaning into you as you guide her toward her villa. "At long last, love has arrived…" 

"Oh, for the love of—" You sigh dramatically, but there’s no real frustration behind it. 

She clings to your arm, her grip surprisingly firm. "And I thank God I’m alive…" Her voice hitches, and there’s a moment—just a fleeting second—where she looks at you like she means every word she’s singing. 

Your throat tightens. You pretend not to notice. 

By the time you get her to the door, her voice is softer, the words slurring together. "Can’t take my eyes off of you…" 

You sigh, unlocking the door with some difficulty. "Alright, Agatha. Time to sleep." 

She hums, resting her head against your shoulder for just a moment before murmuring, "Mmm. You’re warm." 

You swallow hard, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, inside." 

And even though she’s drunk, and this whole situation is ridiculous, you can’t help but feel your heart clench at the sight of her like this—so vulnerable, so utterly unlike the Agatha Harkness you once knew. 

You guide Agatha upstairs to her bedroom, careful with every step as she leans heavily against you. When you finally reach her bed, you help her sit down gently, her body swaying slightly. Her eyes are glassy, lost in thoughts you can’t quite reach. 

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. She doesn’t respond, just stares at the floor. 

You hurry downstairs, filling a glass of water and grabbing some Advil from the kitchen. When you return, she’s not lying down like you expected. Instead, she’s still sitting at the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking, quiet sobs wracking her frame. 

Your stomach twists. 

“Agatha?” You set the glass and the Advil down on the nightstand and immediately sit beside her. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

She lets out a shuddering breath, wiping at her face. “Whatever I do… I’ll never be enough.” 

Her voice is so small, so broken, it nearly shatters you. 

Your heart clenches as you reach for her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans into you, her body warm despite the chill in her words. “That’s not true,” you say firmly. “You are enough, Agatha. Ralph is just too damn stupid to see it.” 

She laughs wetly, shaking her head. “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” You pull back slightly, looking at her. “You are brilliant. You’re sharp, funny in that mean, sarcastic way. You care about the people you love, even if you pretend not to. You have this way of making people feel… seen.” 

Your throat tightens as you speak. You don’t even realize you’re getting emotional until your voice cracks slightly on the last word. You blink rapidly, trying to hold it together. 

Agatha notices. 

She gently pulls away from the hug, and when you meet her gaze, there’s something intense in the way she looks at you. Her eyes are searching, tracing every part of your face like she’s trying to memorize it, like she’s grasping onto something unspoken between you. 

Then, so softly, she whispers your name, her voice barely above a breath, like it holds the weight of everything she can’t say out loud. 

Your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat as the moment stretches, fragile and heavy all at once. 

Before you can fully process what’s happening, she cups your cheek, her touch warm, grounding. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, your mind screaming— 

And then she leans in. 

Her lips meet yours, gentle and soft, everything you’ve ever wanted—except not like this. Not when she’s vulnerable, not when she’s breaking right in front of you. 

You freeze for a second, torn between every part of you that has dreamed of this moment and the part of you that knows it isn’t right. 

With every ounce of willpower, you gently pull away, your hands on her shoulders. “Agatha…” 

She blinks at you, confused, her lips still parted. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing right now,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. 

A flicker of something passes through her eyes—hurt, maybe, or realization. But you don’t let yourself look too closely. You stand up, stepping back. “You need to sleep, Agatha.” 

She doesn’t argue, just watches you with something unreadable in her gaze. And then, just like that, you turn, walking to the door. 

You close it softly behind you as you leave her villa, your heart pounding, your mind an absolute mess. 

When you get to your villa, you head straight to your bedroom. The silence is suffocating. After the noise of the club, the villa feels too quiet. Too empty. But your mind is loud. The moment you close the door behind you, it all crashes down at once. 

You drop your keys onto the table with a shaky breath, your fingers lingering on the cool surface as if grounding yourself will stop the spiraling thoughts. You stumble toward the bed, collapsing onto it without bothering to change. Your dress clings to your skin, the faint scent of perfume and alcohol mixing with something heavier—something painful. 

You replay the kiss over and over again. Not just the kiss itself, but the way Agatha looked at you before it happened—the glassiness in her eyes, the slight tremble in her lips, the way she whispered your name like it meant something. Like you meant something. 

Your heart clenches as you remember how she leaned in, like you were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. And for a second, you let yourself believe it. For a second, you let yourself want it. But now, in the quiet of your room, the reality is sharp, cutting through any illusion you might have entertained. 

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. What else is there to do? Cry? Maybe. But what good would that do? 

If this kiss had meant something, Agatha wouldn’t have done it like this. She wouldn’t have done it drunk, desperate, tangled in the mess of her failing marriage. You know it wasn’t about you. It was about escaping, about numbing whatever pain she was feeling. And you were just there. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to sleep, to forget—but how could you? Every time you close your eyes, you see her again. Feel the ghost of her lips, the heat of her breath, the way she fit against you like she belonged there. 

Your fingers brush against your lips as if trying to erase the feeling, but it lingers. It sinks into your skin, into your chest, into every part of you, refusing to let go. 

With a frustrated sigh, you press a pillow over your face, trying to drown out the ache, the longing, the stupid, unrelenting hope that still clings to the edges of your heart. But it doesn’t help. Nothing does. 

Because even with your eyes open, even with the distance between you, Agatha is still there. And that’s the cruelest part of all. 

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi 

[harknessxo]

Happy Endings

Summary: When Melissa books your massage services, you both get more than you bargained for.

Chapter: 3/3

Warnings: Smut with feelings, age difference, fem reader, soft Mel, praise kink

Chapter 3

The second time you met Melissa, you were hurrying through the halls of Abbott Elementary. Your brother had gotten stuck working a double shift and needed someone to pick Frankie up from school.

“I can be there in 10 minutes,” you estimated, flicking your blinker on and pulling a quick U-turn.

“You’re a lifesaver, sis,” he said.

You cradled your cell in the crook of your shoulder, glad he couldn’t see the furious flush on your face as you thought about the possibility of seeing Melissa.

“I really am a saint, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, patron saint of goombas like me.” There was some yelling in the warehouse behind him. “Gotta go, see ya later.”

It had only been a few days since Melissa…well, since Melissa. You felt like you were living in a fever dream of pale skin, soft curves, and quivering legs. The memory of how she sounded—needy, desperate—kept you up at night. More than once you’d awoken sweaty, throbbing, embarrassingly wet.

You slid into a parking spot, checked your reflection in the rearview, then bounded up the steps, trying to remember where her classroom was.

You had been to Abbott before. Being one of Frankie’s official emergency contacts was a point of pride, thank you very much, and you had even attended an open house or two over the years.

Rounding a corner, distracted and rushing, you careened headlong into something fleshy and solid. A man’s voice floated up from the floor.

“My bad! That was totally my bad!”

You extended a hand and hauled him to his feet.

“You ok, Mr….Hill?” you asked, squinting to read the name on his badge.

He shot you a nervous but friendly smile. The teacher rubbed his chest where it had collided with your shoulder.

“All good,” he said. “And you can call me Jacob. Mr. Hill sounds so…square.“

“Jacob,” you smiled. “Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for my niece, Frankie. She’s in Melissa’s class.”

He did a double take, staring at you curiously. “Melissa? Melissa Schemmenti?”

Just then you heard a squeal of delight and the sound of Frankie yelling your name. A few seconds later, a tangle of arms and legs crashed into you, hugging your midsection tightly. You bent down and scooped her up, spinning her around in a fanfare of giggles.

“Ah,” Jacob said. “There she is.”

You turned around. The woman in question was walking toward you wearing leather pants and a low-cut black top. Several gold pendants bounced on her chest, and a ring of keys jangled in her hand.

“Ms. Schemmenti, this is my aunt, the one I told you about,” Frankie announced proudly. “She’s a mongoose.”

“Masseuse,” you corrected with a snort.

“Masseuse,” Frankie repeated, sounding the word out.

Melissa extended her hand, grinning. “Nice to see ya,” she said, voice raspy and eyes tired at the end of a long day. But damn if she wasn’t every bit as gorgeous as you remembered.

Jacob’s eyes brightened in sudden recognition.

“Oh, this is the hot massage therapist —“

Melissa elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Mr. Hill had a question about hot stone massage therapy,” she corrected smoothly.

“Precisely,” Jacob wheezed. “That’s what I meant.”

“Oh?” you said, fighting to keep a straight face.

Alright, so maybe Melissa had mentioned you in the staff room on Monday. It was kinda unavoidable, given a certain someone’s meddling role in orchestrating everything.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Barb had asked innocently, taking a demure sip of coffee.

And maybe Melissa’s excellent poker face had faltered for just a moment, the memory of your fingers heating her up from the inside. Certainly there was a pause long enough that the room fell silent and a few other teachers looked up to see a dusty rosiness rising in Melissa’s cheeks, her composure slipping.

“Enjoy what?” asked Jacob.

“Yeah, it was alright,” Melissa said, trying and failing to keep the suggestive smirk off her face. “She was…she was real good with her hands.”

“Melissa Schemmenti,” Barbara gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“What can I say?” Melissa poured herself a cup of coffee, unrepentant. “She was hot.”

And that was how word of the hot massage therapist came to dominate the staff lounge for a few days.

“Well,” you said, oblivious to your own reputation. “You can find that service at our brick-and-mortar location downtown. But I only do house calls.”

You fixed Melissa with a meaningful stare.

“Speaking of which,” you said innocently. “I was wondering when you wanted to book your next appointment.”

“You were, huh?” Her gaze darkened, became almost predatory. “Jacob can you help little Miss Frankie gather up her book bag and lunchbox? I need a word with this one.”

You set Frankie down and she trundled off with Mr. Hill, who cast another lingering look back at the two of you before disappearing into Melissa’s classroom.

“We should keep working on that knot,” you said lightly. “I’m free this weekend.”

“I’d love to, but you’re a little out of my budget with no voucher,” she pouted. “Teacher’s salary and all.”

She batted her eyelashes at you, beckoning you closer.

“What if we made a trade?” you asked. “My services for yours.”

“I’m listenin’.”

“You could…cook me dinner?”

“Careful,” she warned. “That almost sounds like a date.”

“If you don’t want to…” you shrugged, trailing off, starting to turn away. The other woman grabbed your bicep, swinging you back around and boxing you in against the lockers.

“I’ll cook a 7-course meal, so long as you finish what ya started.”

She somehow made it sound like a threat and a promise, bringing one hand up to brush the hair out of your eyes. You inhaled sharply, pinned to the spot by her hooded gaze.

“Cause I been real distracted all week,” she continued, voice little more than a growl, eyes flickering up and down your figure.

“That’s terrible, Ms. Schemmenti,” you breathed. “Why didn’t you call me? You know all you have to do is tell me what you need.”

She barely suppressed a shiver. “Don’t toy with me, doll.”

“What are you gonna do, put me in detention?”

Her pupils blackened with desire. Glancing down the hallway to make sure you were still alone, she slotted her thigh between your legs and leaned forward until she was pressing against you in all the right spots. Ghosting her lips around the shell of your ear, she whispered, “Not if you promise to make me feel good.”

A helpless sound formed in the back of your throat. Melissa clamped a hand over your mouth before it could spill out and echo obscenely down the hallway. Her eyes sparkled with laughter.

“Do ya promise?” she repeated softly.

You nodded.

“Saturday, 4:00,” she husked. “Bring the table.”

Then she was walking away and your eyes were glued to her ass in those leather pants, hypnotized by the sway of her hips.

The following days passed in a blur.

When Saturday finally rolled around, you showed up early, parking your truck in front of her sweet little bungalow. You walked up the driveway carrying the portable table and your usual bag of tricks—soft Turkish linens, aromatherapy oils, coconut water. You knocked on the door and waited, flicking your hair out of your eyes. A dog barked in the distance; you could smell bonfire on the breeze.

When she swung the door open, she had a lopsided grin on her face. With one finger, she beckoned you inside. She was already wearing a robe, loosely tied in the front.

“Ms. Schemmenti,” you said, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “I’ve been looking forward to our session all week.”

“Likewise,” she said, clearly enjoying how desperate you were.

You stepped into the entryway, crowding her slightly. Her eyes darted down to your mouth, then back up again.

“Let’s pick up where we left off last time?”

You walked into the living room on unsteady legs. You could feel her behind you, watching your every move. The air was thick with tension. Your hands shook slightly as you erected the table, tucked the sheet into place.

“Now why don’t you—“

You turned around to find that the robe had slipped down around her shoulders. The perfect swell of her tits and the dusky edges of her nipples were just visible. All the breath left your body in a rush. You had never seen anything so fucking perfect.

“I know the drill,” she said softly.

Then she shimmied out of the robe completely, letting the fabric slip off and pool around her feet. You groaned. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Fuck,” you whispered, hands flexing in excitement as you drank in the buxom shape of her, itching to touch her again, to map the soft peaks and valleys of her body.

Melissa bit her lip, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Any insecurity she might have had instantly flew out the window. She felt her nipples getting hard as you stared. There was a raw look of need painted across your pretty face, a flush of arousal in your cheeks. You swayed a little on the spot and licked your lips, sending a pulse of excitement through her.

The redhead stepped forward and draped herself across the table. Your table, she thought, dizzy with arousal. You fumbled in your bag, searching for the bottle of oil.

“Any areas you want to work on?” you asked roughly, eyes glued to the twin dimples in her lower back, directly above her ass.

She turned her head to the side, fixing you with a suggestive stare.

“I have this real bad ache,” she confessed quietly. “It’s been keeping me up at night.”

“Let me take a look.”

She shivered, and you draped the sheet over her.

“I’ll start by warming you up,” you explained. “Warming your muscles up, so we can work on any tension. Is it ok if I touch you here?”

She nodded, unable to speak. You ghosted your fingertips over her lower back, then around the outside of her hips, humming with pleasure at the heat radiating off her skin.

“What about here?” You asked, gripping her inner thigh. “Spread your legs for me, so I can massage some oil…” you trailed off as she complied.

“Oh,” you gasped, eyes transfixed by the glistening sheen of wetness that was already coating her pussy. “But it looks like maybe you don’t need any oil there.”

She’d been wet for hours at this point, imagining this exact scenario. Melissa breathed your name, sounding helpless, grinding down into the table. A fuzzy static filled your brain. You felt like a cartoon character that had just been hit over the head with an anvil, birds and stars fluttering around your head.

“Why don’t you turn over?” you demanded gently, compelled by a fresh sense of urgency. “So I can work on opening up those hip flexors.”

Melissa rushed to obey your instruction, fumbling under the sheet. She had no clue what a hip flexor was, but she was pretty sure she’d die if you didn’t open hers up in the next five minutes.

“Perfect,” you breathed reverently, looking down at her flushed face in awe. “You’re perfect.”

She might have been embarrassed if she wasn’t so desperate to feel you everywhere.

“Can I touch you here?” you asked, voice shaking with need as you moved the sheet down to expose her breasts. The pink nipples hardened again and she moaned.

Melissa nodded, eyes glassy with lust.

“I need to hear you say it,” you managed.

Her eyes rolled back as she groaned at your torment.

“Yes, please,” she said, begging. “Please touch me there.”

You quickly added some more oil to your hands, lathering them up and then palming her tits. They were deliciously soft, and she arched into your touch, whining pathetically.

“Oh I think you like that,” you murmured, feeling drunk. You massaged the oil until her skin was glistening, slick with a mix of sweat and lubricant.

“More,” she whined. “Harder.”

You tweaked her nipple and she cried out.

“So good for me,” she husked. “You’re makin’ me feel so good.”

You removed the sheet entirely, running both hands over her belly and hips and then urging her legs apart. Melissa’s arousal was so profound she could feel it dripping down her legs. A smear of wetness had gathered on the surface of the table.

“Is this the spot you were telling me about?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded.

She threw her head back when you pushed a finger inside. The slick heat was almost unbearable. It was like you had forgotten how to breathe. Or rather, that you had transcended the need for such inconsequential habits. Your body no longer required oxygen to survive. Just Melissa.

“Oh, you needed this,” you said reverently, watching as she clenched around you, hips chasing your hand. You bit your lip to keep from groaning, then added another finger.

Leaning down, you dragged hot, open-mouthed kisses across her chest.

“Can I suck?” you asked hungrily.

She answered by fisting a hand in your hair and pushing you down further, until your mouth found her nipple. You placed a gentle bite there and then soothed it with your tongue. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. The stimulation was making her brain foggy.

“Can I—“ you started to ask again, but she interrupted you.

“Everywhere,” she said. “I need you everywhere.”

Her legs fell open wider and she pulled your hair, until you were facing her properly. For a moment you stared at her, reminded suddenly of the first time you’d seen her in the doorway, her impossible beauty rendering you speechless. You wrapped your other arm around her shoulders, cradling her, and getting better leverage.

“Good girl,” you said, twisting your two fingers deep inside her cunt.

Her mouth parted in surprise and tears of pleasure pricked the corners of her eyes. She surged forward and kissed you for the first time, licking into you.

“Tell me again,” she whined against your mouth.

“So fucking good,” you repeated, adding a third finger and driving into her. You felt her clenching, bearing down as your pace became more merciless, almost sloppy. “I want you to come for me, come all over my hand, come all over this table.”

“Fuck,” she cried, head tipped back in ecstasy, completely unraveling.

“So perfect for me,” you whispered in her ear, brushing the palm of your hand over her clit. “There’s nothing more beautiful than you, getting exactly what you deserve.”

She stilled for a moment, then a gush of wetness coated your hand. Melissa sobbed in disbelief at the magnitude of the feeling, her orgasm so deep it extended to the marrow of her bones.

You sagged forward, still holding her, resting your forehead on her chest. Both of you were sweaty and panting. Finally, you withdrew your hand from where it was still buried inside her. She ached at the sudden emptiness, and fisted a hand in your shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

Melissa’s eyes widened as you brought your hand up and plunged the sticky fingers into your own mouth, licking her off your fingertips. You clenched your legs together, throbbing painfully.

“So good,” you keened.

Melissa gasped, unable to tear her gaze away from your mouth and the glistening digits that were lazily disappearing between swollen lips. Finally her brain managed to form a single word.

“Bed,” she ordered, squirming in your arms.

“Bed,” you agreed, overwhelmed by the thought of spreading her out properly on a mattress.

Hours later, pleasure wrung from every muscle and tendon in both your bodies, Melissa picked up the phone to order takeout.

“Hey,” you said softly, playing with her hair. “What about my 7-course meal?”

She gave you a sly look, pressed a kiss to your temple. “Guess we’ll just have to take another rain check.”

[harknessxo]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 8)

Synopsis: A day of shopping and a night of games bring the group closer, filled with laughter, teasing, and playful chaos. But as the night winds down, unspoken tensions linger beneath the surface. 

Word count: 4.7K 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Subtle angst, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions 

You wake up to a dull, throbbing headache—the kind that comes from drinking alone and overthinking too much. Your mouth is dry, and the first thing you do is reach blindly for the glass of water you left on the coffee table last night—only to find it empty. Great. 

Groaning, you sit up, wincing at the stiffness in your neck. Right. You fell asleep on the couch. Rubbing your temples, you glance at your phone. 

It’s already 1:07 PM.  

You blink at the time, still half-asleep, trying to piece together how you even ended up here. The last thing you remember is Adele playing on repeat, the soft glow of the lamp, and the slow burn of whiskey settling in your chest. 

You unlock your phone, and immediately, a flood of group chat messages fills the screen. 

Coven Group Chat 

Jen: "Shopping at Malibu Country Mart today. Be at the main entrance by 3 PM. Also, slumber party at my villa—7 PM. Don't be late." 

Alice: Ooooh, slumber party at 7PM, let’s gooo! 

Lilia: I’m bringing face masks and wine. This is a serious girls’ night. 

Wanda: Better not back out, Y/N. 

Lilia: If she even sees this message. Bet she’s still asleep. 

Alice: She’s totally still asleep. 

Jen: Sleeping off a wild night, probably. 

Wanda: Or she just drinks her problems away like an emotionally unavailable CEO… 

Lilia: Damn, psychoanalyze her more. 

Agatha: She’s reading all of this right now and deciding whether or not to respond. 

You pause, staring at Agatha’s message. It was sent only a few minutes ago. It’s not teasing like the others—it’s casual, knowing. The way she always seems to read you so easily, even through a screen, sends a flicker of something down your spine. 

With a sigh, you toss your phone aside and sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by the remnants of last night’s emotions. The living room is still dim, the curtains drawn shut, and you don’t miss the sight of the nearly empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. You shake your head and stand, stretching as you make your way to the bathroom. A long shower helps, the hot water washing away some of the heaviness in your limbs. 

Once you're dry, you head to your closet, picking out something that makes you look far more put together than you feel—a black sleeveless knit turtleneck top, grey wide-leg trousers, and your Gucci Arielle crystal-heel ankle boots. You add your Bvlgari Serpenti sunglasses for an extra touch, though part of you knows you’ll need them to shield your still-sleepy, slightly puffy eyes. A tote bag to complete the look, and you're set. 

Feeling somewhat more like yourself, you move to the kitchen, making yourself a quick meal—the first of the day. As you eat, you absentmindedly scroll through your emails, skimming over a few work updates, though nothing urgent enough to demand your attention. Once that’s done, you switch to social media, scrolling without really processing anything, just filling the time. 

By the time you check the clock, it’s already 2:45 PM. 

Then a familiar chime of your phone breaks your thoughts. Another message from the group chat. 

Jen: Y/N, if you’re still asleep by the time we leave, I swear— 

You huff out a laugh, finally picking up your coffee and settling on the couch with your phone. You take a slow sip, letting the warmth ground you before finally typing a reply. 

You: Calm down, I’m alive. 

The second you hit send, Agatha’s typing bubble appears. It lingers for a few seconds before disappearing. 

You stare at the screen for a moment before shaking your head. You don’t have time to analyze it. 

You sigh, setting your phone down and pushing your plate aside. Grabbing your bag, you slip on your sunglasses and head toward the door, stepping outside. The afternoon sun is warm but not unbearable, and as you make your way toward the main entrance, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself. 

You don’t know what today will bring—just that she’ll be there. And lately, that’s been enough to keep your mind racing. 

As you step up to the van, you notice it’s just Jen, Lilia, Alice, and Wanda waiting. No Agatha. You’re about to ask where she is when a familiar voice speaks up behind you. 

“Did anyone bring a power bank? I forgot to plug mine in this morning.” 

You turn around, and there she is—Agatha, looking effortlessly put together despite the casual occasion. She’s wearing a beige lightweight wool blazer over a crisp white silk blouse, tucked neatly into ankle-length trousers of the same shade. Stiletto-heel sandals complete the look, and her black shades sit perched on her nose, adding to the polished aura. Her hair is styled in a bouncy blowout, making her look every bit the governor she is. 

You blink, then smirk. “Are we going shopping, or are we launching a campaign?” 

Agatha slides her shades down just enough to give you a look. “Says the woman dressed like she’s about to close a million-dollar deal.” 

You scoff, but before you can fire back, Lilia sighs dramatically. “Oh my god, just get in the van. You two can flirt inside.” 

You roll your eyes as Agatha just chuckles, and the group piles into the van. The ride is smooth, the warm Malibu sun casting golden streaks through the windows. There’s easy chatter—Wanda and Alice going over what stores they want to hit first, Jen already debating whether she needs another designer purse, and Lilia talking about trying some overpriced organic smoothie she saw in an influencer’s post. 

Agatha, next to you as always, is scrolling through her phone, but you can tell she’s listening to the conversation, occasionally smirking at their antics. 

It’s barely a five-minute drive before the van pulls up to the Malibu Country Mart. As you all step out, the salty ocean breeze mixes with the faint scent of coffee from a nearby café. The place is buzzing with people—locals and tourists alike, dressed in their effortlessly chic beach town attire. 

Jen claps her hands together. “Alright, where to first?” 

You catch Agatha adjusting her blazer, her rings catching the sunlight as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It takes you a second too long to look away. 

After browsing through boutiques like L’Agence, James Perse, and Ralph Lauren—trying on clothes for fun but not really buying anything—you and the group make your way through the rest of Malibu Country Mart. Jen picks out some dresses and blouses at Ralph Lauren, Alice finds a few pieces of jewelry she can’t resist, and Lilia stocks up on candles. You just enjoy the walk, letting the easy conversations and occasional teasing fill the afternoon. 

Next, you stop by Malibu Shaman, admiring the eclectic art pieces, then wander through Cielo Home, browsing home decor for inspiration rather than purchase. Malibu Colony Co. is your last stop before a break, where Alice finds another piece of jewelry that catches her eye. 

Hunger starts creeping in, and the group decides on coffee and pastries at Alfred Coffee. But before you can get there, Jen suddenly stops in front of a flower shop called Hecate’s Garden. She steps inside without hesitation, the bell chiming softly as she pushes the door open. "I actually haven’t found a florist for my wedding yet," she muses, running her fingers gently over a bouquet of white peonies. 

The rest of you follow, spreading out to explore the shop. The scent of fresh flowers fills the air, mixed with the faintest trace of essential oils. Agatha lingers near a display of deep purple calla lilies, her fingers trailing absently over the petals. You glance at her for a moment before looking away, busying yourself with a stack of floral arrangement books. 

Jen walks toward the front desk and rings the bell, waiting patiently for the florist. A moment later, the sound of footsteps echoes from the back room, and soon, a woman steps out, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sorry for the wait! I was just finishing up a bouquet in the back," she says. 

You had expected an old woman to own this shop, but you’re surprised to see someone else entirely. Your eyes scan her for a moment—grey cropped tank top, faded jeans, an apron covered in flower stains, chunky boots, and her hair pulled into a messy bun. And that face… it looks familiar. Then it clicks. 

It’s the woman who kept winning at the Water Race back at Pacific Park—Rio Vidal. 

Quickly, you look away and slide your sunglasses on, as if that’ll do anything to hide you. 

Jen doesn’t notice your mini crisis. "Oh, it’s fine! I actually wanted to ask—do you have experience with wedding arrangements?" she asks. 

Rio nods, tilting her head. "I do. Are you a wedding planner, or—?" 

"The bride-to-be," Jen corrects with a smile, then gestures toward the group. "And these are my bridesmaids." 

Rio smiles, scanning the group, but then her gaze lands on you. She leans in slightly, as if to make sure she’s seeing correctly. 

"Y/N!?" 

You have no choice but to awkwardly face her, forcing a smile. "Rio," you say, trying to sound casual, though your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. 

Your friends exchange glances, clearly intrigued. Jen raises an eyebrow. "Wait, you two know each other?" 

Rio grins. "Yeah, we met at Pacific Park a few days ago. Y/N here was very competitive at the Water Race. Oh! And I actually gave her my business card—told her to pass it along in case you needed a florist." 

Jen tilts her head. "Really? Because I never got a business card." 

All eyes shift to you. You clear your throat. "I… forgot to give it to you." 

"Mmmhmm," Wanda hums, smirking. "Or maybe you just wanted to keep her number for yourself." 

You shoot her a glare, not amused. Wanda simply chuckles, clearly enjoying this too much. You, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to sink into the floor. 

The group seems entirely entertained by the revelation—except Agatha. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you uneasy. 

Thankfully, Rio steers the conversation back to business, chatting with Jen about the wedding. You take the moment to nudge Wanda in the shoulder, still irritated by her teasing. She just laughs under her breath. 

After discussing a few details, Jen thanks Rio, and the group prepares to leave. As you turn to exit, Rio smiles at all of you in a formal farewell, but as her eyes meet yours again, she winks. 

Your friends catch it. They don’t say anything, but their reactions are clear. 

Except for Agatha, whose expression remains cool, unimpressed. 

You force a small smile at Rio before stepping out of the shop, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

When you finally reach Alfred Coffee and settle into a table, placing your orders, you notice your friends all staring at you. Expectantly. 

You blink. "What?" 

Lilia snorts. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you totally just got winked at by the hot florist?" 

Alice smirks. "Yeah, and maybe because you looked like you wanted to sink into the floor the entire time." 

You groan, already regretting sitting down. "Can we not?" 

Wanda leans forward, grinning. "So, are you and Rio a thing now?" 

"No," you answer quickly. "We barely even talked." 

"But you could," Lilia teases. "Like, what if—" 

"There is no what if," you interrupt, shaking your head. "We met at a carnival game. That’s it." 

Alice raises an eyebrow. "And yet, she remembered you. And she winked." 

"Okay, why is the wink such a big deal?" 

Wanda shrugs dramatically. "Because it was a wink. A flirtatious, ‘see you later’ kind of wink." 

You sigh, taking a sip of your coffee instead of responding. The teasing goes on for a while, your friends fully enjoying watching you squirm. All except Agatha, who is busy on her phone, barely acknowledging the conversation. 

At some point, Alice leans forward. "Okay, okay, but back up—how exactly did you and Rio meet?" 

You exhale, knowing there’s no escape. "It was at Pacific Park," you start, setting your cup down. "She was at the Water Race game, and I—" you pause briefly before continuing, "Agatha was with me when we met." 

Lilia’s brow lifts slightly, but no one comments on that part. "And?" 

You clear your throat. "Rio kept winning. Like, every single round. Apparently, no one ever beats her at that game." 

"But you did," Alice points out. 

You nod. "Yeah. Eventually, I won. She came up to congratulate me after, since, according to her, it never happens. We talked a little, and she gave me her business card for Jen. That’s it." 

Lilia grins. "Interesting." 

"Not interesting," you correct. "Just a random carnival game. That’s all." 

The teasing continues, but you choose to ignore most of it. Eventually, the coffee is gone, and the group decides to head back to the resort. As everyone parts ways, Jen reminds everyone about the slumber party at her villa later. You nod, making your way back to your own villa, glad to finally get a moment of peace—though you’re not entirely sure why Agatha’s silence feels louder than all the teasing combined. 

It’s almost 7 p.m. when you make your way to Jen’s villa, the evening air still warm against your skin. You knock on the door, expecting Jen to answer, but instead, it swings open to reveal Agatha. 

She’s standing there in a set of deep purple silk pajamas, the fabric catching the light just enough to make her look effortlessly elegant. Her top is unbuttoned just enough to hint at the curve of her collarbone, and for a brief, fleeting second, you forget why you’re even here. 

Her gaze sweeps over you, slow and deliberate, before her lips curl into a smirk. 

“Well, well,” she drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t realize this was that kind of slumber party.” 

You blink, confused for half a second—until you register the teasing glint in her eyes. And then it hits you—your outfit. 

You’re in a maroon silk cami and matching shorts, something you threw on without a second thought. Or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself now. But standing here under Agatha’s sharp gaze, the air between you suddenly feels different—charged in a way you can’t quite place. 

She tilts her head, her smirk deepening. “Not that I’m complaining. You certainly know how to make an entrance.” 

Your breath catches, just for a second. There’s something about the way she says it—not just teasing, but something else, something lingering beneath her tone. Or maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe you want to be imagining it. 

You recover quickly, masking the brief flicker of nerves with a smirk of your own. “And here I thought you were the one dressing for attention, Mrs. Governor.” 

Her smirk twitches, like she knows exactly what you’re doing. But before she can fire back, you step past her into the villa, pretending your pulse isn’t just slightly offbeat. 

Inside, the others are already settled in the living room. Jen and Lilia are on the floor with face masks on, sipping their drinks, while Wanda and Alice lounge nearby, looking entirely too comfortable. The moment their eyes land on you, they exchange glances, and then— 

“Oh, damn,” Lilia hums, tilting her head. “Someone came dressed to kill.” 

Wanda wiggles her brows. “I know we said slumber party, but I didn’t think we meant lingerie ad.” 

Jen laughs, shaking her head. “I swear, you always have to make things dramatic, don’t you?” 

You roll your eyes, plopping down onto one of the cushions. “Can’t a girl just wear something comfortable?” 

“Comfortable?” Alice repeats. “That’s not comfortable. That’s a statement.” 

As the teasing continues, you catch Agatha sinking onto the couch out of the corner of your eye, her expression unreadable. But when you glance at her fully, she’s already looking away, swirling the drink in her hand like she has better things to focus on. 

Maybe it’s nothing. 

Or maybe it’s something. 

Either way, you shake it off and grab a drink, ready to see what the night has in store. 

You guys order some pizza to eat while chatting, the conversation flowing easily as laughter fills the room. Between bites, you find yourself stealing glances at Agatha every chance you get, catching the way the dim lighting makes her look impossibly softer. She seems relaxed tonight, the usual sharpness in her gaze slightly dulled by the warmth of the atmosphere. 

After eating, Wanda suggests playing Jenga. The first few rounds are fun—competitive banter, exaggerated celebrations when someone successfully pulls out a block, groans when the tower inevitably collapses. But after two rounds, the excitement dies down, and everyone starts losing interest. 

Lilia, ever the instigator, claps her hands together. "Alright, Jenga was a bust. How about Truth or Dare?" 

You let out an incredulous laugh, shaking your head. "Are we seriously playing Truth or Dare? What is this, a high school sleepover?" 

"Oh, come on," Wanda smirks, already reaching for her drink. "We’re all adults here. What’s the worst that could happen?" 

You scoff but ultimately shrug. It’s harmless fun, right? Just a game. And besides, the slight buzz from the drinks makes everything seem a little funnier, a little lighter. 

The game begins with everyone sitting in a circle on the floor, a half-empty pizza box in the middle and glasses of wine or soda scattered around. Jen starts first, picking "Truth." Lilia leans in, smirking. "Alright, Jen—when did you know your fiancé was 'the one'?" 

Jen hums, thinking. "I guess when he stayed up all night helping me prepare for a court case even though he had no clue what he was doing. He just wanted to help." 

Alice clutches her chest dramatically. "Ugh, that's disgustingly sweet." 

The turns continue. Alice chooses "Dare" and is dared to text an ex a vague "I miss you." She groans but does it, then immediately turns her phone off. "Nope. I'm not dealing with that tonight." 

Lilia picks "Truth" and is asked who her last crush was. She sighs. "Some barista at this cute coffee shop near my apartment. We flirted a lot, but I think she was just being nice for tips." 

Agatha goes next. She swirls her wine glass, eyes flicking to you briefly. "Dare." 

Jen, who has been waiting for this moment, leans forward. "I dare you to say something you genuinely admire about Y/N." 

Your head snaps toward Jen. "Excuse me?" 

The group turns to Agatha, waiting. She tilts her head, considering, then meets your eyes. "She’s… determined. Once she sets her mind on something, she sees it through." 

Your stomach flips at her words, and you quickly look away, reaching for your drink to distract yourself. The air feels charged, but before anyone can comment, the game moves on. 

Then it's Wanda's turn. She picks "Dare," and Lilia grins wickedly. "I dare you to send a voice memo confessing your undying love to a random contact." 

Wanda rolls her eyes but takes her phone out, scrolling. "Fine, but if this backfires, I’m haunting all of you." She records the message dramatically. "I have loved you in silence for too long. Every moment without you is agony." She sends it and immediately regrets it. "Oh my God, I sent it to my dentist." 

The room erupts into laughter. 

Then, it's your turn. Wanda grins. "Truth or Dare?" 

You should’ve known she’d be trouble. "Dare." 

"Text Rio. Just a simple 'Hey~'." 

Your face heats instantly. "Are you serious?" 

"Rules are rules," Lilia chimes in, nudging you. 

With an exasperated sigh, you pull out Rio’s business card from your wallet, type in the number, and send the text. "Happy now?" You show them the screen. 

The group cheers, but you glance at Agatha. She’s focused on her drink, spinning the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, her expression unreadable. 

The game continues, with dares getting bolder and truths getting more revealing. Alice, emboldened by the wine, gets dared to send a flirty text to her neighbor and does so with a dramatic flourish. Lilia is forced to prank call her boss and nearly chokes on laughter trying to sound serious. Wanda, still recovering from her dentist confession, picks "Truth" and is asked who her biggest celebrity crush is. "Easy," she smirks. "Charlize Theron." 

Then it's Jen's turn again. She picks "Dare," and Alice grins. "I dare you to take a shot without making a face." 

Jen raises a brow, unfazed, and downs the shot with ease, setting the glass down with a smirk. "You underestimate me." 

Agatha, who has been quietly observing, finally gets another turn. She considers for a moment, then picks "Truth." 

Lilia leans in, her expression mischievous. "Alright, Agatha, be honest—have you ever been interested in someone in this room?" 

Agatha raises a brow, swirling her wine glass lazily. "Interest is a broad term." 

The group groans at her deflection, but Lilia presses on. "Fine, let me rephrase. Have you ever thought about kissing someone in this room?" 

Agatha exhales a soft chuckle, taking a slow sip of her wine before answering, "Maybe." 

More protests erupt, demands for details flying from all directions. But Agatha just smirks, her expression unreadable. You grip your glass a little tighter, pulse quickening. For a second—just a second—you swear her eyes flicker toward you, but it's gone before you can be sure. 

The game moves on, but your mind lingers. 

The game continues with even riskier dares and truths, laughter filling the room as the night deepens. 

Then, it comes back to you. You pick "Dare" again, and Jen lights up mischievously. "Perform a seductive dance for the group." 

You groan, throwing your head back. "Are we really doing this?" 

"Oh, absolutely," Alice smirks. 

Sighing, you stand up, stretching dramatically. The speaker is still playing soft music in the background, but Lilia quickly changes it to something more fitting—sultry, slow. You roll your eyes but go along with it, swaying your hips, running a hand down your body in exaggerated moves. Jen and Lilia pretend to throw money at you, and Wanda is recording, cackling. You steal a glance at Agatha, and— 

She’s watching. Intently. That same amused expression, but her lips are slightly parted, fingers tapping against her wine glass as if in thought. The way her eyes linger sends a shiver down your spine. 

You finish with a twirl and drop back down into your seat. "There. Happy?" 

"Oh, very," Jen teases. 

The night deepens, the dares get wilder, and the truths get riskier. By the time you’re all leaning into each other, laughing over some ridiculous confession from Lilia about making out with a stranger in an elevator, you can’t help but notice Agatha hasn’t picked another dare. 

And she’s barely taken a sip from her wine since that one particular dare was mentioned. 

The game carries on, but your thoughts keep circling back—to Agatha, to the way she looked at you, and to what exactly that meant. 

After the game, you guys decide to watch a movie. You sink into the couch, stretching your legs out comfortably, when Agatha casually takes the seat right beside you. You pretend not to care, keeping your expression neutral, but inside? Yeah, you definitely care. You tell yourself it's just because of the lingering tension from the game, but who are you fooling? You can feel the warmth of her so close, the occasional brush of her arm against yours, and it makes your skin buzz with awareness. 

Jen scrolls through the available movies, listing them out loud. 

“Okay, we’ve got Jennifer’s Body, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Legally Blonde... ooh, Gone Girl, and then—The Exorcist?” Jen reads, glancing at the group for reactions. 

“Absolutely not,” Alice says immediately, shaking her head. “I am not watching The Exorcist before bed. I will sleep with the lights on.” 

“Lilia might actually like that one,” Wanda teases. 

Lilia just shrugs. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind. But I know Alice would kill me in my sleep if I made her watch it.” 

“She’s right,” Alice agrees. “Pick something else.” 

“Fine, fine,” Jen says, scrolling again. “What about 10 Things I Hate About You?” 

Wanda and Alice immediately light up. “Yes, yes, yes,” Wanda says, pointing at the screen. 

“Oh, classic. That’s the one,” Alice nods. 

Jen turns to the rest of you. “Votes?” 

“I’m in,” Lilia says easily. 

“Same,” you add. “It’s one of my favorite movies.” 

At that, Agatha gives you a look. A slow, unreadable glance before she tilts her head, brow slightly raised, like she just learned something new about you. You turn to her. 

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her. 

She just shrugs, smirking slightly. “Nothing.” Then she looks away, clearly amused about something. 

You squint at her for a second before deciding to let it go. Jen, satisfied with the choice, clicks play and turns off the lights to set the mood for a “cinematic experience.” 

As the movie starts, you settle into your seat, sipping your drink. Occasionally, your gaze drifts toward Agatha, watching how she reacts to different scenes. You steal glances at her when she’s not looking, curious. 

Then comes that scene. 

Heath Ledger, standing in the bleachers, belting out Can’t Take My Eyes Off You with a mischievous grin. 

Your grip on your drink tightens slightly. Not because of the scene itself—you’ve seen it a hundred times. But because, in the dim glow of the screen, you catch Agatha watching it with an expression that’s softer than usual, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. And maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but for a brief second, you swear you feel her gaze shift toward you. 

You immediately look back at the screen, pretending to be engrossed in the movie. 

Great. Now I’m imagining things. 

You shake it off, focusing on the film. But then comes the poem scene. Julia Stiles’ Kat stands at the front of the classroom, voice shaking, eyes brimming with emotion as she delivers I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. 

You shift slightly in your seat. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Agatha blink a little more than usual. Her lips press together like she’s trying to suppress some kind of reaction. 

You don’t know why, but your chest feels tight watching her watch this scene. You tell yourself it’s just because it’s a good movie. That’s all. 

Definitely. That’s all. 

The movie ends, and one by one, everyone starts settling in for the night. The room is filled with quiet murmurs, blankets being adjusted, and the occasional yawn as exhaustion finally catches up. 

You lay down on the floor mattress beside Wanda, letting out a slow exhale as you adjust your pillow. The room is dim, only the soft glow of a lamp in the corner keeping the space from total darkness. Just as you start to get comfortable, Agatha lays down on the other side of you, close enough that you can feel the faintest shift of the mattress beneath her weight. 

You immediately freeze. 

With your back to her, you tell yourself not to think about it—to ignore the way the air shifts, heavier somehow, charged with something unspoken. To pretend the space between you isn’t filled with quiet tension, that your heart isn’t betraying you with every uneven beat. You stay still, breathing slow and steady, feigning indifference. Pretending it doesn’t affect you. Pretending you don’t feel her there. 

Instead, you turn to Wanda and make quiet small talk, anything to distract yourself from the warmth of Agatha’s presence behind you. Wanda hums sleepily in response, her words growing softer with each reply. 

Eventually, her breathing evens out, signaling that she’s drifted off. You should do the same. 

But you don’t move. You refuse to shift, to roll over or adjust, because that would mean acknowledging Agatha is right there. 

So instead, you stay perfectly still, facing Wanda’s side, eyes closed, forcing yourself to sleep—even as the awareness of Agatha lingers in every breath you take. 

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[harknessxo]

Ultra Violet - Devil Wears Prada AU (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

When you struggle to find your footing at your new job at renowned Fashion Magazine Runway, a secret Guardian angel decides to help you out. Your mysterious fashionable gifts seem to catch even your stone cold, stern boss's eye. You can’t help but wonder if maybe Agatha Harkness knows more than she lets on.

Content/Warnings: The Devil Wears Prada!AU, CEO!Agatha x Assistant!Reader and the power dynamics that come with that, No pronouns or gendered terms used for R

✨Happy Valentine‘s Day my little loves! Get yourself a sweet cup of coco, a heart shaped treat and enjoy some all inclusive CEO!Agatha fluff!✨

Your new job at Runway was both the best and worst decision you had made your entire life.

Pay was better than the small tabloid you‘d written for until now, their reputation in the industry was insurmountable, and the office had a portafilter espresso machine. All your friends were especially jealous of that one. You’d landed a well paying position at one of the most prestigious fashion magazines in the world.

But that was also the problem. The Fashion. And, if you really boiled it down, your snobby, ruthless, obsessed with shallowness boss.

Agatha Harkness, head and face of the company. An icon of the scene, a trailblazer in the industry (at least that was what your coworkers told you.) Stoic, opinionated, and most of all, impossible to please.

Jen made sure to let you know about that. She had been Second Assistant before you got hired, but now she was promoted to First Assistant and you filled the new position.

She had explained the hierarchy to you in hushed whispers over morning coffee one day, while Mrs Harkness door had been shut and all you could hear were muffled voices arguing behind it.

Jen and your desks were in the hallway just outside, left and right to Harknesses door like two obedient guard dogs. You wondered if that was how she saw you, if she paid enough mind to her assistants for that at all.

It was only your fifth day working at Runway, and your To Do List was nothing but overwhelming. Meanwhile, Mrs Harkness barely spared you a glance, dropping her coat on your desk in the morning without a word, without even a glance, expecting things to be done and never returning a single gesture of gratitude. And everyone, including Jen, just jumped at her bid and word, like she was Queen of the world. It was … a lot.

„Who needs two Assistants anyway?“, you murmured with a chuckle as the meeting seemed to heat up, only to be met by a panicked stare from Jen.

„Don’t ever question Agatha Harknesses choices!“, she‘d tutted, and she looked like she had more to say. But she was interrupted by the door to the hallway where your desks were situated swinging open.

Lillia Calderu, head of the Runway Archives a few floors below dropped a thick binder of fabric samples onto your desk. Strips of dyed denim, all shades of purple so close to each other, you could barely tell a difference. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve laughed.

„What are you two whispering about?“, Lilia asked loudly, only to be met by both you and Jen shushing her sharply.

The voices behind the door to Mrs Harknesses raised in volume, and Lilia swallowed hard.

„I see“, she immediately switched to a whisper tone. „Vidal?“, she asked Jen, who nodded. They shared a serious look, flinching at the yelling.

You bit your lip, glancing from Jen to Lilia. The older woman took a deep breath, leaning against your desk, a hand on her hip.

„Rio wasn’t happy with the placement of her interview in the June Issue“, Jen explained, „I‘ve been getting angry calls from her secretary for days. Now Vidal showed up in person without making an appointment. Had to push back Calvin Klein, they were not happy.“

„What a glorious first week“, Calderu shook her head, giving you a sympathetic look. „Good Luck, Newbie“, she said, and then, her glance slowly dragged down your form, taking in your large green sweater and simple black jeans and sneakers. Her eyes widened, and as she looked back at Jen, she visibly shuddered, „You’re going to need it.“

„What, is something wrong with how I look?“, you gasped, loud enough to get another sharp shush from the other two.

You looked over at Jen, who just shook her head, raising her shoulders in a small shrug. „To be honest, we’ve all been wondering how you got this position in the first place. You‘re not exactly Runway material.“

„Or sidewalk material for that matter“, Lilia added, and Jen clutched her pearls dramatically, trying to stifle her laughter.

„You‘re not wrong, Calderu.“

You shot Jen a hurt look, ready to defend yourself. You were Second Assistant, most of your work happened on the phone, who cared if you wore Armani or not? After all, you had studied Journalism, not Fashion! And you were more than capable of showing professionalism in your profession!

But before you could give the two women a piece of your mind, the door flew open, and a dark haired woman in a suit strutted past you, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

„Admit it Agatha!“, she snarled, glaring back into the office over her shoulder, „This had nothing to do with the collection and everything with your own stubbornness!“

The woman, Vidal, turned around on her heels, dark hair whipping over her shoulder. As she turned, her eyes focused on you, and she froze in her tracks.

„Oh“, a dangerous little smirk formed on her lips. „You‘re new. Clearly.“

She took a step closer, Lilia moving out of her way as she did. Dark eyes watched your every movement like a lynx stalking its prey, and you suddenly felt incredibly exposed, even behind your desk. When she noticed you shudder, Vidal grinned, exposing her teeth.

„They really let anyone work here these days.“, raising her voice loud enough that it echoed through the hallway, she added „Who let the little barista in?“

To your horror, both Jen and Lilia just shrugged, not saying a word in your defense. Stupid, shallow Fashion industry.

Rio Vidal leaned over your desk, dangerously close to your face. She placed one hand on either side of you, practically caging you into your seat. Her voice was low as she smirked down at you, teeth exposed. „Aggie is going to eat you alive, little mouse. Better run while you can.“

„Rio!“, Mrs Harkness' voice rang from her office, a sharp cut through the air.

All four of you whipped your heads around, even Rio, finding the woman leaning against her office door, arms crossed, legs perfectly accentuated by a fitted culotte, a matching blazer draped over her shoulders, silk scarf loose around her neck. Her brow was creased, and sharp, ice cold eyes stared Rio down like a hawk. „Our meeting is over, Vidal. Get your ass out of my office. And“, her jaw tensed, eyes flitting over to you for less than a second. „Don’t touch my stuff.“

There was a slight frown on her face and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and fall through all nine floors of the building.

But still, Rio listened. With a scoff, the dark haired woman pushed herself off your desk, brushing past Lilia as she made her way towards the door.

„I‘m so sorry!“, Jen started babbling the moment the elevator doors closed and swallowed Vidal up, „She stopped for us, we did not-“

„Silence, Kale.“ Agatha didn’t even bother to look at her. Instead, her cold eyes closed in on Lilia. „Have your coffee break elsewhere, Calderu. There is no reason for you to linger around up here. And you, pet.“, her head whipped around, ice cold stare piercing right through you.

„Starting Monday, I want to see initiative. It’s time to take this Job seriously.“

Just like Rio had done just minutes before, Harkness leaned over your desk, glaring you down as she invaded your space. You leaned backwards into your chair, resisting the urge to flinch away. Blue eyes wander down your front, lingering over your exposed throat for just a moment longer. „And no more green at the office.“

Just as fast as she had leaned in, she was gone again, leaving your heart beating out of your chest, hands curled around the arm rests of your chair so tight, your knuckles turned white.

Agatha was already halfway back to her office. „Accompany Calderu back to her office, pet. I don’t want to see you when I leave. And next week, you either show up dressed like you want this, or don’t bother showing up at all.“

You weren’t ever going to admit it to anyone, especially Jen, but that night you crawled into the back of your uber with tears in your eyes. Fuck your stupid boss and her stupid standards and your stupid coworkers who only cared about appearances! Your work was hard, and ungrateful, and no one seemed to care that you did every little task, every small favour that wasn’t in your job description at all, and you did them all marvelously. But still, no one had your back because you wore converse instead of Louis Vuittons. Not even in front of your boss and her infamous ex wife, known for always somehow ending up closer to Agatha than the Runway CEO would like. Even then, in front of two of the most powerful women in the business, no one felt the need to stick up for you.

When you stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of your home, your uber gave you a worried look, and it only made you cry harder.

However, someone seemed to have your back.

As you walked up the stairs to your front door, you noticed a single package. A white box, even adorned with a lilac bow on top of it. And, when you crouched down to inspect the mystery package further, it had your name written on it at the top.

No tape or even a stamp, just a single gift box with a bow, looking like someone had snatched it away from under a Christmas tree. It wasn’t Christmas though, and it wasn’t your birthday either. It was a regular Friday, only tainted by the tears you‘d just spilled over your stupid job.

When you opened the box, carefully pulling at the lilac ribbon, your confusion didn’t let off either. In fact, you were even more lost with the contents.

A pair of black slacks, the fabric smooth and organic. No polyester in sight, this was high quality fabric. When you held them up, something fell out of the left pocket.

A card, a lapel pin attached to it. Fine, polished silver wrapping around a single, sparkling amethyst.

On the backside was a note, written in a cursive so filigrane that at first, you thought it must be printed.

No more jeans. Time to dress for the job you got.

You glanced up, but the street was empty, no cars other than resident vehicles parked under the flickering street lights. Whoever had dropped off this mystery gift had not stuck around. You swallowed, taking the box and bringing it inside. Maybe there was hope for you.

The gifts didn’t stop there. On Monday, you sat down at your desk, wearing your nice, new slacks and a slightly less washed out sweater today, you found another little box, the same white cardboard, the same ribbon. This one was way smaller though, small enough that Jen didn’t seem to notice from across the room as you unwrapped a brand new, sleek watch. The wrist band was incredibly light and slick, the watch itself small but neat, and the pointers were adorned with the tiniest little diamonds, tainted a bright blue if you held them up to the light. Underneath the watch was a note again. Neat cursive.

Meeting with Dior in 10, not 20. Wear the watch.

You bit the inside of your cheek, but before you could think about it, Jen hung up her current phone call, stress written all over her face.

„Dior called, they are coming in-“

„10, not 20“, you gave her a firm nod, „Don’t worry, I‘ll meet them and take notes for Harkness, you do the evaluation with Lilia.“

As you got out of your seat, you slung the new watch around your wrist. It sat perfectly. Jen gave you a confused but appreciative once over.

„Okay“, she said, „See you in 30.“

On Wednesday, you rushed in from driving Agatha’s son to soccer practice to find the hallway empty. Jennifer must have gotten stuck in a meeting. However, that wasn’t what caught your interest. As you put your laptop down, you noticed another box, this one sitting right in the seat of your chair. It was bigger than the others, and as you pulled the lid off, you were met with a bubble wrap. Whatever was in here, it was packaged like something incredibly precious. You bit your own tongue, anticipation bubbling up inside you. And then you unwrapped it.

A leather jacket. A little scuffed, worn in at the elbows. Definitely vintage, worn before. The arms were studded by silver rings, from the shoulders down to the cuffs. It was gorgeous, and vaguely familiar.

Behind you, you heard the clinking of porcelain, and then a sharp curse. When you spun around, Jen was already halfway across the room towards you, ignoring the fact she‘d spilled fresh coffee all over her desk.

„Where did you get that?“, she asked, panic in her voice. You clutched the jacket a little tighter.

„I found it here. Must be a gift.“

Jen came to a halt right in front of your desk, both hands immediately diving into the box on your seat.

„Hey!“, you nudged her away with your hip, but Jen‘s stance was firm, „Stop that!“

“Absolutely not!“, the first assistant just replied, „As per usual, you have no idea what any of this is about!“

„Then you should tell me, as first assistant and all!“, you shot back, and Jen let out a deep sigh.

„1998. Agatha Harkness gets photographed by paparazzi leaving Rio Vidal‘s mansion. The jacket she wore started a trend that didn‘t settle until denim took over in the 2000s.“ She gave you a long, serious glare. „You are holding that jacket.“

Before you could process what she just told you, and what any of that meant, your coworker already dove back into the box. At the bottom was a folded piece of cardboard, just off white and high quality. There was a set of simple, silver cuff buttons attached to it. Jen snatched the note out before you even had a chance to grab it.

„You polish up nice. Pair with a dress shirt.“ She read out loud, gasping.

„No signature? I can’t believe this! There is no way this left the archive without Mrs Harknesses permission.“

You reached for the note, but Jen took a step backwards, holding it out of your reach. Damn her and her high louis vuittons.

Her eyes closed in on you, pointing an accusatory finger at you. „This is why you‘ve been looking good! Someone is playing dress up with you! Do you have a secret admirer in the archives?“

„I don’t know who these are from!“, you told her truthfully, holding the leather jacket close to your chest. You still weren’t 100% sure she wasn’t just going to tear it from you.

„But … Someone‘s been helping me. Lilia has been a lot kinder since I changed the way I dress, even you shared your salad with me the other day!“

Jen creased her brow at that, glancing from the note in her hand to your face and back.

„I guess there hasn’t been any complaints from downstairs either. Whoever sends you stuff does so fair and square.“ She huffed, nose wrinkling, then shrugged, finally handing you the note. Soft, high quality paper, like artists used for Aquarelle painting. The same neat cursive as the other one.

Jen watched you and shook her head. „Whoever is sending you these is right though. You need a button up with this. And some good shoes.“

As if your secret angel had heard her, the next day, you found a bag with the Lauren Ralph Lauren logo printed on it under your desk. Inside was a shoe box. A pair of sleek black ankle boots, shiny, real leather, a minimal heel to give you just a little bit of extra height, but small enough to keep the shoe androgynous and cool. This time, there was no extra goodie attached to the note, however, when you turned it in your hand, a sour, citrusy scent found your nose. The paper was doused in perfume. This time, when you read the note, a smile slowly but surely crept up onto your features.

Looking good. Now show them exactly who you are, pet.

You licked your lips in excitement, glancing up from your desk. Mrs Harkness office door was closed, her way of letting you know she wanted no disturbances right now.

However, you could hear that one Lorna Wu song playing behind the door, the smooth sound of a record player unmistakable. You were starting to get an idea of who might be behind your sudden gift shower.

By Friday, you had an almost entirely revamped closet, held in shades of violet, plum and indigo. Today, you wore a flowy, long sleeved shirt made out of what you were pretty sure was pure dyed silk, the amethyst earrings and a matching bracelet, the slacks that had started all of this. You looked stylish, young, professional. You looked like you weren't a second assistant, but editor of Runway, and you carried yourself through the hall like it too, dropping the leather jacket on your chair as you passed your desk. Jen looked up from her laptop when you came passed, giving you an impressed nod.

„I‘m gonna be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.“

You let out a little snort, leaning against her desk. „Thanks Jen, you look great today too.“ She always did, of course. Jen had this game figured out like no other. No matter how much Mrs Harkness had to complain about her work ethic or her shitty handwriting or the coffee Jen bought her being just a little too sweet, not even the Wicked Witch of Runway could criticise Jennifer's style. But, if you were quite honest, you started to feel like you were holding up pretty well yourself. This morning when you‘d dropped off a new collection for the Archive, Lilia had pulled you into a tight hug, before introducing you to one of the photographers. She‘d never done anything of the sorts before. When you walked down the hallway, a binder or a bag of clothes or Agatha‘s lunch order in your hand, people greeted you, some even stepped out of the way now.

„So“, you flipped open your notebook, glancing at your To Do List for the day. „What does the afternoon look like for us?“

„I‘m dropping Nicky off at Alice‘s for his guitar practice.“ She explained, „And on the way back I‘ll stop by Gucci to pick up some samples. Agatha has calls until four, and expects her afternoon latte immediately after. Until then, you’re on phone duty.“ Jen gave you a small smile, and you dared to see pride on her face. „Nothing you can’t handle, superstar.“

That afternoon, you knocked at your bosses door no less than two minutes after she‘d finished her last call. You had a tray with her drink and a salmon cream cheese bagel, the mug still steaming as you peaked into the door.

„Coffee’s ready!“, you announced, ready to put the tray down and disappear again.

However, to your surprise, Agatha told you to come inside. You closed the door behind you, putting her order down on her desk before stepping away, feeling oddly exposed in the middle of the room like that.

You’d barely seen her all week, she was always either on the go but in a conference. But yesterday, as she had brushed past your desk, phone in hand as she’d once again yelled at Vidal about … something, you imagined that for the splinter of a second, she‘d winked at you in passing.

Now, Agatha‘s eyes dragged down your form, and for the first time this week, she genuinely smiled. Taking a sip of her latte, she gave you a satisfied nod.

„You may not look like a barista anymore, but I swear this stuff has been better since you started to do the coffee run.“

You caught your lower lip between your teeth. „Thank you, Mrs Harkness.“

Then, as you turned to leave, Agatha called out to you again.

„Wait up, pet.“

You froze, glancing over your shoulder back at her. There was an unreadable glimmer in her eyes, tainted lips curled into a small smirk. „Add whatever you like to drink to the order tomorrow. Use my card.“

You couldn’t help but gasp, smile so wide you quickly had to turn away, before she could see. This was entirely new. Coffee run meant a drink for Agatha, sometimes one for Lilia. Never for the assistants. Well, until now. „Thank you, Mrs Harkness.“

„Call me Agatha.“

„Of course, Agatha.“ Her name rolled off your tongue surprisingly easy, like it had always belonged there. You bit back a grin, feeling your stomach tighten. Her undivided attention felt like opiates in your system, made you feel like you were floating on clouds above the world. Like you wanted nothing else, ever again. It was dizzying.

„Come over here“, Agatha’s voice brought you back to reality. It was calm, and she nodded towards her desk, cluttered with notebooks, concept art and prior issues of the magazine. Every night before you left, you made sure to organise it, but over the course of just one day, Agatha always managed to restore the chaos.

Right now, she was getting off her seat, putting down her cup. To your surprise, she had foregone stockings today, bare skin under her deep purple, tight pencil skirt. The matching blazer was draped over the back of her chair, sleeves of her white shirt pushed up to her elbows. It was unusually casual, uncharacteristically human. It was intimate.

Your stomach did a little flip, stepping forward to stand in front of her desk as she had ordered. The quiet obedience gained you a satisfied little nod.

„You’ve been cleaning up quite well, pet.“

If you thought about it, you didn’t mind the pet name at all.

Praise from Agatha was a rare treat, if you believed Jen, it was near impossible. You played with the rings adorning your fingers, glancing down at the tips of your polished, shiny black boots.

Agatha paced around her desk in a slow circle, until she was standing right behind you. „Everything I’ve heard about you has been nothing but positive.“

Goosebumps rose on your skin. „Thank you, Mrs Harkness.“

She tutted. „I told you to call me Agatha.“

A warm hand grazed your hip, and you exhaled sharply at the touch. „And here I thought you were good at taking orders.“ She glanced at you over your shoulder, a mocking pout on her lips.

Her fingers curled around the silky fabric of your shirt for a mere moment before letting go again.

„Turn around.“ You spun around to face her without missing a beat.

Agatha‘s eyes dragged over your blouse, along your shoulders, your collarbones exposed by the silky fabric, dipping lower for just a moment. Your breath hitched.

She took a step forward, into your space. Instinctively, you took a step back. The air got sucked out of your lungs when you felt the desk press into the back of your legs. You were now caged in between Agatha‘s presence in front of you and her desk behind you.

Your boss seemed unbothered, her hand reaching out, running over the neatly folded collar of your shirt. You’d added the lapel pin to it, the silver reflecting in the blue of her eyes. You swallowed, and her glance focused on the movement of your throat.

„Gorgeous“, she murmured, and you weren’t sure what exactly she meant. You imagined you saw her lick her painted lips, but you weren’t sure. Either way, goosebumps tickled your arms, your chest, all over your skin.

Agatha’s index finger and thumb take your collar between them, silky, deep purple fabric running through her hold. You felt her gently tug on the fabric and your heart skipped a beat. The only thing you wanted was for her to touch your skin instead.

But then she spoke, and it took every fibre of your being to concentrate on her words.

„Ultra Violet, the Pantone Color of the Year in 2018“, her lips pursed into a dangerous, thin smile, „Do you know why that is?“

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she took another step closer. You swallowed hard, halfway sitting on her desk now, knees sliding apart automatically as she stepped between them. You didn’t stop her, just held still as she invaded your space. It was like there was electricity flimmering through the air.

“George Hobeika Fall 2017 Couture showcase. He comes to me with a collection of deep oranges and reds. Orange for fall? How original. I send him a note telling him to shove his off the rack bullshit back to where he must be hiding that visionary spirit he claims to have. The color of the paper?“ Her brows raised, blue eyes unreadable as she scanned your face expectantly.

„Ultra Violet“, you guessed, and the pleased curl of her lips has your heart almost beating out of your chest.

„Exactly“, she murmured, so close that you felt her breath on your face. „Ultra Violet. The colour of the standout dress of the show, the colour you saw on every Magazines front page for a full year after.“ She chuckled, tugging on your collar just the smallest bit. The upper button came undone. You didn’t stop her.

Agatha’s voice dropped. „I send Kale to buy office supplies once and the entire fashion industry bends over backwards for me.“

Her fingers let go of your blouse. Instead, her thumb hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. There was no escape to her intense eye contact now. Her voice was low, amused. She practically purred at you.

„And look at you, wearing my color, seven years later.“

She took another step towards you. Her hips pushed against yours now, and your hands found the surface of her desk behind you, pushing yourself upwards as she pinned you against it. Her body was warm against you, even through layers of expensive satin and velvet. It was only now that you noticed your blouse matched the colour of her skirt, of her blazer. Her rings were adorned with the same amethysts that dangled off your ears.

All the little gifts on your desk, every single item in your new, professional closet, they all had one thing in common. Ultra Violet. The colour of the Woman herself. Every single thing that made Jen green with envy or Lilia whistle impressed, they weren’t just gifts from a secret admirer who wanted to help you. They were territorial markings. They were hers. You were hers, visible to everyone’s eyes.

Blue eyes twinkled down at you in approval, the realisation written all over your face.

„My colour, all over you“, Agatha purred, her thumb dragging along your jaw, up towards your cheekbone, and then slowly towards your slightly parted lips. Her touch was gentle and you stopped breathing at the feeling, trying hard not to lean into the touch. But then, her hand found your hair, fingers curling into it, pulling you closer. Her other hand slipped around your waist, palm pressed firmly against your lower back. A familiar scent found your nostrils, sour and citrusy.

She was so close, you felt every single one of her words on your lips.

„You wear it so well.“

That was when the knot inside you snapped. All restraints, every last ounce of professionalism flew right out the window. Your eyes fell shut. It took barely a slight nudge of your chin to close the gap between you. Finally, your lips were on hers.

Agatha was firm against you. The sweetness of Charlotte Tilbury matte lipstick met your tongue, her painted lips creamy and soft against you. She kissed you with vigour, her hand firm on your lower back as she pushed you flush against her. She leaned forward, pushing you onto her desk with strong arms. Your shirt slipped off one shoulder and you let out a surprised squeal. Agatha took the opportunity and slipped her tongue between your lips. The faint bitterness of Espresso hit your tastebuds, her tongue dancing around you with the confidence of a leading dance partner.

Your hands found her shoulders as your back hit the surface of her desk, pulling her down with you. Holding onto her tightly as she stood between your legs, she kept you in place exactly where she wanted you with the hand in your hair.

A little moan escaped your lips, devoured immediately by her mouth against yours, and her teeth grazed over your swollen bottom lip.

Suddenly, the penetrant sound of a new notification cut through the air. On the other end of the desk, Agatha‘s phone lit up, vibrating once.

A part of you wanted to grab the damn thing and throw it out the window into the night, but you also wanted to keep your job. Now more than ever, actually.

So, as Agatha pulled away, adjusting her blazer as she did, you pulled your shirt back in place as well. But not with a frustrated little sigh, sitting up on her desk as she gave you a warning look with raised brows.

While you were still catching your breath, Agatha stepped around her desk casually, reaching for her phone before turning to the skyline behind her desk, New York City gleaming back at her in shades of Neon and Steel blue. The bright Purple Runway sign from above your building tainted the entire street in a faint violet light. Her mark was everywhere.

Agatha‘s brow creased as she typed into her phone.

„Before you go home, make a dinner reservation for two at the French Place at the Boulevard. 9 pm sharp. Message Nicky‘s babysitter to let her know I‘ll be late.“, she said matter of factly, and you scrambled for your notepad to write down everything she told you. Even your notepad was purple. How had you never noticed that until now?

„And remember to pick up your suit for Vidal‘s Gala before Saturday. You’re going to need a fitting.“ You tried to ignore the way your heart leaped in your chest. Your first event as her assistant, and she was taking you and only you!

“Oh, and Y/N,“ Your name on her lips was new, and it was exciting. You felt your chest flutter at the sound.

Agatha turned back around to look at you, the city lights illuminating her form. Her lipstick had smudged the slightest bit, but it did not ruin the image of perfection she was. If anything, it just made your stomach burn even hotter. Her eyes found yours and there was a twinkle in them, lips curled into a subtle smirk.

“You have Dinner at the French place on Boulevard at 9. There‘s an outfit waiting for you in the Archive.“

A knowing smirk tugged at your lips, raising a brow at her. „I must polish up nice to wear archived items.“

Agatha tutted, bright eyes twinkling. „You have been.“

[harknessxo]

The psychology of love (Part 1)

Your first class of Personality Psychology with Professor Agatha Harkness awaits

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: very light smut, slowburn, teacher x student

“Can you believe we’re graduating college in the spring?” your best friend and roommate, Wanda Maximoff, asks when you sit down at the table in the dining hall with a plate of toast and a cup of orange juice. 

You shake your head, brain still foggy with sleep, and silently curse yourself for picking the nine AM class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It’s the first day of your senior fall semester and you already know it’s going to be rough. You really hope this is the kind of class that has optional attendance. 

Wanda is much more of a morning person than you are, with chipper green eyes and a glow to her pale skin. She was more than happy to sign up for all early classes and you wish you had half of her energy. 

“You have Creative Writing at nine and then Gender and Sexuality Studies at ten-fifteen?” you ask. Wanda’s an English major and you sometimes wish you had gone down that route as opposed to Psychology. It’s interesting, of course, but some of the courses you’ve had to take made you want to poke your eyes out with boredom. 

She nods. “What do you have?” 

Shrugging, you pull out your phone to look at your schedule. “Personality Psych at nine,” you say. “Physiological Psych at twelve. I really hope these aren’t bad.” 

“Did you look up the professors? I did—apparently one of mine was fired for making racist comments and then rehired by the university,” Wanda scoffs and your eyes widen. “He apparently sued, it was a whole thing. So I bet that class should be fun.” 

Her sarcasm makes you chuckle and then wince. “No, fuck, I didn’t look,” you say, inwardly kicking yourself. When you had registered for classes, there were only certain times that some of them were offered so you had to work around that. You didn’t get to be picky in your senior year, when you were down to the last few classes you needed to graduate. 

You zoom in on the professor’s name for your first class on the screenshot of your schedule—Agatha Harkness. Typing it into google, you say a silent prayer that she’s an easy-A teacher. 

Clicking on the first website, your face falls when you see that she has a two-point-nine out of five rating, with the average grade being a C. Difficulty level four out of five. Attendance mandatory. You scroll through the reviews and your heart sinks lower with each one. 

Barely any homework, tests are about ninety percent of the grade. 

I made two-hundred flashcards and still failed the final exam. Professor Harkness is a total hardass. 

I didn’t wear my seatbelt while driving to class in the hopes I’d get into a car crash. 

“Jesus,” you mutter. Some of them are a little better, saying that she’s a wicked genius, and that going to office hours will help. One of them says she has some unorthodox ways of teaching psychology and that she picks favorites—but it’s effective. 

You put your phone away, not even bothering to look up any of your other professors. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. 

Wanda gets up to get some eggs and you bite into your cold toast, but you’ve lost your appetite. It’s your senior year and you can’t let your GPA tank this semester—you refuse to let that happen. If it takes going to office hours every day for the week before an exam, or buttering your professor up, you’ll fucking do it. 

“Nat and I heard about a welcome-back rager that one of the sororities is hosting tonight,” Wanda says when she comes back. Natasha is her girlfriend, one of your other best friends. You take all the credit for them getting together. Both of them had confessed that they liked the other to you so you had made a reservation for dinner for the three of you at a restaurant known for its romantic setting and then you had texted them about three minutes before to let them know that you wouldn’t be able to make it. 

Wanda didn’t come back to the dorm that night and when she had stumbled back in the next morning, her neck was covered in hickeys. 

Your nose wrinkles. “A sorority?” Not that you have anything against them, you just imagine their parties being very guy-infested. 

She laughs and rolls her eyes fondly. “It’s not what you’re thinking. They’re all invite-only and this is a queer sorority.” 

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds fun then.”

“Maybe you can get some action,” Wanda smirks, raising her eyebrows suggestively. 

Snorting, you take a long sip of orange juice to delay answering. Your love life has been complicated to say the least. Your first serious relationship was in freshman year of college, when a girl who had lived across the hall from you asked you out and no one had told you that it was a bad idea to date someone who lives that close to you. She was clingy and immature and you weren’t convinced that she actually cared about you—more just the idea of you. 

And you felt more from just a few compliments from women twice your age than you did the entire time with her. 

Looking back on it now, the whole thing was a bit of a mistake but you had gotten some experience from it and thankfully you had moved dorm buildings and hadn’t seen her again since. 

There had been some hookups in the past two years—drunk calls and makeouts in the bathroom at parties—but no one had caught your eye. 

“Yeah, we’ll see,” you say evasively. It just felt like something was constantly missing. You hadn’t opened up to Wanda or Nat about it, but you secretly longed for what the two of them had with each other. “It’s tonight?” 

Wanda hums. “At nine. So Nat will come over around then and we can pregame and then head over? Can’t be too early.” 

You shake your head at how egregious it would be before laughing. Natasha plops down next to Wanda, out of breath, before kissing her girlfriend on the cheek. They giggle to each other and you push your chair back. 

“I should probably get going. I can only imagine what my professor would do if I’m late,” you say. 

One of your general psych professors taught you that there’s only one type of person who goes out of their way to do a survey or write a review: someone who feels incredibly strongly about it. For each person who wrote a bad review about Professor Harkness, there’s surely five people who did just fine in the class with no complaints. That makes you feel a little better and you smile at your friends before trekking across campus. 

Her classroom is in the Psychology building, which is possibly the furthest one from the dining hall, and by the time you get there and walk up the flight of stairs, your calves are burning and you have to make an effort to control your heavy breathing. 

But you have five minutes to spare and the room is empty, so you lean against the wall next to the door on your phone. You’re already getting notifications of assignments for this week—why do you have five things to do for one class? A ball of stress starts to coil in your stomach. 

“Nervous habit?” someone asks, and it takes you a moment to realize that they’re talking to you. You look up, surprised, and find an older woman, maybe late forties, with curly dark hair that’s tossed over her shoulders, dark blue eyes that pierce into yours, and large, black glasses resting on her nose. She’s wearing a navy dress with a black blazer and smart brown shoes. Her eyebrow is posed expectantly and you realize that you’ve been chewing on your thumb nail. 

You clear your throat and straighten up, a feeling that you can’t quite name growing inside you. “Sorry?” 

Her lips slowly stretch into a smile and you catch a whiff of her perfume—a unique blend of warm vanilla with a dark coffee and something extra that adds a little spice. “Are you here for class?” she asks. 

“Yeah, um, Personality Psych,” you answer, feeling like you’re missing out on something. She looks absolutely delighted and steps to the side of you to open the door to the classroom. The pieces slowly click into place and your mouth drops open. “You—you’re Professor Harkness?”

She smirks. “Not who you were expecting?” 

She is not who you were expecting at all. The reviews made it sound like she was a mean crone deriving pleasure from failing students left and right. Not an attractive older woman.

You swallow roughly. 

Professor Harkness tilts her head to the side and you brush past her into the classroom, muttering a “Not really,” her scent lingering in your nostrils. It’s a small room and you sit at a desk in the second row on the left side, where the lectern is. You’ve found that it’s easier to focus when you’re close to the teacher. 

More students trickle in and sit behind you or to the side of you. No one takes the desk in front of you, though, so when Professor Harkness sweeps through the aisles of chairs and stops at the front, you’re in her direct line of sight. Her eyes twinkle when they land on you and you squirm.

“Welcome to Personality Psychology,” she announces at nine on the dot. “I am Professor Agatha Harkness. I have a PhD in clinical and behavior psychology. I’m sure many of you have heard or read that this class is difficult.” 

Out of your peripheral vision, you see some people nodding and nervously chuckling. 

She slams a hand down on the surface of the lectern, making everyone jump. “They are correct. But, let me tell you something. A lot of the students that take this class think it will be easy. They hear ‘Freud’ and they think ‘Oedipus Complex’. They hear ‘biological approach’ and they think ‘nature versus nurture’. Of course we will cover that—but we will also go very deep into what each theory pertains and includes. People fail because they think there’s too much information so they give up. What’s the solution?Try.” 

You wonder if she saw the review from the person that said they made two-hundred flashcards and still failed. 

Agatha moves to the desk next to the lectern to log into the computer. Quiet chatter fills the room, people introducing themselves to each other, but you dig in your bag and pull out a notepad and a pen. Your psych teacher in high school taught you that writing down information helps your brain retain it better than typing, so you’ve grown accustomed to taking notes by hand. 

She presses a button and the screen at the front of the classroom turns on and projects the syllabus. Agatha quickly goes through it, making note of the three exams and two research presentations that are scattered throughout the semester, and someone raises their hand. 

“So we only have five grades?” he asks, a nervous tremor in his voice. You’re right there with him—it will be very hard to bring your grade back up if you do bad on a test. 

Agatha stares him down. “If you do well on each one, you won’t need more than that.” The boy stammers but she moves on, telling everyone that attendance is indeed mandatory and that she won’t be posting the slides for notes online. You inwardly groan, hoping that your fear of failure will outweigh your lack of motivation. 

When she closes the tab with the syllabus, you hear rustling behind you and you turn slightly to see a girl packing up. A quick check of your watch shows that there’s still thirty minutes left.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Agatha says. “Did I dismiss the class?” 

The girl freezes before slinking back into her seat. “No, sorry, I just thought—” 

Agatha laughs humorlessly and you flinch. “Well, you are dismissed. We’ll see you on Wednesday unless you drop the class first.” The girl’s mouth drops open, eyes glassy, but she holds her head high as she walks out of the door.  

If you were her, you’re not sure you’d be able to come back. 

“Alright, let’s get into it,” Agatha says, clicking on a new tab and opening a slideshow. There’s a quiet ugh among everyone—of course she’s making you take notes on the first day. “What is personality?” 

No one moves an inch, no one says a word. 

She scoffs and stands up, perusing the room. You’re sure everyone is doing the exact same thing as you—looking anywhere but the professor. Raising your hand to your mouth and biting your fingernails, you feel her eyes on you and you reluctantly meet her gaze. 

“It’s the way you think and behave?” you offer and she smiles pleasantly. A feeling of warmth spreads through you at the validation. 

She clicks to the next slide. “Very good. The definition I want you to know is that personality is first and foremost a construct. It’s an idea that we created. It’s a person’s overall, individual pattern of behaviors, emotions and thoughts. There are five basic approaches to how we can look at personality.” 

You furiously scribble that down. You’re one of the only people who’s writing notes and she thankfully waits for you to look up before continuing. 

“We have the Trait approach, the Biological approach, the Psychoanalytical approach, the Phenomenological approach, and the Behavioral approach. I’m sure some of you are familiar with most of these, but over the semester, we’re going to really dive into how each of these approaches views personality and what they think is the basis for it. There are a lot of different ways to assess personality, some a lot more legitimate methods than others.”

Someone raises their hand and Agatha nods at them. “The Trait approach is where we look at the Big Five personality test, right?” 

Agatha sighs and clicks to the next slide. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to in an attempt to appear smart. It doesn’t work.” You stifle a laugh—she sees and winks at you and your cheeks flush. 

She continues talking a bit, giving you a bit of information about each one, before telling everyone to take out a piece of paper. 

“Draw a picture of a house and your family, whatever it looks like to you,” Agatha instructs. She sets a timer for five minutes while she walks around and glances at people’s work. 

When she gets to you, her perfume invades your nostrils as she bends over your shoulder. You can feel her hair brush your back. She hums in your ear and your stomach heats up. 

“This is an example of a projection test. You can tell a lot about a person based on how they drew the things,” she says, sitting back at her desk. “How intricate they draw the house. If it looks like the place they grew up in. Where they put themselves compared to the rest of the family. Who is even included in the family. I’m not going to collect these, but if you do want me to take a look at them so you can judge for yourself how accurate it is, stay after class. If not, then you may go and I’ll see everyone on Wednesday.” 

You’re the only person who doesn’t immediately rush out the door and you slowly make your way up to her, paper in hand. Her eyes flick to yours and she smirks, like she knew she could count on you. 

She holds out her hand and you give her your drawing. The lines on her forehead crease and she nods, analyzing it. You shift and scratch your head and resist the urge to bite your nails because of her comment earlier. 

Agatha puts the paper down on the desk, faced towards you. “The house isn’t detailed—just a square with a door and four windows and a triangle as the roof. Maybe you’re just not an artist, or maybe you never really considered any place home.” 

It feels like all the air gets sucked out of your lungs. 

“There’s space between you and these people,” she points to you and then to your mom, brother, and father, “but there’s also space between your parents. Or that’s who I’m guessing they are.” 

You nod. 

“It seems like you don’t feel very connected to them, or to your home. Maybe their home specifically?” She looks up at you, lips quirked up. “So, projective tests—total nonsense?” 

Chuckling shakily, you meet her eyes. “Total,” you joke. 

Agatha leans back in her chair and studies you. “What made you want to study psychology?” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you say lamely, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “I guess I just like knowing how people think. What about you?” 

There’s a dark glint in her eyes. “Understanding people, the way they think—” she gestures to you in agreement with your answer, “—it gives you power over them. You know how to get inside their head, you know how to get what you want.” 

The air seems to thicken around you two and her perfume makes you dizzy. “What do you want?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. Her eyebrow twitches up. 

“Right now, I want a coffee,” she asserts, standing up and handing you back your paper. Whatever spell, whether real or imagined on your end, is broken and Agatha smiles. “I’ll see you Wednesday?” 

The unspoken question is if you’re going to drop the class, if you’re scared off by her demeanor. You meet her gaze firmly. “I’ll see you then.” 

“Have a good rest of the day, y/n,” she says, walking past you and out the door, and you stand there, agape, realizing that you never told her your name.  ~~~

“I’m Natasha Romanoff! I’m friends with Stacy,” Nat yells over the pumping music from inside the sorority. The girl at the door nods and moves to the side to let you, Nat, and Wanda into the house. 

The lights are a deep blue and you see people in the corners doing shots and playing beer pong, there’s girls making out in the middle of the floor, guys outside in the pool. You turn to say something to your friends, but they’ve already gone off somewhere else and left you standing there alone. 

So you go and fill a cup up with beer from the keg and take in the scene, perfectly content to just be a wallflower for the night. You’re not even really sure why you came, but you had nothing else to do and now the drinks you had earlier are settling pleasantly in your stomach, making your veins buzz and your head float.

“Hey!” someone says loudly and you look to the side to find a girl with dark hair and blue eyes standing there. “You look lonely.” 

You laugh and take another sip. “My friends left me. They’re probably hooking up in a bedroom right now.” 

She leans in closer and you find yourself mirroring her. “Do you want to go look in the bedrooms and see if we can find them?” 

“What? Why would I—” She raises an eyebrow and it clicks. “Wait, are you hitting on me?” She nods and you down the rest of your drink. You’re about to apologize and walk away when you inhale and smell something. 

Vanilla, coffee, and a hint of something else. 

There’s a flicker of heat in your stomach and you reach out a hand to cup her cheek, bringing her closer to you. 

It’s her. You can’t explain it, but energy thrums under your skin and you pull her mouth to yours. The scent fills your nose and your mouth and you moan. She pushes you against the wall and you don’t even know her name but you don’t care. 

Your tongue licks into her mouth and she whimpers, hands frantically sliding down your body and around your waist. You’ve never done anything like this before, never this reckless, but there’s something about her that is driving you crazy. 

Her fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts before sliding in, her smell the only thing you can focus on and it hits you. 

It’s the same perfume as Agatha was wearing in class. 

You should stop because it’s so fucked up but you’re too wet now to just walk away so you wrap your arms around her to bring her closer. 

And when she slides a finger into you, in a hallway in a sorority house amidst fifty other undergraduates, your professor is all you can think about.

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[harknessxo]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 7)

Synopsis: A yacht party and a horseback riding trip put you and Agatha in closer proximity than you can handle. The teasing, the fleeting touches, the way she looks at you—it’s messing with your head. Is she just being Agatha, or is there something more?

Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Subtle angst, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions

You wake up feeling fine, stretching lazily before reaching for your phone. It's around 8 AM, and a new message from Jen lights up the group chat. 

Jen: Private yacht party at 10 AM, ladies! Get ready to live like queens today ✨🍾✨ 

A flood of excited responses follows, filled with emojis and exclamation marks. Everyone seems thrilled, but despite the distraction, your mind is still occupied with Agatha. Something about last night, about the way she left things, lingers like a splinter you can't quite pull out. 

Shaking the thought away, you push yourself out of bed and move through your morning routine. A quick shower, skincare, light makeup. You pick out a high-waisted wide-leg pant and bralette combo, paired with pink leather sandals, black shades, and a tote bag stuffed with essentials—your bikini, sunscreen, phone, charger, wallet. Everything you’ll need. 

By the time you arrive at the yacht, the sun is high, reflecting off the pristine white of the vessel. It's a superyacht—luxurious but not obnoxiously oversized. Classic Jen, always going all out. 

Stepping aboard, you're greeted by the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The group is gathered around the pool, already in their swimwear, drinks in hand, lost in easy conversation. They wave you over, and just as you're about to join them, your eyes find her. 

Agatha. 

She’s lounging on a patio chaise, champagne flute poised between her fingers, dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes. But you know she’s watching. When she finally catches your lingering gaze, her lips twitch into a smirk. You look away first. 

“Well, don’t you look like you own the damn yacht,” Agatha muses, lifting her glass in mock admiration. “Did you forget this was a party?” 

You roll your eyes but smirk back. “I brought a bikini, didn’t I?” 

“Oh, what a relief,” she teases, tilting her head. “Would’ve been a shame if you spent the whole day in CEO mode.” 

Another round of banter flickers between you, sharp and familiar. But instead of indulging further, you shake your head, slip away, and head inside to change. 

When you reemerge, you feel the sun’s heat against your bare skin, the air thick with salt and summer. The group is still at the pool, but your eyes are drawn elsewhere—to the saloon bar, where Agatha stands, pouring herself another glass of champagne. 

Something about the way she carries herself, so unbothered, so effortlessly poised, compels you to walk over. She notices before you even reach her, glancing up over the rim of her glass. 

“Well, well.” She lets her gaze sweep over you. “Now that’s more fitting.” 

You don’t acknowledge the way your skin warms at her approval. Instead, you fold your arms and nod toward the bar. “Any whiskey?” 

Agatha hums, scanning the bottles before plucking one from the shelf. “Sticking to your usual,” she muses, pouring a generous measure into a glass before handing it to you. 

For a while, it’s just the two of you, drinks in hand, the distant chatter from the deck fading into the background. Conversation drifts, winding through neutral topics before landing on politics. 

She speaks, and you try to focus—but it’s not just what she’s saying. It’s the way she says it. The cadence of her voice, the way her hands move as she emphasizes a point, the sharp wit woven through her words. And those damn blue eyes. 

You lose track of the conversation completely, too busy memorizing the shape of her mouth as she speaks. When she pauses expectantly, you nod, feigning interest. 

Just like the night that changed everything—for you, at least. 

Seventeen years ago, a karaoke night with the group, your usual Friday tradition. Drinks flowed, laughter filled the air, and each of you took turns at the mic. Then, it was Agatha’s turn. 

She chose Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey. 

She had sung in front of you all before, but that night felt different. You couldn't explain why, but as she sang, everything slowed down. The way she moved, the way her voice curled around each note, the way she stood—it was as if she was the only person in the room. 

You snapped out of it when the song ended, confused and shaken. What the hell just happened? 

But as the night continued, you found yourself watching her more closely—the way she sipped her drink, the way she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Something had shifted, and you couldn't ignore it. 

Later, you told Wanda about it. She was the only one who knew. You told yourself it was nothing, that it would pass. But it didn’t. 

Instead, it only got worse. 

You watched Agatha fall into relationships, then marriage. You became the godmother to her two children. And still, your feelings never faded. 

You learned to live with it, to bury it. But standing here, with her right in front of you, all those old emotions claw their way back to the surface. 

And it feels just like that night all over again. 

You snapped back to reality when Agatha asked you something—but you had no idea what. You were too busy watching her, caught in the way she moved, the way her voice wrapped around her words. Without thinking, you blurted out a quick, “Yes.” 

Agatha gave you a look, clearly unconvinced, but she only shrugged it off. Silence stretched between you, charged and unspoken. Your eyes locked for a moment longer. 

Then Wanda arrived, snapping you both out of whatever that was. Agatha straightened, her posture shifting back into something composed, unreadable. 

“What are you two doing here?” Wanda asked, glancing between you. 

“She needed help finding the whiskey,” Agatha replied smoothly, taking a slow sip from her champagne glass. 

You nodded, grateful for the easy excuse. 

Agatha didn’t linger. She excused herself, making her way back toward the pool, slipping effortlessly back into the crowd. As soon as she was out of earshot, Wanda nudged your shoulder hard. 

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. 

“What?” You feigned ignorance, knowing full well what she was referring to. 

“Don’t play coy with me.” She studied you, then smirked. “You look flustered.” 

You scoffed. “I’m fine.” 

Wanda crossed her arms. “Look, I just don’t want you getting in too deep again.” 

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“I always worry.” But she let it go, grabbing the bottle of champagne and motioning for you to follow her back to the pool. 

As you stepped outside, your gaze drifted toward Agatha. She was in the pool, laughing with Jen, Alice, and Lilia. For a moment, you watched, lingering on the way she tossed her wet hair back, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you dropped onto a patio chaise lounge, closing your eyes to relax. 

Moments later, cold water splashed over you. 

You gasped, eyes snapping open, only to be met with Agatha’s mischievous grin. Laughter echoed around the deck as the others watched, clearly enjoying your reaction. 

“Really?” you deadpanned, wiping water from your face. 

Wanda called out from the pool, grinning. “We’re playing Chicken Fight. You in?” 

You sighed, shaking your head. “Pass.” 

Agatha smirked. “Afraid of losing?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “I just don’t feel like it.” 

“Oh, come on,” Agatha drawled. “Didn’t take you for a coward.” 

That did it. 

You sat up, rolling your shoulders. “Fine. Let’s do this.” 

The teams were set. Wanda crouched in the water, letting you climb onto her shoulders, while Agatha sat perched atop Jen’s. The tension was thick, both teams sizing each other up. 

The game began, and it was intense. Laughter and splashing filled the air as you and Agatha grappled, trying to shove each other off. For a moment, you thought you had the upper hand—you gripped Agatha’s arm, pulling her down inch by inch. 

But then she twisted free, and before you could react, she lunged. 

Her hands found your shoulders, and with one strong push, you lost your balance. A yelp left your lips before you plunged backward into the water, dragging Wanda down with you. 

When you surfaced, sputtering, Agatha was grinning triumphantly. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.” 

You rolled your eyes, splashing water toward her, but she dodged, laughing. The game continued, with Lilia and Alice taking on Agatha and Jen next, the group caught up in the excitement. Teasing, laughter, and playful shoves filled the air as round after round played out. 

Eventually, the energy simmered down. The games stopped, and everyone floated lazily in the pool, the conversation shifting to lighthearted chitchat. 

As the sun began to set, one by one, everyone climbed out of the pool, heading inside to prepare for dinner. 

Later that night, after the laughter and the drinks had settled, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling in your chest. The way Agatha looked at you. The way her voice lingered in your head. The way your skin still tingled where she had touched you. 

Tomorrow, you and the others would return to your own villas, with horseback riding planned for the afternoon. Another day, another chance to keep up the act. To pretend nothing had changed. 

The next morning, you woke up to the gentle sway of the yacht, sunlight filtering through the curtains. The distant hum of conversation and clinking utensils reached your ears, pulling you from sleep. You stretched, took a moment to gather yourself, then made your way to the dining area. 

The group was already there, eating breakfast and chatting. You took a seat beside Wanda, who offered you a knowing glance before turning her attention back to the conversation. 

“We’re all set for horseback riding this afternoon,” Jen announced, stirring her coffee. “The instructors will be there, but it should be pretty easygoing.” 

Lilia smirked and turned to you. “Though, Y/N might not even need lessons. You probably already know how to ride a horse, right? You’re rich—don’t rich people all own horses?” 

Alice laughed, jumping in. “Oh, right! Maybe you even do equestrian competitions in secret.” 

“Oh my god,” Wanda groaned, rolling her eyes. “Next thing you know, they’ll say Y/N casually rides a horse to work.” 

Lilia gasped dramatically. “Do you? Be honest.” 

Jen grinned. “Bet she has one of those fancy riding outfits and everything.” 

The teasing spread quickly, the others joining in with playful jabs about you being some kind of expert rider. The only one who remained silent was Agatha—who sat across from you, smirking into her coffee cup. 

You scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Not all rich people own horses or know how to ride, you know.” 

Agatha leaned forward slightly, her voice smooth, teasing. “So that means you don’t know how to ride?” 

You met her gaze, catching the glint of amusement in her eyes. “I didn’t say that.” 

“Oh?” Her smirk deepened. “You’re getting defensive.” 

“I’m making a point,” you corrected, raising a brow. “For the record, yes, I do know how to ride. And yes, I own a stable. But that’s not the point!" 

The table erupted in laughter, and Agatha leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough so only you could hear. "So you do know how to ride. Good to know." 

A warmth crept up your neck, but you focused on your plate, pretending her words hadn’t sent a slow, deliberate shiver down your spine. Before you could formulate a response, Alice’s voice cut through the moment. 

“See! Knew it!” she gasped, pointing at you triumphantly. 

Lilia leaned back, grinning. “I bet Y/N has a horse named something dramatic like ‘Midnight Storm’ or ‘Celestial Thunder.’” 

You shook your head, laughing. “You guys are ridiculous.” 

Wanda nudged you. “I’m just excited to see you in action later. Show us peasants how it’s done.” 

The table erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t help but chuckle. The lighthearted energy carried through breakfast, filled with teasing and banter. But through it all, you could feel it—Agatha’s gaze flickering toward you, lingering just a little too long. 

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore it. 

After breakfast, each of you returned to your own villas. You stepped into the bathroom first, taking a refreshing shower before going through your usual morning routine. Deciding to stretch a little, you unrolled your yoga mat and went through a few basic poses—not too intense, just enough to feel awake. 

After that, you settled at your desk, opening your laptop to check work emails. Nothing urgent. Satisfied, you shut it down and flopped onto the bed, scrolling through social media, watching random videos, and letting time pass. 

When the afternoon rolled around, your phone buzzed with a message in the group chat. 

Jen: Be at the main entrance by 2 PM. 

You stretched, set your phone aside, and got up to prepare. After a quick lunch, you went to your luggage, picking out an outfit for horseback riding—something comfortable yet stylish. You settled on a fitted maroon polo shirt, black high-waisted skinny jeans, and Dior sneakers. Grabbing your tote bag with the essentials, you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror before heading out, ready for whatever the afternoon had in store. 

You made your way to the main entrance, where the others were already gathered near a waiting van. Your gaze flickered toward Agatha for a brief second before you climbed inside with the rest of the group. Of course, she ended up beside you again. 

The ride took about thirty minutes, and you busied yourself with your phone, scrolling aimlessly to pass the time. The occasional chatter filled the van, but you mostly kept to yourself. 

When the van finally stopped, you looked up to see the sign: Malibu Riders. The group stepped out, greeted by one of the facilitators who welcomed you warmly and led you toward the stables. They gave you a quick tour, explaining the facility, before guiding you to the horses you’d be riding. 

You grabbed the necessary gear, swapping out your Dior sneakers for riding boots and securing a helmet. Once everyone was suited up, the facilitators led the horses outside, preparing them for you to mount. 

At the field, the instructor demonstrated how to properly get on a horse. You mounted yours with ease, while a few of the others struggled but managed to get settled after some effort. The only one still struggling was Agatha. After watching her attempt a few times, you sighed, got off your horse, and walked over to her. 

“Here, let me help,” you offered, steadying the horse as she tried again. 

Agatha huffed but accepted the assistance. With your guidance, she finally managed to get on, giving you a smug look once she was settled. 

“Happy now?” she teased. 

You just rolled your eyes and got back onto your horse. 

The lesson went on—not that you needed it. You were already skilled at horseback riding, though you played along, nodding as the facilitator went through the basics. Once the official lesson wrapped up, the group was free to ride around and put their skills to the test. 

Jen called out to everyone, waving her phone. “Alright, let’s get a quick picture while we’re all still on the horses!” 

One of the facilitators took the phone and snapped a few photos of the group, capturing the moment before you all rode off to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. 

After the group split up, you guided your horse across the open field, enjoying the steady rhythm of its movements. The afternoon breeze brushed against your skin as you took in the quiet beauty of the landscape. After a while, you noticed Agatha riding alone and decided to head her way. 

“You know, horses can sleep standing up,” you said out of nowhere. 

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “That so?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. They have a special locking system in their legs so they don’t fall over.” 

She smirked. “You really know a lot about horses.” 

You chuckled. “Learned to ride when I was nine. My mom taught me.” 

That caught her attention. “Your mom?” 

You nodded, a small smile forming as you recalled the memories. “Yeah. She loved riding. We had a stable back home, and she wanted me to know how to ride properly. She always said there’s something freeing about it.” 

Agatha listened intently, her blue eyes locked onto you, but there was something more in the way she was looking at you—something unreadable. 

She sighed, glancing ahead at the open field. “Freedom. That’s an interesting way to put it.” 

You tilted your head. “You don’t think so?” 

A small, almost wistful smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t know. I never had the luxury of just... riding away from everything.” 

You studied her for a moment. “You ever wish you could?” 

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Sometimes. But responsibilities don’t just disappear because you want them to.” 

Something in her tone made your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I get that.” 

Agatha looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing past everything you let people perceive. The silence stretched between you, comfortable yet heavy, like an unspoken understanding passing between two people who knew what it was like to carry more than they let on. 

Eventually, the horseback riding session came to an end, and it was time to dismount. Most of the group managed to get off their horses without much trouble—including you—but Agatha, once again, struggled. 

You sighed with amusement and walked over. “Here, I got you.” 

She hesitated but then accepted your help. Holding her hands, you guided her as she jumped down, though she nearly tripped in the process. Instinctively, your hands found her waist, steadying her before she could fall. 

For a brief second, neither of you moved. Agatha looked up at you, her breath hitching just slightly before she cleared her throat. 

“Thanks,” she murmured. 

“It’s nothing,” you replied, quickly letting go. 

She stepped back, adjusting her posture before leading her horse away. Your gaze lingered on her retreating figure for a moment before you shook your head and followed suit, taking your horse back to the stable and returning the riding gear. 

With the session officially over, the group left the ranch and piled back into the van. You slid into your seat, put on your earbuds, and stared out the window, watching the scenery blur past as you made your way back to the resort. 

After arriving back at the resort, you head straight to your villa, shutting the door behind you with a quiet sigh. The day had been long, but it wasn’t the horseback riding that left you drained—it was her. The way Agatha had been looking at you, the way she spoke, how her presence lingered even after she walked away. It was starting to feel like too much, and yet, not enough. 

You loosen your shirt, moving straight to the minibar. You don’t hesitate as you pour yourself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling under the dim villa lights. You take a slow sip, letting it burn its way down, hoping it will dull whatever this is—this thing that Agatha is doing to you, whether she realizes it or not. 

You lean against the counter, exhaling through your nose. Is she giving you mixed signals, or are you just seeing something that isn’t there? Maybe you’ve been alone for too long. Maybe the past has made you foolish enough to hope. Or maybe—just maybe—she feels it too, but she won’t let herself go there. 

Frustrated, you grab your phone and turn on the speaker, scrolling through your playlist until your finger hovers over a song. You press play, and Adele’s voice fills the room. 

Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements… 

You close your eyes and let the music wash over you, sinking onto the couch, whiskey glass resting on your thigh. The song plays on repeat as you drink, each sip doing little to blur the thoughts racing through your mind. You don’t even realize how much time has passed—only that the glass is empty, and the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. 

At some point, exhaustion takes over, and you let yourself sink further into the cushions. The night moves on without you, but Agatha stays—etched into your thoughts, just like she always does.

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[harknessxo]

madame calderu i would die for you.

[harknessxo]

More Than You Will Ever Know (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: For most of your time at college, you've been in a relationship with your sugar mommy, Agatha Harkness. Everything is going great except for the fact you are about to graduate and with that comes change

- OR -

What happens when you turn up at her door months later. It's sex, sex happens.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, sugar mommy Agatha with a few grey hairs 😍, sugar baby Reader, established dynamic, Mommy kink, strap riding (R recv), squirting, angst, a little hurt/comfort, both Agatha and Reader are switches, fingering (R recv), oral (both recv), multiple orgasms, soft aftercare

Words: 5.9k

A/N: This probably isn't the fic y'all were expecting when I said I was doing a sugar mommy Agatha post... but I hope you enjoy it anyway my lovelies ;) requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The restaurant you were at was one of those exclusive places with no menu—just a personal chef curating a bespoke experience, each dish a masterpiece plated with precision. You weren’t sure what half the things on your plate were, but Agatha, ever composed, swirled a glass of deep red wine and explained each one with a knowing smirk.

She sat across from you, effortlessly elegant in a dark silk blouse, her silver streaks catching in the dim candlelight. You’d barely sat down before she leaned forward, her fingers brushing over yours, and said, “You look stunning tonight, darling.”

You did, of course, because she’d made sure of it. The dress you wore—a sleek, custom-made piece in a colour that suited your skin perfectly—was her gift. She had it delivered earlier that day, instructing you to wear it to your graduation as well. “Something beautiful for someone extraordinary,” she had hummed as she held it up against your body, assessing the fit before insisting on getting it tailored just a little more.

Throughout dinner, she was her usual indulgent self, ordering the best of everything and ensuring you never had to lift a finger. When the waiter poured more champagne into your flute, she merely tilted her head with amusement and said, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

And celebrate she did—showering you with praise between bites of delicacies, her voice rich with something dangerously close to pride.

“I always knew you could do it,” she said, her thumb lazily tracing the stem of her wine glass. “You’re brilliant, and I’ve seen it from the very beginning. Your mind—fuck, it’s a wonder and a privilege to witness. I hope you know that.”

Warmth spread through you, not just from the alcohol but from the way she looked at you—as if you were the only thing worth admiring in this whole damn place. You ducked your head, feeling the heat creep up your neck, but Agatha wasn’t having any of that. She reached across the table, tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"None of that, baby," she chastised softly. "You’ve worked so hard, and now you're finally here. I am so proud of you."

Your heart squeezed, and before you could even form a response, she was placing a small velvet box in your hand. "Not yet," she hummed when you made to open it, her lips curling in amusement. "Save it for later."

You didn’t press, instead slipping the small box into your bag—another thing Agatha had insisted on buying for you.

And, in this moment, life was perfect.

—

Heat. Skin against skin. The soft rustle of silk sheets as your body moved against hers, your fingers digging into toned muscle. Agatha beneath you, her hands firm on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, worshipping you in the way only she knew how. The air was thick with the smell of perfume and sex.

"You take me so well, baby," she rasped, her voice hoarse with want, nails dragging down your spine, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake.

Your head was spinning, pleasure pooling in your stomach, tightening unbearably. She always did this to you—reduced you to nothing but need, left you craving her touch even when she was already giving you everything. And right now, you could feel her inside you, the stretch of silicone filling you so perfectly it had you trembling, your body fluttering around the unyielding length with every slow, deliberate roll of your hips.

"Mommy," you mewled, your voice high and breathless, and Agatha groaned in response, her grip on you tightening.

"That’s right, baby," she purred, voice molten. "Come on, let me hear you. Let me feel you."

A desperate moan left your lips, your thighs shaking as she bucked up into you, her hands guiding your movements in a way that made you dizzy with need. Every stroke had you gasping, the friction deep and deliberate, hitting your g-spot over and over again. But it wasn’t just that—Agatha’s mouth was on you too, hot and wet, her lips closing around your nipple as she sucked, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"So fucking perfect," she praised, letting her fingers slide up to cup your jaw, tilting your head down until your lips were only a breath away. "You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?"

"Y-Yes, Mommy," you gasped, barely coherent, but she swallowed your sounds with a kiss, deep and possessive.

The pressure coiled tighter, impossibly so, your body alight with sensation, every nerve ending sparking under her touch. You could feel another orgasm building, stealing the breath from your lungs, your nails sinking into her shoulders as you chased that final, devastating peak.

"That's it, my love," she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Cum for me, baby."

And you did. A shattered moan, body arching, the pleasure tearing through you like fire. The intensity was blinding, overwhelming; your entire body tensed, then gave way to the sheer force of your climax. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the pleasure burst free, your thighs trembling violently as you soaked the strap buried deep inside you.

Agatha groaned low, feeling the warmth spread between her legs, the slick mess you had made drenching the harness, the sheets, and her own skin. “Fuck, baby,” she husked, her voice thick with satisfaction, her hands gripping your hips as if to steady you. “Look at you... so perfect.”

Your breath came in rapid pants, your limbs weak, your body still wracked with aftershocks. The evidence of your pleasure was undeniable—your arousal staining the sheets beneath you, glistening against Agatha’s stomach just above where the strap had pressed flush against her. She let out a pleased hum, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your back as you collapsed against her, utterly spent.

“There you go, baby,” she whispered, her voice softer now, almost reverent. “You did so well for Mommy.”

Her hands ran slowly, worshipfully, over your spine, grounding you as you shivered against her. She pressed lazy, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere she could reach, while both of you struggled to catch your breath. The world beyond these walls didn’t exist; there was only the warmth of her embrace, the way she murmured your name like a prayer, the soft hum of contentment vibrating against your skin.

You belonged here. With her. Always.

And yet, you didn’t notice the way her expression shifted, the way her hold tightened just a fraction, as if she were memorising the feel of you, as if she were already preparing to let you go.

—

The sun dipped below the skyline as you sat on the edge of Agatha’s expansive marble countertop, feeling a familiar weight in the air. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you had been wrapped in her arms, your body trembling with pleasure, her voice thick with praise as she called you perfect. She had spoilt you rotten—an extravagant dinner, a new dress, a reminder that she was proud of you, that she always knew you’d make it. Things had felt so whole, so right.

But tonight? Tonight felt like the cruellest contrast.

Agatha’s penthouse, usually brimming with her presence, warm and commanding, felt cold and distant. She was pacing the living room, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes avoiding yours. There was no teasing smirk, no playful remark about how well you took her the night before. The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing against your chest like a vice.

Finally, she broke the silence with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re about to graduate, Y/N,” she began, her voice smooth yet clipped. "I think it's time we stop pretending that this... arrangement... still serves either of us."

You blinked, your stomach plummeting. Just last night, she had held you so tightly, whispering sweet nothings against your skin. And now she was speaking as if the last three and a half years were nothing more than a fleeting indulgence.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the words came out too sharp, too raw.

Her eyes flickered toward you, her lips twisting into a teasing smirk, but it didn’t carry the same warmth it usually did. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. You have a great job lined up and a whole life ahead of you. You don’t need me to be your sugar mommy anymore."

The words stung. You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat, masking it with a hollow laugh. "I don’t need you? Is that what you think?"

"You don’t need a sugar mommy," she corrected, her voice carrying that sharp edge that cut deeper than you wanted to admit. “I’m saying it’s time for you to grow up. To live your life without being bound to anything—or anyone.”

The finality in her words left you breathless. This wasn’t a joke. There was no hint of her usual playful cruelty. 

She really meant it.

“I don’t want that, Agatha,” you said softly, your voice cracking just a little, but your pride wouldn’t let you break. “I’m not ready for it.”

“Oh, I know you’re not,” she replied smoothly, turning away to pour herself a drink. The sound of liquid hitting glass was deafening in the quiet room. “But you’ll be fine. You’ll forget about me and find someone more your speed. Someone young and eager to be your equal, not just someone who's... well, who’s old enough to be your mother.”

A sharp sting bloomed in your chest, a dull, aching wound. Three and a half years down had come down to this. It started as just a simple arrangement—she took care of you financially, and you gave her company and affection in return. But somewhere along the way, something deeper had blossomed between you two, something neither of you had been brave enough to admit. And now she was discarding it like it had never meant anything at all.

She turned back to face you then, and for a brief moment, there was something else in her eyes—something softer, maybe even hesitant. But then it was gone, masked by that familiar smirk, the one she always used when she wanted to hide her vulnerability.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m doing this for you. You don’t need me holding you back. Go out there. Find yourself. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

Your chest was tight, the weight of her words suffocating. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I only want you.”

She scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but like I’ve said, you'll get over it.”

You let out a hollow, defeated scoff of your own, staring down at your feet as you willed yourself not to cry. When you finally spoke, your voice was eerily indifferent. “Okay.”

You grabbed your bag, turned on your heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls.

The moment you stepped onto the busy street, the cold air hit you like a slap in the face, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sting behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears, refusing to let the world see you like this.

But when you finally made it back to your apartment, the second the door clicked shut behind you, everything crumbled.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but you barely noticed as your knees gave out beneath you. You collapsed onto the hardwood, your entire body shaking, the weight of it all crashing down on you at once. The tears burnt as they spilt over, hot and unstoppable, rolling down your cheeks in thick, messy trails.

It wasn’t just crying—it was full-body, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. The kind that left your chest aching, your throat raw, and your limbs trembling. It felt like your heart had been shattered, and now it was cutting your hands to shreds as you desperately tried to gather the pieces.

You gasped for breath, curling in on yourself, hands clutching at your arms as if you could physically hold yourself together. But nothing could stop the pain or the gaping void that Agatha had left behind.

Your fingers reached for the armrest of your couch and found the hoodie she had bought for you last month, and you clung to it like a lifeline, burying your face into the fabric that still smelt like her. Just a few weeks ago, you would have never imagined this—never imagined she’d leave you, that she’d end things so cruelly.

You thought it would never end.

But it had.

And as you lay there, curled up on the floor, crying yourself to sleep in a hoodie that smelt like the woman who just broke your heart, you failed to notice how the small velvet box she had given you had slipped from your bag and slid under the couch, out of sight.

—

The days following Agatha’s decision felt like a blur. You tried to move on, to focus on your future. The job offer you’d received was a great opportunity, and Agatha had made a valid point about your independence. You told yourself this was for the best, that you could do this, that you could build a life outside of her.

But no matter how much you tried, every minute without her felt like a slow death.

Your apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt hollow. The bed was too big and too cold without her beside you. Mornings were the worst—waking up alone, reaching instinctively for her only to be met with empty sheets. You used to wake to the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, her voice teasing as she coaxed you into wakefulness with slow kisses and whispered praises. Now, silence stretched endlessly, suffocating in its vastness.

You kept yourself busy, throwing yourself into the final few weeks of college life as graduation loomed closer. You accepted invitations to go out with friends and tried to lose yourself in the crowds, in the laughter, in the distractions, but it never worked. Conversations blurred together, nights out felt dull, and no matter how much you smiled or how much you laughed at someone’s joke, you felt empty. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was Agatha.

You missed her. Desperately.

You missed the sound of her laughter when she was genuinely amused—not the polite, calculated chuckle she gave in social settings, but the real one, the one that made her eyes crinkle and her entire body shake, a soft snort escaping her. You missed the way she would kiss your forehead absentmindedly, as if it were second nature, the way she’d roll her eyes at you but always, always indulge you. You missed the way she touched you, not just in the heat of passion but in the quiet moments—her hand on your lower back as she guided you through a door, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against your thigh as she read, the way she’d brush your hair back just to get a better look at you.

But most of all, you missed the way she saw you.

Because no matter how much success came your way, no matter how proud your professors were, no matter how many congratulatory messages you received, it all felt muted. Distant. Like something was missing, like a shadow had been cast over every achievement. And you knew exactly what it was.

It was Agatha.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You reckoned she had completely moved on, that she was thriving in your absence. You convinced yourself of it because what other choice did you have? The world wouldn’t let you forget her. She was too deeply woven into it.

Her name popped up in conversations—friends of friends mentioning her in passing, mutual connections keeping her name alive. And then there was social fucking media.

You didn’t follow her, of course. That would’ve been masochistic. But that didn’t stop her from appearing on all of your feeds, no matter the platform—through tagged photos, through shared articles, through snippets of interviews that made their way into your timeline.

She was back in full force, attending galas, closing deals, and commanding every room she stepped into. She was radiant, powerful, and untouchable. The world saw her as she always had been: composed. And it made you sick.

Because if she could move on so effortlessly, why couldn’t you?

—

It only got worse after graduation.

You should have been happy. You had finally done it—achieved everything you had worked so hard for. Your professors beamed with pride, and your family sent messages filled with love and admiration. Your friends celebrated you, taking you out, making toasts in your name.

And yet, through it all, the joy never felt whole.

Your graduation gown felt wrong without Agatha there to see it. The dress she had bought you clung to your body like a second skin, but instead of making you feel unstoppable, it felt wrong. Hollow. As if the fabric itself had been stripped of its magic, leaving behind nothing but an empty, uncomfortable reminder of what you had lost. What once made you feel desired now only makes you feel abandoned. 

As you stood on that stage, accepting your degree, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd, your heart foolishly hoping, just for a second, that you’d see her there. That she would be watching, pride shining in her eyes, just as she had promised.

But she wasn’t there and that should have been your final sign, the last nail in the coffin.

And yet it wasn’t.

Because you still needed her.

Not for her money, not for the extravagant gifts or the lavish lifestyle. You needed her. Her wit, her sharp tongue, the way she challenged you, pushed you, believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. You needed the way she made you feel—cherished, adored, hers.

But she was gone and the world just kept on turning.

—

It took a few months, but eventually, the truth hit you like a freight train.

You couldn’t move on. You couldn’t picture a future without her. Your job was exciting, sure, but it was nothing compared to what you had with Agatha. The thought of another person touching you, holding you, even kissing you—it felt wrong. You only wanted her.

You had only ever wanted her.

You were cleaning your apartment when you dropped a pen and it had rolled beneath the couch, disappearing into the shadows. With a huff, you crouched down, reaching blindly, fingers brushing against something soft. Velvet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The box.

You pulled it out slowly, heart hammering in your chest. The moment you saw it, the memories rushed back; the dinner, the way Agatha had smiled at you with something unreadable in her eyes when she handed it over, the way she told you not to open it yet.

You swallowed hard and flipped the lid open.

Inside sat the most breathtaking ring. It was perfect. A piece so intricate and unmistakably you that it stole the air from your lungs.

Agatha had listened. She had remembered.

You had mentioned it once, maybe twice, in passing. About how you could never find anything quite right, how everything in stores always felt too impersonal, too generic. And yet, here it was. Commissioned. Designed just for you.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted it from the box, your eyes catching on the engraving along the inside.

"More than you will ever know."

Your breath hitched.

What did it mean? More than you would ever know… what? That she cared for you more than you realised? That she—

Your heart surged and shattered all over again.

How could she give you this and then break things off a day later?

It didn’t make sense.

And suddenly, you had to see her.

You barely remembered throwing on a coat, stuffing the box into your pocket, and hailing a cab. The moment you arrived at her building, you asked the concierge not to alert her. The doorman, who knew you after the countless times you came here for Agatha, hesitated before nodding, letting you up without question.

Your pulse was deafening as you knocked loudly on her door.

The seconds stretched unbearably.

And then—

The door swung open, revealing Agatha in silk loungewear, her hair in soft waves, her expression unreadable.

She was poised as always, but something was different.

Her eyes were tired. The dark circles beneath them barely concealed, her sharp features softer than you remembered. And suddenly, you wondered, had she actually moved on? Or was she just keeping up appearances?

Her lips curled into a familiar smirk, but there was no bite to it this time. No amusement.

"You look like hell, Y/N," she noted, voice unexpectedly soft.

You blinked, realising only now that fresh tears had fallen from your eyes on the way up to her apartment.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a humourless smile. Your throat tightened. "I’ve missed you."

Agatha hesitated. Her gaze flickered over your face, searching, but for what, you weren’t sure.

"I thought I told you to move on," she said, voice quieter this time.

"I can’t," you confessed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

She didn’t stop you.

"I’ve tried. You’re all I want, Agatha. I don’t need anyone else, and I don’t want to."

She sighed, crossing her arms, tapping her fingers against her sleeve in that way she always did when she was thinking too much. "This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, you know."

Her voice was weary, laced with something close to regret.

"You’re supposed to live your life. You deserve someone who can give you what I can’t–"

"You give me everything," you butt in.

The words left you without hesitation, your feet carrying you closer, your heart pounding as your fingers brushed against the silk of her robe. "I don’t need anything else. I never did."

Her eyes darkened.

The breath between you was charged, heavy, thick with something you both had been suppressing for far too long.

"Y/N, don’t say things you don’t mean," she whispered, but her voice wavered. "I’m not going to–"

But she didn’t get a chance to finish. You leaned in, and the moment your lips met, the world shattered.

She gasped softly, just before her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her. The kiss was desperate, urgent, and needy. A collision of everything unspoken between you.

Agatha responded immediately, claiming your mouth with a hunger that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

"Fuck," she breathed against your lips before kissing you deeper, her grip tightening, pulling you impossibly close. "You’re going to be the death of me."

Your only response was a soft whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as you pressed yourself against her, already drunk on the feeling of her after so long apart.

"I missed you," you murmured between kisses, hands slipping under the robe, palms pressing against her warm, bare skin. "I missed you so much."

Agatha groaned, walking you back toward the bedroom.

"Show me how much."

The second your back hit the bed, Agatha was on top of you, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. She tugged impatiently at your shirt, and you helped her strip it away before her hands slid down, claiming you as if she never wanted to let go again.

Your legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed down your body, teasing, tasting, until all you could do was whimper and beg.

"Mommy," you moaned, arching beneath her as her mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.

She groaned at the sound of the title slipping from your lips, her fingers gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"That’s right, baby," she murmured, voice dripping with want. "Let me take care of you. Let me remind you exactly who you belong to."

You gasped as her hands roamed lower, her touch setting every nerve in your body alight.

But before she could go further, your fingers curled around her wrist, stopping her.

Agatha’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked up at you, lips parted, eyes burning with desire but shadowed with something else.

"Why did you give me the ring?" You asked, your voice a whisper, fragile but demanding.

She stilled.

Her breath slowed.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze searching yours as if trying to decide whether to run or to finally give in.

You swallowed hard and continued.

"You had it made just for me. You knew exactly what I wanted before I even knew myself. And then you gave it to me, only to leave the next day."

A crack formed in her carefully constructed mask.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Agatha admitted finally, voice raw. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"By breaking my heart?"

Her jaw tensed. "By letting you go before I ruined you. Before I kept you."

Your fingers tightened around her wrist. "I wanted to be kept."

Her eyes flickered with pain, but before she could protest, you reached into the pocket of your discarded coat and pulled out the small velvet box.

You flipped it open between you, revealing the ring—the proof that she had always known you, had always loved you, even if she had never said the words.

"Then tell me what it means," you whispered.

Her throat bobbed as she looked at the engraving.

"More than you will ever know."

Agatha exhaled sharply and sat up, running a hand through her tousled hair. 

"It means..." she hesitated, then shook her head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It means I’m a coward."

You frowned, shifting onto your side to face her fully. "Agatha–"

She cut you off with a sigh, her fingers ghosting over your wrist, like she needed to touch you to ground herself. "I was going to explain it all that night. Before I—before I convinced myself you were better off without me." She scoffed lightly, as if irritated at her own foolishness. "I thought pushing you away would make it easier for you to move on. That it would be easier for me."

Your breath caught. "And was it?"

Her gaze softened, and she gave you a small, sad smile. "No. It was hell."

Something in your chest cracked wide open. You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together, grounding yourself in her warmth. "What does the engraving mean?" You ask again.

She let out a breath like she had been holding it for months. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, she said the words you had been waiting for all along.

"It meant... it means I love you, Y/N." She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I love you more than you will ever know. I should have said it a long time ago, but I didn’t know how. So I put it in a gift instead, hoping you’d understand without me having to say it."

Your chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t just pain. It was overwhelming, all-consuming relief.

"I love you too."

Agatha’s breath caught.

"Say it again," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sat up, reaching for her, cupping her face between your hands.

"I love you, Agatha. I never stopped. I never could."

The tension in her body melted as she exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

Then she kissed you again.

This time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed or frantic.

It was slow. Intentional. Reverent.

Agatha laid you back down with deliberate care, her hands trailing over your body like she was memorising you all over again. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered "mine" against your skin was a promise.

The rest of your clothes were shed in a haze of need, the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor drowned out by breathless moans and desperate hands mapping out familiar territory. Agatha took her time with you first, pinning you beneath her as she trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your body, her tongue flicking over sensitive skin, her fingers following in its wake. When she finally dipped lower, parting your thighs with a knowing smirk. She took you apart with practiced ease—driving you to the brink again and again until you were a trembling, pleading mess beneath her.

But you wouldn’t let her have all the control tonight. With a sudden shift, you flipped her onto her back, straddling her hips, drinking in the sight of her flushed and breathless. You kissed like you wanted to drown in her, dragging your tongue down the column of her throat, over the swell of her breasts, sucking marks into her skin, and staking your claim the way she always had with you. 

And when you finally settled between her legs, when you pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and felt her shudder beneath you, you didn’t tease; you devoured. The taste of her, the sound of her moans, the way her fingers twisted into your hair as she cried out your name—it was everything, and you never wanted to stop.

Agatha’s hands tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she rolled her hips, grinding up against your mouth, chasing her release with unrestrained need. She was completely lost in the sensation, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her thighs trembling around your head. 

"Just like that—fuck—don’t stop, baby," she groaned, throwing her head back as her body tensed. And then she shattered, her orgasm hitting her in waves, her grip tightening as she rode it out against your tongue, moaning your name like a prayer.

Agatha was wrecked by the time you pulled away, her chest heaving, her lips parted as she reached for you, pulling you back into a bruising kiss. "You’re insatiable," she panted, her nails raking down your back. 

"And you love it," you teased, grinning against her lips. 

She flipped you once more, settling herself over you with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I do. But  now it’s my turn again.” She trailed her lips down your neck, across your collarbone, then lower, nipping and sucking at your chest, your stomach, your thighs—leaving her marks all over you. 

Agatha hovered over your dripping cunt, her hands trailing possessively over your thighs, making you tremble, your body taut with anticipation. She took her time, lips and tongue teasing along the sensitive skin, her breath warm as she moaned something low and indulgent against you. The first slow drag of her tongue had you gasping, fingers fisting in her hair, and she hummed in approval, pressing deeper, savouring every reaction.

Her tongue worked you over with aching precision, lapping and circling before closing around your sensitive clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure. The pleasure was almost too much, the heat pooling in your stomach threatening to spill over as she pressed her fingers inside, curling them perfectly to have you crying out. Every movement was deliberate—slow and deep, then quick and teasing, keeping you on the edge but never quite letting you fall. 

Meanwhile, you could hear the subtle, desperate rhythm of her own hips grinding down against the mattress, a quiet moan slipping from her lips as she lost herself in you, the friction bringing her closer and closer.

"You're shaking, baby," she murmured, voice thick with satisfaction as she glanced up, her chin glistening, her expression utterly wrecked. "You gonna fall apart for me?" 

She didn’t wait for an answer, just sealed her mouth around you again, her fingers pressing deeper, relentlessly coaxing you toward that inevitable bliss. And then she gasped against you, her body tensing as she shuddered, her own release crashing over her from the way she had been grinding down against the bed. 

The realisation that Agatha was cumming while fucking you sent you spiralling, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that left you gasping, back arching as a broken moan spilt from your lips. She groaned at the feeling of you coming undone, drinking in every last wave of pleasure before finally pulling away, her hands smoothing over your shaking thighs, her own body still trembling as she pressed one last lingering kiss against your oversensitive core, a satisfied smirk curving her lips.

Agatha collapsed against you, her breath warm against your skin as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, both too lost in the haze of pleasure and the weight of everything that had led to this—every moment spent apart, every unspoken feeling, every stubborn refusal to admit what had always been so painfully obvious.

You carded your fingers through her damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeats fill the silence. Agatha exhaled slowly, her hands smoothing over your sides, grounding herself in the feel of you, as if she still wasn’t convinced this was real. 

Without a word, Agatha stood, her movements graceful and purposeful as she left the room for a brief moment. You could hear the sound of water running in the distance, the soft splash of it filling the silence before she returned. She didn’t need to say anything; the warmth in her eyes, the gentle press of her lips against your temple, told you everything.

She guided you to the enormous, luxurious bath—spanning the width of the penthouse’s bathroom—an almost surreal oasis of warmth and comfort. The water was a perfect temperature, fragrant with oils and salts, designed to soothe the soul. She lowered herself into the tub first, pulling you into her arms as if you were weightless, holding you close.

The space around you was immense, but it felt like it was just the two of you in this intimate world. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, soothing the tension in your muscles as she softly kissed your shoulder, your neck—anywhere her lips could find. Each tender touch seemed to speak of something deeper, an unspoken vow of care that settled around you like the warm water.

You let out a contented sigh, resting your head against her chest as she kept you in her embrace, the steady rhythm of her breathing grounding you. Your hand lazily traced over her skin, lost in the softness of her touch, the comfort of her presence.

“You’re not leaving this time,” you murmured, the words more of a gentle plea than a statement. Agatha’s voice was soft but unwavering as she kissed your forehead, her arms tightening around you, pulling you even closer.

“Never again,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m exactly where I belong.”

And in that moment, with the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub and the soft warmth of her embrace surrounding you, you knew—this time, she meant it.

-----

this fic had been teetering on the edge of my imagination for a while but I got a sudden burst of inspiration after daydreaming about it all day—lemme know what y'all thought :D

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[harknessxo]

mama’s girl

pairing: perv neighbor!agatha x reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: 18+ kinda dun-con, manipulation, pervy acts: stealing underwear and hidden camera, guided masturbation, guided a lot of things actually, lots of titty sucking (& play), pussy eating & fingering, orgasm control, bondage, marking, possessive agatha, edging, age gap, & stalking lmk if i missed anything

a/n: this is definitely a dark fic so read at your own risk! also just a reminder that my page is not for minors <3

summary: you introduced yourself to your new neighbor and she takes a liking to you

You had moved into a new apartment after graduating college, and decided to introduce yourself to people living across the hall. You were absolutely thrilled when the door opened, and an older brunette woman opened the door. All thoughts of yours went out the window as she greeted you hello.

“Hi- Hi! I’m Y/N, I just moved in across the hall and I just wanted to introduce myself. I- uh made you some cookies as a sign of good faith. I’m trying to make some friends or uh at least friendly faces. Umm yeah so if you ever need anything I’ll be across the hall.”

“Thank you very much sweetheart. That’s quite a sweet gesture hun. Why don’t I tell you what, why don’t we do dinner sometime together? Would that be okay with you sweetness?”

“Yes! We can do dinner at mine this Friday at 7 if that works, I’ve been meaning to try out a few recipes if that’s okay with you.”

“Perfectly fine, I’ll see you on Friday honey.”

You giddly skipped back to your room, unaware of the thoughts swirling in Agatha’s head. You had made quite the impression on her. After you left, Agatha had to take quite a few breaths after seeing you. You were such a sweet and innocent sight, and she just had to have you for herself. She couldn’t wait for Friday, she had the perfect opportunity to start leaving her claim on you. She took a bite out of your cookie, and fuck, she couldn’t wait for Friday. 

The rest of the week dragged around slowly for both of you. You couldn’t shake your hot neighbor out of your head, although you felt guilty for crushing on her. Opposingly, Agatha has been keeping tabs on you, she’s found where you work and found your socials online. She spent a significantly long time through your Instagram, enjoying herself while discovering the bikini pics you’ve posted from your last vacation.

When it’s time to head over on Friday, she carries a larger than necessary bag. You let her inside, your stomach swirling at the sight of her dressed up. She greets you with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, and your breath catches in your throat. She hands you a bottle of wine she brought over, and you hurriedly rush into the kitchen to break it open. She uses this opportunity to take a look around your house, finding her way into the bedroom. She immediately starts on pulling out the secret camera she brought, placing it onto one of your picture frames facing your bed. Making sure you didn’t come back, she starts going through your drawers until she finds your underwear drawer, digging through and grabbing a few to take home. She stuffs them into her purse and starts to take a look around your room, observing all the decorations you have up. 

You walk into your room and see her observing a picture of yours.

“Agatha? What are you doing in here?”

“Oh sweetheart, forgive me. I was trying to find your bathroom to freshen up and came in here instead. I saw these adorable pictures and got distracted.”

A small blush forms at your cheeks at her comments and you guide her back towards your living room. She flashes you a grateful smile at the glass of wine and you can feel yourself falling for her with every passing moment. Dinner went smoothly, and you sighed in relief when Agatha showed signs that she enjoyed your food. She moaned out in delight at your cooking, and your cheeks flushed even further when your mind thought of where else she would make those noises. Dessert continued to be a success and she thanked you for the beautiful meal. 

You both talk for quite a bit that night, Agatha trying to find out anything she could about you. You found it sweet how Agatha took so much interest in you, asking you many questions about your life. You answered her questions honestly and started rambling about your life to her. Agatha looked at you so sweetly but there was something in her eyes that you couldn’t place. You brushed it off, blaming it on the wine. Agatha’s delighted at all the information you gave for her including that you’re single, you started a new job as a receptionist, and you’ve just moved here away from most of your friends and family. The night goes swimmingly with both of you laughing and chatting about work and it’s past midnight when Agatha leaves your apartment. She heads straight to the bedroom, not bothering to take off her shoes before unzipping her dress and taking one of your panties out of her bag. 

She starts to grind against your panties, the lace feeling heavenly against her clit as she moans out your name. The thoughts of you tonight flashing your precious eyes at her takes her over the edge, and she collapses against her bed, she decides she’ll clean up tomorrow.

She runs into you tomorrow while you’re about to leave your apartment, finding you dressed up in a tight dress and some heels.

“Oh, hi Agatha. I’m headed out for a date right now. This girl asked me out today while I was getting my coffee. I have to go now but I’ll see you around. We should grab dinner sometime, I’ll text you!”

Agatha bids you goodbye, wishing you good luck before entering her place and heading straight to the bedroom. She fishes out another pair of panties of yours and puts it on while grabbing a vibrator and placing over her clothed clit, grinding and bucking as her juices leaked out and into your panties. She pulls out her phone and opens the app connected to the camera in your room. She scrolls back to the footage from earlier today, watching you get ready. She nearly came as soon as she saw you, but took her time as she watched you get ready, enjoying the way your precious body looked. Her orgasm fell over her in waves, desperation rolled over her as she had to have you. 

The next time you both get together, Agatha makes sure to dress to get your attention. She knows that you have a small crush on her, but she needs you desperate for her. It seemed to have worked, as Agatha noticed your eyes on her the entire night, even stuttering over your words a little when she decided to hold eye contact with you. Your heart nearly stopped when she went to wipe a food stain near your lips, licking her finger before gently wiping it off. She pats your cheek before she heads back to your seat, and she knows she has you hooked. 

“So honey, how’s everything going with you? Anyone you’ve been intimate with recently? You’ve been going on quite a few dates.”

Your face heats up at her question and you just duck your head out of embarrassment. You’ve never actually had sex with someone before and you were sure Agatha would laugh at you, obviously she was expecting to share and reflect on details of both of your sex lives. You look up at her sheepishly and she tilts her head curiously.

“I- uh well, I’ve never actually had sex with someone. It sounds stupid but I’ve never found someone to do it with and I’m too scared I’ll be bad at it now.”

“Oh sweetheart, you poor thing. Let me help you sweetheart. I’ll teach you all you need to know and show you exactly what it feels like.”

“You would do that for me? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, you’re probably not interested in a girl like me.”

“Nonsense sweetheart. I’ll help a sweet thing like you out. We can start off with weekly lessons and adjust as needed, we can do them on Fridays, right around this time. Here, why don’t we just get started right now. I want you to undress for me sweetheart while making eye contact, and take your time with it.”

You followed her directions exactly, locking eyes with her while slowly lifting your shirt up. At the pleased smile on her face, you shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you half-naked under her gaze. 

“Very good sweetheart, now why don’t you take off your bra for me. We’ll start easy for today, only playing with your boobs. A very important rule I have sweetheart, is that you will not touch yourself unless I give you permission, do you understand me? I don’t want you to explore by yourself sweetheart, you might hurt yourself.”

You nodded while undoing the clasp for the bra, letting your perky boobs show. 

“Very good darling, now I want you to hold them and move them around slowly, and see how it feels.”

“Feels good.”

“Oh and one more thing sweetheart, you’re going to start addressing me as mommy from now on, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy, I understand.”

“Good girl, go ahead and squeeze them for me. Take your time and squeeze.”

You were a bit confused and tried to squeeze them but it didn’t feel right. 

“Here honey, let me help you. Just hold your tits up for me sweetheart, I’ll show you how to pleasure yourself.”

You feel a certain wetness as she walks over to you and grabs both of your tits with your hands. You let her squeeze and grab and pull as she wanted, the pleasure clouding over your brain. 

“Now sweetheart, I’m going to lick your nipples okay? I promise you’re going to feel so good baby, let mommy show you.”

You nodded and she brings her mouth to your left tit, engulfing your perked up nipple. You let out a small moan when you feel her start to suck. You can feel her smirk and chuckle around your nipple and let out a small apology. 

“No need sweetheart. Moan as loud as you want for me baby, I wanna hear those pretty noises coming out of your mouth.”

With that she switches over to your right nipple, giving just as much attention as she gave your left. You let out breathy moans for her and she starts to suck even harder. She guides you to lay down on the sofa while worshipping your breasts, making sure you’d be thinking about her for the next week.

She pulls away from your tits, a trail of saliva connecting her mouth to you before she eagerly connects your lips. She moans into the kiss as she sucks at your bottom lip, and you open your mouth letting her inside. She completely dominates the kiss and it turns you fuzzy. You kiss back passionately, trying to please her the best you could. She doesn’t let you breathe, too focused on claiming your lips. She eventually pulls away, pupils dilated and breath heavy. 

“Baby, it’s your turn now. I want you to practice what you just learned, okay? Practice on mama sweetheart.”

Agatha pulls down her zipper and exposes her tits to you, she had omitted her bra for the night. She guided your head to one of her nipples, and you eagerly latched on. You loved this position, being so close to Agatha had your mind blanking. The only thing you could think about was staying close to Agatha, your hands roaming her tits, exploring and playing as you eagerly continued sucking on Agatha. You switched your mouth over to her other nipples and renewed sucking, moaning at the action. Agatha couldn’t believe her luck, how easily you fell into her, and how much you loved this. It would be so easy to just have you spread your legs apart and let Agatha finger you have you fall apart on her lap. The thought had her mind reeling and she realized it was time to cut it off for the night, before she couldn't control herself anymore. 

When she pulls you away, you look up at her pouting, eager to go back to what you were doing. Agatha tells you it’s enough for the first lesson, and we can carry on next week. She gently cups your cheek before kissing you goodbye. You stand up with her, putting on your bra before seeing her out the door. You give a small wave goodbye before heading into bed, your mind running blank at the events of the evening. The rest of the week went no better for you, you could barely focus on work, only thinking about the next time you would see Agatha. 

Agatha was seeming to handle the gap a lot better than you, using your lacy underwear and her toys to get herself while thinking of how easily you trusted her to touch you. She couldn’t wait for your lesson this week.

When Friday rolled around, you put on your prettiest set of lingerie, hoping it would impress Agatha. You were a skimpy dress, one that would be easier for Agatha. You had everything perfectly set up for when she arrived, and now you were just waiting for her to knock on your door. See Agatha wanted to fuck with you a bit, she knew that you’d be so eager and pliant for her, but she had to keep you just as desperate for her. She purposely arrived a few minutes late, knowing your brain would be just that much happier to see her. 

You welcomed her with a hug before moving back to the couch, waiting for her next move. You were surprised to see her sit so close to you, but you weren’t complaining when you saw the low cut top she was wearing again. 

“Now sweetheart, today’s lesson is going to be very up close and personal. I need you to trust mommy to show you what to do and let mommy make the best decisions for you, alright? As a reward, if you’re good for mama, I’ll let you play with mama’s nipples again. You be good for me and you can play again since you liked that so much.”

“Yes, mommy. I’ll be good for you.”

“That’s my girl, let’s get you out of this dress hm?” When Agatha saw what you wore underneath your dress, she was in disbelief. She couldn’t believe that you were trying to seduce her, “What’s this sweetheart? You were trying to get mommy all worked up hm? Did you think this would help you?”

“No- no mommy. I just wanted you to like me and I thought you would like it if I wore something pretty.”

Agatha smiled at you, of course you had just wanted to please her, you were her innocent girl after all.

“Alright sweetheart, I’m going to remove your panties now. I want you to keep your hands on the couch when I touch you.”

You placed your palms firmly on the couch, gripping tighter as Agatha got closer to your core. She used a finger to swirl and stroke around your entrance but she never entered. She played around like that for a few minutes, watching how wet you quickly became. She gently pushed a finger into you, delighted at the load gasp you let out. She placed a gentle kiss to your thigh before pushing her finger deeper and then pulling it back out. Agatha repeated the motion for a bit, letting you get used to the intrusion, before picking up the pace and watching the way your face contorted in pleasure. She continued the pace for a bit before slipping in another finger. 

You started to let out loud moans of her name, unable to control yourself with this new feeling inside of you. You couldn’t hold yourself back, and your moans continued to grow loader. Agatha watched how easily you took her fingers, throbbing and pulsing around them. She could tell you were getting closer to an orgasm and removed her fingers. She brought them up to her mouth to taste, and she couldn’t control her moan at how good you tasted. 

“You did so well for me baby. I’m going to show you something else babygirl and then I’ll let you have a turn with mommy okay? Stay good for me, you’re my perfect angel.”

At that, Agatha took her thumb to your clit, before pressing down. You let out a yelp at that, and she swirled her thumb around in apology. She kept playing around, enjoying how nicely you moaned for her, and how desperate your pussy was with the way it was clenching around nothing. She decided to taste you from the source, replacing her thumb with her tongue and swirling delicately around your sensitive nub. You moaned even louder at that and Agatha chuckled directly into you. She continued her teasing, bringing her tongue down your slit, licking a few stripes before teasing your entrance and then pulling away all together. 

Your mouth hung open trying to catch your breath when Agatha pulled away, and she knew she had you right where she wanted you. 

“Alright baby, you were so good for me. I’ll let you pick your reward honey. Do you wanna play with mama’s boobs or her pussy?”

“Umm, I don’t know mommy, what if I’m not good at playing with your pussy? I like playing with your boobs.”

“Oh sweetheart, how about you give it a chance alright? I’ll let you play extra with my boobs if it’ll make you feel better.”

You nod at her, and she leans back against the couch with her leg spread open. 

“Okay baby, why don’t you kneel in front of me. It’ll make things easier for you.”

Ever so obedient, you immediately kneel in front, and make your way to undo her skirt. Agatha helps you in ridding her skirt and underwear, before spreading her legs open for you, allowing you to see her glistening pussy.

“Now baby, I’ll give you a few minutes to let you play however you want, but when I tell you to, enter two of your fingers inside of me okay?”

You nod before letting your fingers roam through her slit, sliding through a few times before reaching her clit. When you peer up at Agatha, she’s breathing heavily so you assume you’re doing something right. You gently rub at her clit, smiling when she lets out a moan. Agatha snakes a hand into your hair, and you let that be your sign to continue. 

“Baby, I want you to go inside me now okay? Mommy wants to feel good.”

You slipped two fingers inside and started pumping them inside. The hand in your hair tightened and you continued your pace, spurred on by her moans. You continue to finger her but your mouth can’t resist the sight of clit. You take it into your mouth and Agatha nearly screams at the sensation.

“Oh, oh just like that angel. You’re making me feel so good sweetheart, I’m so close angel just keep going. So good for me honey.” 

You double your efforts, desperate to please her. In a couple more sucks, you feel a warm liquid gush out of Agatha and you eagerly lap it up, becoming addicted to the taste. She gently pulls you away from her core and into her lap. 

“Oh my darling, you were such a good girl for me baby. Do you want mommy’s boobs now? You can have anything you like doll.”

“I want your boobies mommy, but I have a question for you.”

“What is it baby?”

“What was the liquid at the end, I didn’t have that when you were playing with me mommy.”

“Oh honey. That's what happens with you have an orgasm. I haven’t given you one yet because I want you to be able to focus on properly learning sweetheart. I was going to introduce orgasms to you at our next lesson.”

You nodded at her before tugging at her top, begging to see her tits again. Agatha removes her top and bra for you, and you eagerly dive in. She lets you rest against her as you seek her out and she sighs in relief. Her plan was falling nicely into place and she couldn’t be happier. Before long, Agatha realized how late it was for you and decided to call it a night. She pressed a gentle kiss to you before leaving, promising how good the next lesson will be for you if you remembered her rules. You promised her before shutting the door behind her. 

You immediately headed into the shower to try and calm down. Everything about tonight made your head spin and you didn’t want to be apart from Agatha. You tucked yourself to bed and hoped that this week would fly by.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t escape the curiosity of an orgasm. You wanted to know what it felt like and you weren’t sure if you could wait all the way until Friday. You laid down in bed fully naked. You felt really awkward doing this, it didn’t feel anything remote to what you were doing with Agatha, that was what made you excited. 

Your finger approached your core and you weren’t even sure what to do first. You let yourself explore for a few minutes but it didn’t feel anything close to how Agatha had touched you. Rubbing your clit didn’t help much either, and you groaned out in frustration. All of a sudden you realized you had broken Agatha’s rules. Suddenly you shot out of bed and started panicking. What if she stopped seeing you after this because you became her bad girl? You burst out into tears and realized you needed to see her right now. Little did you know, Agatha watched the whole thing go down through her camera. She had been checking up on you to make sure you were obeying her, and she was thoroughly disappointed to see you breaking her rules. What she didn’t expect even more was you knocking at her door, half naked in tears. 

She ushered you inside and brought you in for a hug, trying to figure out what happened.

“Mommy, I’m so sorry. I- I’m so sorry mommy. I was a bad girl. I messed up. I’m so sorry you have to forgive me, I wasn’t thinking properly. I’ll never do anything like this again, please don’t hate me mama.”

Agatha took pity on you and decided to take it easy on you. “What do you mean baby? What happened sweetheart? I would never hate you.”

“I- I broke your rule,” you hiccuped between words, completely overwhelmed with your current situation. “I was curious about what you said about orgasming and I wanted to see what it was and practice on myself. I didn’t even get to touch myself very well because it didn’t feel like when you did it but I still broke your rule and I’m sorry.”

You were wailing at this point and Agatha felt sorry for you. Did she hate that you disobeyed her? Yes. However she was just going to edge you once before letting you orgasm.

“Oh my darling, you’re still my girl sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. I’m disappointed in you but you’ll just take a punishment and if you behave through your punishment, I’ll show you an orgasm.”

You immediately agreed, desperate to get in her good graces. 

She laid you down over her couch while removing whatever clothing you had found to cover yourself. Her fingers immediately sunk into your pussy and set an unforgiving pace, you had moaned and wailed around her but you took it, allowing Agatha to use you as she pleased. She knew best after all. You felt a weird sensation in your lower belly and you tried to warn Agatha. She pulled out of you after that. You couldn’t hold back your whine and she stroked your hair.

“Tell me what you want baby.”

“I want you mommy. I want you to play with me all the time, I don’t want to wait until just Fridays anymore. I wanna be with you and sleep with you afterwards and go on dates with you.”

“Sounds an awful lot like you want to be my girl honey. Is that it? You want to be my girl, have mama take care of you? Well, I can’t say I’d be opposed to it. It would be nice to have my baby girl by my side all the time hm. l would like that angel.”

You beam at her and Agatha can’t resist kissing you deeply. Her tongue enters your mouth and immediately establishes dominance, sucking and swirling against yours. You’re breathless when she pulls away, and you immediately chase her lips. 

Agatha throws you over her shoulder and brings you into her bedroom, desperate to claim you as hers. She lays you down in the middle of the bed before shuffling through her drawer and pulling out some ribbon. She toes your hands to her bed posts and you peer up at her confused. You refuse to voice anything, not when you were so close to your reward. She starts trailing kisses down your body, taking her time to explore all of you. She leaves hickeys in her wake, and she knows you’ll be wearing her marks for the next few days. The thought fills her with need and she hurries her exploration, stopping right at your glistening pussy. 

Agatha dives right in, lapping at your wetness before focusing her attention on your clit. She sucks hard, enjoying the way she can feel you pulse. Your moans are music to her ears and she enters you again, fingering you hard and fast, building you back up to where you were before. She curls her fingers to hit your spongy spot and your mind goes blank. You moan loudly and completely go limp, letting Agatha use your pussy. You feel the same pressure in your tummy again.

“Mama, mama please I feel weird.”

“Oh honey, mama knows. Let go for mama, you’re doing so well for me precious.”

Her words spur you on and you’re falling apart against her fingers, moaning loudly and twitching as you ride out your orgasm. You lay there limply afterwards and Agatha immediately rushes to untie you.

 The moment she comes back near you, you cling to her, desperately latching on to her. She lays down comfortably next to you and you immediately bring your head to her chest, right next to her boob. Agatha has an inkling for what you want so she unties her robe, giving you full access to her. Your head piques up with interest and she guides you towards her nipple where you happily latch on. She lets you enjoy your suckling, stroking your head while quietly praising you.

You fall asleep with your mouth latched to her nipple and your other hand by her stomach. Agatha has never been happier, wearing a giddy smile as she starts to feel drowsy. She’ll take down her cameras soon, knowing that she’ll eventually have you living with her anyways. Pressing another kiss to your head, she lets sleep claim her knowing she has everything she wants.

notes: i feel like this is terrible so im very very sorry if it is 😔

tag list: @morbidlcve

[harknessxo]

frontman x reader whos a player but not because of debt but because she was investigating with gi-hun and ju-hon and got in the limousine and then in-ho falls in love with her and gets her out of the game with him like at the end of the season

can u also like not write it like a hate love relationship? like readers conflicted but still likes in-ho

Keeping you safe

Hwang In-ho x reader

hiii, pleasure writing your request! hope it’s the way you imagined :)

Word count: 3,3k

Warnings: violence, murder,…

Requests are open! i would also like to write something about Jun-ho or the salesman, so hmu

When you jumped into the limousine after Gi-hun you didn’t consider its consequences. Jun-ho trusted you to keep your eyes on Gi-hun at all costs and you were going to keep your word, even when it meant making yourself vulnerable.

The gas was sweet on your tongue and Gi-hun already slumped down on the plush leather of the limo seats. But you were wide awake, somehow defying sleep’s influence, shaking, still processing what the deep voice implied and Gi-hun demanded. “Put me in the game. But leave her out of it.”

Those words were followed by a dry laugh. You knew that meant there was no way out of it now. You started whispering into the intercom to Jun-ho, saying how sorry you were. His panicked voice was cut off by you turning off the device while you prepared yourself for the Frontman’s reaction, closing your eyes and taking shallow breaths.

“No. Those are my games and my rules. Might make them more interesting, don’t you agree, player 456?”

Then the gas started rising up from the floor. Gi-hun grabbed your hand, rumbling about how sorry he was. You smiled wearily, pressing his hand. “It’s okay, Gi-hun.” You both knew it wasn’t. It was as far from ‘okay’ as possible.

His fingers went limp and you resigned, waiting for the inevitable. With muted senses you watched the tinted protection shield go down. Behind it was the man in the mask himself, looking at you over his shoulder. Just when his gloved hand hovered over his mask, shrugging it off, you were engulfed in darkness.

***

After the first game, you thought that nothing could surprise you anymore. As much as Gi-hun tried to keep you from all the bloodshed, even he couldn’t cover your eyes and ears every time there was a gunshot. Still pale and shaken, digging dirt and blood from beneath your nails, you sat on your bed with the provided food in your lap, watching your surroundings. At least Gi-hun could be happy he found here his long lost friend, with whom he was now talking. You still didn’t speak to anyone else. You were scared that if you did, they would be dead by tomorrow.

You barely noticed there was any commotion until the sudden silence peaked your interest. There was a skirmish between three guys, two of them working together, which made the outcome of the fight quite obvious. There was another player stalking towards the group, trying to break up the fight.

“I said save the lecture for your own damn kids.” one of the guys shouted at him. That’s when you noticed the player’s still frame, like a cat before launching at its prey. And you were right; within a blink of an eye, he put both of the guys on their backs, not even breaking a sweat. You looked closer at him, reading the number 001 on his back. Even from afar you could see how deadly calm he was while choking one of them. After a moment the rage left his body and he released his grip. You didn’t expect the applause that followed his actions. You exchanged a look with Gi-hun. Were you the only one who sensed something foreboding?

You turned your attention back to the food in your lap and decided that even though you weren’t hungry, you desperately needed the energy. But in your mind, all you could think about was the player 001. Was he a police detective like Jun-ho or a former marine like Jung-bae or Dae-ho? Or something else entirely?

It took you a while to get out of your head and notice that his bed was right next to yours. With a sigh, player 001 sat down, grabbing his unfinished food. Just then he noticed your searching look and gave you a tentative smile.

“Hello, sir,” you began, looking down at your hands. A sudden wave of nervousness came over you. “I’m Y/N. Do you mind telling me your name?”

“No bother, Y/N,” he replied and you stared at his lips, at how perfectly they formed your name. “I’m Young-il. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you grinned at him in response, holding out your hand that he tentatively shook.

“Nice moves there,” you pointed your chin to the middle of the dormitory where the fight took place. “You could teach me if you had time, I’m terrible in combat.” A lie. Jun-ho himself taught you how to hold yourself and how to hold a gun. You were just trying to find out who Young-il was.

“If we have time, yes.” he nodded absentmindedly, scooping up a mouthful of rice.

“Do you mind me asking? I was just wondering if you have any children.” you said carefully.

“No, I don't.” Young-il replied, suddenly his gaze sharp.

“Well, I just thought that, based on your reaction to what that other player told you-“ you searched for the answer in his closely guarded expression. “You lost your child, didn’t you?”

Young-il didn’t say anything to that, his cutlery going limp in his hand.

“I just- I’d know that look anywhere. I know it’s not something to bond over,” you gave a startled laugh, fidgeting under his everlasting gaze, “but if you’d like to talk about it-“

“Thank you.” He reached out and squeezed your hand. His touch was calloused and warm. “I mean it.”

You smiled softly, squeezing his fingers in response. “I know.”

Preparing yourself for lights out, you couldn’t ignore his lingering gaze following your movements. Thankfully Gi-hun approached you and sat next to you on the bed, guilt visible in his expression.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to drag you into this. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe-“

“Don’t worry about that, sir. I can take care of myself. Anyways, I was only following Jun-ho’s orders. It had nothing to do with you.”

Unconvinced, Gi-hun sighed and moved to his own bed, not having the energy at the moment to argue with you. You finally lay down, moving the thin blanket over your body, curling up on your side.

“I overheard you talking about Jun-ho, and I couldn’t help but notice how familiar that name sounds to me,” Young-il broke the silence, looking at you with curiosity in his eyes.

“Well, he used to work as a police detective so that’s why you might know him.”

“Oh, yes, that might be possible,” Young-il gave you a restrained smile. “And he is to you-?”

“A friend. I used to work as a secretary in his department, that’s all.” you smiled back.

“Oh, sorry to pry.” he looked at his hands.

“Not at all.” He looked into your eyes and your eyes crinkled with another smile. Only when he looked away did you turn around in your bed. A few minutes later you heard Gi-hun and Young-il talking and even though you didn’t want to, it was impossible to not overhear. Young-il was explaining the story of why he’s in the games and why he chose to continue playing - how his pregnant wife was gravely ill and he needed the money due to her medical bills. Somehow, this answer shocked you, even though you shouldn't have been thrown off by it. Of course he was married.

Only after the whole dormitory fell silent did you finally fall into a fitful sleep.

***

“Thank you, Young-il.” you whispered to him, gratefully touching his shoulder. Young-il turned his gaze your way and the corners of his eyes crinkled under the influence of a smile. Only his supportive words during the six legged pentathlon could calm you down, which resulted in you successfully completing your mini game. The memory flashed through your mind - tears welling in your eyes, hands shaking as you reached again and again for the gong-gi pebbles. You could sense your teammates’ growing unease but that even worsened your situation. After the third attempt, Young-il grabbed you by the elbow, leaning closer as he said: “Ignore everything else okay? Just listen to me and focus.”

You nodded, bewildered eyes setting again on the pebbles. You were kneeling in a puddle of blood, which didn’t exactly help calm your nerves.

“Just concentrate. I know you can do it. Look at you, all flushed red and focused. This look suits you.” The pebbles balanced on the knuckles of your hand, just one more throw. You looked up at Young-il, lips slightly parted. Were you hearing correctly? Maintaining eye contact, you threw the pebbles op with a sudden surge of confidence and caught them flawlessly. Everyone cheered and you were hoisted up by your team, but all you could hear were Young-il’s last words whispered in your ear: “Good girl.”

Now he was looking at you, this new tension between you two palpable.

“Anytime.”

***

While you tried to act nonchalant, it was just impossible. The way Young-il now watched you at all times drove you crazy, feeling his gaze like a branding on your body. You were grateful for keeping a watch during the lights off, thinking that it could distract you from your own dirty thoughts. But it was quite the contrary.

Overlooking the silent dark room, those words echoed in you even more soundly. Good girl. With a sigh you stretched out your legs, trying to ignore the tightness in your underbelly. You were annoyed with yourself. Why did the words of a stranger make you feel this way? Words of a married stranger, more like it.

“You seem distracted.”

You jumped at that impassive raspy voice. Thankfully, once Young-ho sat down next to you, he couldn’t notice your flushed cheeks due to the impassable darkness. Your shoulders touched and to your surprise he didn’t immediately move away.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” you smiled with your head bowed, nearly chuckling at how clueless he must be.

There was an awkward silence following your reply, so, without thinking about it, you said: “Thank you again for today, truly. You helped me a lot.”

Young-il looked at you, searching for something in your expression. Apparently he found it. “You think about that a lot, don’t you?”

“Sorry?” you stumbled over your words, not knowing how to react, what to say.

“My words alone made you quiver. Now imagine what my tongue could do.” he whispered, teasing you, a spark in his eyes.

“Young-il-“ you breathed out, suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours. You felt your underwear getting wetter by the minute. But you put that all in the back of your mind as you said: “I know you are married. Expecting a child, even. You shouldn’t say things like that.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Does that bother you? Or are you bothered by the effect I have on you?”

You sighed, looking away from his handsome face. Was he sent here just to test your boundaries?

“I still have enough self control to know right from wrong.” But your body wasn’t in line with your thoughts.

Young-il stared at you for a moment, then sighed, irritated. “My wife and my child are gone. I just don’t enjoy talking about them in past tense. I joined the games out of misery, nothing more. Are you happy now?”

You froze, looking at the way his arms formed into fists at his sides. It was like having ice cold water poured all over you.

“Young-il, I’m so-“

“Don’t be. It’s been a long time.” Eyes meeting, he smiled at you tentatively. You squeezed his warm hand and he relaxed, loosening his fist.

“Right now, I don’t care about anything but you.” He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Moving closer, he kissed the bruise already blossoming on your jaw. And you let him.

“I don’t want to scare you away with my… infatuation. But right now, I’m so desperately weak for you.” Your breathing hitched as he moved his lips to your ear.

Just when you thought he would kiss you, he suddenly pulled away.

“I’ll take over the watch. You should sleep, muster some energy for tomorrow.” You nodded as if in a trance. He helped you stand up and led you to your bed. Young-il left you standing there, leaving only the whisper of his lips branding your cheek.

***

The third game was a whirlwind of movement. Only thanks to Young-il were you still alive and breathing. Every time a number was announced, he firmly grasped your wrist and dragged you with him wherever he went. Not that you were complaining - you were so overstimulated by all the commotion that you were glad you could keep up with him.

When one player tried to separate you from him, Young-il bared his teeth and kicked him square in the chest. “She’s mine,” There it was, the cold expression and clenched jaw. Even though you were on the brink of dying, a shiver ran down your spine.

You made it safe with your group into one of the rooms and soon were walking out to play the last round. You knew exactly what the woman’s voice was going to announce and you were right: “Two.”

Young-il was already moving, pushing people out of your way. Everything seemed to go smoothly, until you reached the room; a player was already inside.

“Get out.” Young-il growled and reached the man, trying to get him on his legs and out of the room.

“We were here first,�� the player whimpered. You noticed other players running to the door you were standing next to and panicking, you closed it, pushing your whole body against it.

You looked over your shoulder at Young-il, wanting to see if he was any closer to pushing the player out through the doors. But you froze when you saw he was holding the man in a headlock, choking him. All you could do was stare.

Young-il was looking straight back at you. And with one smooth motion of his arms he broke the man’s spine, leaving him staring at the ceiling, going limp in Young-il’s grip.

“I’d do anything for you, Y/N.” Young-il said, slowly getting up. You couldn’t tear your gaze from the lifeless body on the ground.

Only when he knelt in front of you did your eyes meet his. He grabbed your cold, shaking hands, kissing the knuckles while staring into your eyes.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“You poor thing,” Young-il said absentmindedly, wiping your tears away. “I can keep you safe, Y/N. I promise. All I’ve done was to prove that to you.”

“It’s scaring me how far you’re willing to go for me,” you sobbed, fighting the urge to flinch when he caressed your cheek. Still, you couldn’t find a reason to hate him. All the things he was saying were true, he did all of this for you, he killed a man for you, for your own safety.

The lock on the doors clicked and you closed your eyes, letting yourself be guided by Young-il out of the room. You knew that if you looked once more at the corpse, you would never let Young-il touch you again.

So you kept your eyes closed, choosing the easier path.

***

When the lights went out, all you could do was hold Young-il as hard as possible and count the minutes until the slaughter was over. Head against his chest, you concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, every other sound pushed into the background. His hand was on your lower back, holding you as close as possible.

“I want to go home.” you whispered, clutching the front of his T-shirt like a small child. It was all a mistake. You shouldn’t be here.

“Okay, you will, okay? When we disarm the guards, you stay hidden, but once we take control of the rest, you have to come to my side, you understand?”

You nodded into his chest. Young-il kissed the crown of your head before leaving you under the bed as the guards tried to take control of the situation.

After many gunshots fired, you were crawling to the group of players formed in front of the main doors. Without hesitation you claimed one of the smaller guns for yourself. Somehow, the familiar weight of it calmed you down a bit. Young-il looked at you with tenseness.

“Keeping secrets, I see.” In reply you just loaded the gun, staring back.

Gi-hun looked your way over his shoulder, sending you a quick nod. The group exited the room, moving quickly down the corridor. Young-il stayed back, moving slower than the rest. Once the first guards got in your way, he pushed you to the side, saying: “This way!” Looking over your shoulder, everyone was shooting at the enemy, moving the other way. You looked back at him, unsure.

“You wanted to go home, didn’t you? Well, this is it.” seeing how indecisive you were, he sighed, “You trust me, don’t you?”

Hesitant, you followed his lead. You took the side stairs up and you got a bad feeling in your stomach. Young-il didn’t bother to check the corners, nor the other stories as you climbed the stairs. He walked like someone who knew this place, someone who wasn’t scared that he might be shot.

You stopped in your tracks, aiming your gun with a trembling hand. Young-il, upon noticing you were not following him, turned around. There was something like betrayal shining through his demeanour.

“You’re going to explain.” you said, trying to keep your voice and hand steady.

“Oh, Y/N, I think you already know.” Young-il pointed out, a corner of his lips curling up. He took one step towards you.

“What. Is. Your. Real. Name.” you said through gritted teeth, cocking your gun.

“Hwang In-ho.”

All this time, he was the long lost brother Jun-ho was trying to find. You felt the sting of betrayal in your bones.

“Was any of this real?” Tears stung in your eyes and you hated yourself for being so vulnerable.

“Oh, baby,” In-ho sighed, walking to you, kneeling in front of you again. The muzzle of the gun touched his forehead, which he seemed unbothered by.

“Everything.” he said, looking up at you.

“I keep trying to hate you,” you whispered, trying to muster at least some hatred that would make you pull the trigger. “It would be so much easier if I did.”

In-ho reached out and gently took the gun from your trembling hand. He threw in on the ground, making it slide on the floor.

“I know,” he whispered, grabbing your hips with his hands. He stared at you yearningly. There was a burning ache in your chest clawing its way into your throat.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t. And I don’t think you want me to either.”

The worst part was that he was right.

“I know I should stay away from you, but I can’t. It’s not that simple.” A sob tore out of your throat, making it hard for you to breathe. There were so many emotions in you that your head was spinning. All you knew was the fact that you couldn’t hate the one person who deserved it the most.

“Stay with me, love. I beg you,” In-ho said hoarsely, gripping you harder, trying to make you understand. “You will be safe with me. I will not break that promise.” His eyes were filled with hope. “You felt it too, I know.”

You closed your eyes, composing yourself and your thoughts. You knew it was wrong. But you always had a weakness for the forbidden.

In-ho stood up, taking your face in his hands. He kissed your forehead, your temples, your jaw. And when he kissed you on the lips, you let yourself melt into the touch, forgetting everything else.

“You’ll be the death of me.” you whispered against his lips and he smiled into the kiss, knowing you were his.

[harknessxo]

heyyy, could you maybe write an agatha x reader piece where reader is innocent and agatha takes advantage of that? praising her, showing her new things, etc. Maybe from school or doctor environment. Thanks!

I've been really into manipulative Professor Agatha lately

Sex Ed

During a make-up exam for Professor Harkness's Sexual Education class, she helps you out when you don't know a few answers

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: virgin/naive reader, praise kink, manipulative Agatha, dub-con, fingering, oral

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn

This is possibly the worst time you could’ve gotten a cold. 

Three weeks into your first semester of college, classes had just begun picking up in terms of workload, most of your professors were giving the first exam, and you had forgotten to bring a jacket the one day it poured during a cold spell and you had to walk almost a mile in it back to your house, where you lived with your mom. Her house was so close to campus that most of the time you didn’t bother driving. 

You had walked through the front door that day, shivering and shaking and soaked and your mom had taken one good look at you and said, “You’re going to get sick.” 

And she sure was right. The next day, you woke up and felt like you were clinging to life by a thread: your throat ached, your head felt full, and your lungs hurt. Your fever made you bury under three blankets and then strip down to practically nothing the next minute. It was hell. 

Not to mention, you missed four days of classes. In most of them, you just needed to get notes from a classmate, but in Sexual Education, you had missed a test. 

Sexual Education, taught by Professor Agatha Harkness, is your least favorite class. You hadn’t taken it in middle or high school as your mom hadn’t let you, so you had to take it in college. There was something about the subject that made you squirm, and the way Professor Harkness talked about sex, so blatantly and forward, that made your stomach get a weird feeling. 

You had emailed her and told her that you wouldn’t be able to take the exam because you were sick, attaching the doctor’s note and everything, and she had replied almost immediately, telling you to just see her during office hours whenever you could to make it up. She ended it with Feel better, honey ;) and for some reason, that made you get the same sensation in your gut as you did in her class. 

The following Monday was when you decided to make it up. You had replied to her email and asked, and she told you that day was perfect. 

You did feel better, and you had tried to study. The test is on anatomy and sexual intercourse, and although you kept having to take breaks because it kept making you uncomfortable, you had gotten through all the material. 

But now, as you trudge across campus, a cough still tickling your throat every now and then, you wonder if there’s any way to postpone the make-up even more. Nerves have settled into your body and you’re worried your mind is going to go blank. Test anxiety has always been something you’ve struggled with, and you think that with the sensitive nature of the test, you might be especially prone to it now. 

The blinds are drawn on Professor Harkness’s door to her office when you get there, so you knock as to not catch her unaware. You hear a faint “Come in!” and you push open the door and step inside. 

Your professor is sitting at her desk, a pair of big, black glasses resting on her nose, and she looks up at you from a paper she’s been writing on. 

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” She asks. 

You nod. “Much better, thank you. I’m here to take the exam that I missed?” 

A smile slowly spreads across her face and she waves you forward. Your shoes pad lightly on the carpeted floor, one step for three beats of your heart. You wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt and you sit down in the chair facing her. 

She reaches into a drawer and pulls out a packet of paper, handing it to you over the desk. You swallow roughly when you feel how many pages there are. It makes your heart sink when you see lines on the first page, meaning that it’s not multiple choice either. It already has your name on it, like she made it just for you. 

“I have to write a harder test for the make-ups,” she explains, seeing your troubled look. Is that supposed to make you feel better? “It’s to discourage people from skipping the exam the first time and getting answers from friends or anything.” 

It makes sense, it really does. But you had a legit excuse as to why you couldn’t take it. There’s no use arguing though, so you give her a tight smile and look down at the paper.

How does the body respond to sexual arousal, and what are the physiological changes that occur? 

You rack your brain, searching for anything you remember about this, but there’s nothing. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, you skip and move onto the next one.

2. What happens during an orgasm?

You look at the next one.

3. What is the role of lubrication?

You don’t remember reading anything about that or even Professor Harkness saying anything about that. 

Skip. 

There’s nothing in your brain about the next question either. Visibly getting flustered now, you frantically flip through the pages of the exam to find a question that you do know, ignoring the stinging sensation in your eyes. 

Finally, at the bottom of the third page, you find one. Incidentally, the last question of the test.

7. How does the sperm fertilize an egg? 

You breathe a sigh of relief and scribble down the answer, and with renowned confidence, you find at least a few things you’re able to write for the three questions in the middle. 

Feeling pretty good now, you go back to the start, and then you realize you just have the first three left, but they’re worth the most amount of points. The sinking feeling starts to come back. The other questions are worth ten points each. These are worth twenty. If you don’t answer, you are going to fail. 

“Professor?” You rasp, having no other option to ask for help. “I’m having some trouble on a few of these questions. I don’t remember you saying anything about some of this stuff.”

Professor Harkness frowns and leans over to look at your paper. “Which ones?” 

“Um, the ones about arousal, and lubrication, and orgasms,” you say, voice dropping to a whisper like it’s too embarrassing to say any louder. “You never said anything about it in class, unless I missed it while I was sick.” Even then, you poured over the slideshows she posted, and you swear you didn’t see anything about those terms. 

Professor Harkness lounges back in her chair and fixes you with a certain look. “I didn’t necessarily say anything about those, but you should be able to infer based on your own experiences.” 

And that makes your cheeks heat up. “Well, I, um–” You stutter, completely flustered. 

“Ah,” she says, like she’s had a realization, and your eyes flit to hers. “Are you a virgin, honey?” 

You nod hesitantly, feeling shame burn through you. Now you’re going to fail the test because of your lack of experience. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Professor Harkness coos and reaches her arms out across the desk, palms outstretched. You blink back tears and take her hands and she squeezes in reassurance. “Don’t ever apologize for that. I shouldn’t have assumed. Here, why don’t I give you a quick lesson to make it more fair for you, hm?” 

“That would be so great, thank you so much!” You exclaim gratefully. 

Professor Harkness smiles, although there’s something dangerous behind it, and she gets up out of her chair. “Why don’t you come over here and sit on my desk?”

It’s a bit of a weird request, but she’s already helping you out so much that you don’t argue. You sit on her desk and she places her hands on your knees to gently spread your legs apart so she can stand in-between them. 

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” She asks gently and you shake your head, upset. She tilts your chin up and then strokes a piece of hair behind your ears. “Hey, it’s okay. It can be hard to figure these things out by yourself. And I’m sure the slideshows and text, books and my lectures aren’t helping much either,” she jokes and you giggle. “Why don’t I give you more of a hands-on lesson? Some people learn a lot better that way.” 

Your brows furrow. “What about the exam?” 

Professor Harkness nods. “Don’t worry. Let me teach you some things and this should be able to answer those questions you were having. Now, I just need you to be a good girl and relax for me, okay?” 

“Okay, Professor,” you agree, but stiffen when her hands start to slide up your thighs. She pauses and moves them back down and repeats, each time getting a little higher up. 

Something is happening in your stomach, a heat is growing, a little like what happens when you’re in her class, but stronger than it ever has been. You suddenly feel like you’re running hot. Has the fever come back? 

Your professor is watching you carefully, a slight smile on her lips. “The first step in the physiological process of an orgasm is excitement. During this stage, arousal builds. Pupils dilate. Heart rate and breathing rate increase. Your blood pressure rises, making you feel warm.” 

“I think that’s happening to me, Professor,” you say faintly and she chuckles. 

“I would say so, honey. And you can call me Agatha,” she tells you and the feeling inside you only gets worse. “Lubrication should be starting right about now.” 

You gasp when she finally cups you over your underwear and your hips instinctively buck. You’ve never had anyone’s hand there, not even your own, and the sensation is indescribable. 

Agatha is fully smirking now, rubbing up and down the fabric. You can feel how sticky it is, just from her light touches. “You’re doing so well for me, pretty girl. You’re almost in the plateau phase. Your vagina is getting swollen, your clitoris is becoming sensitive–” She rubs at a small circle towards the top of your vagina, you remember seeing a diagram of it, and it makes you keen. “–and you’re going to just keep getting wetter.” 

There’s a fire inside you now, flames licking up your stomach into your ribs and spreading throughout your whole body. It feels like there’s an ache inside you and you just need more. “Agatha,” you gasp. “I need–” You don’t even have the words to explain it.

But she knows. She slides your panties to the side and swipes through your folds and then holds her glistening fingers up to the light so you can see. It takes your breath away. 

“The role of lubrication,” she references the question you didn’t know, her hand dropping back down between your legs and toying at your entrance. “is simply to reduce friction, discomfort, and pain during sex.” 

And then she pushes a finger into you and you make a strangled sound. She feels so good and when she curls her finger up and rubs against something, you clench around her and make another explicit noise. 

She chuckles and presses on it again, enjoying the way you jump. “That’s your G-spot right there. Extra credit if you mention that on your exam,” she says with a grin and you’d make a note of that if there were any thoughts left in your head. 

Agatha pauses for a second after she pulls out of you and you whine, before it quickly turns into a gasp when she slides two fingers in. It burns and you whimper, your hands scrambling to grab on her shoulders and cling to her while she gently works to stretch you out with shallow thrusts. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” she purrs. “Such a good girl for me, my best student. Look at how well you’re taking this lesson. So perfect.” 

You preen and when she rubs her thumb against your clit, she’s slowly able to slide her two fingers into you. The feeling of fullness is just what you need right now, and even though you’re incredibly tight around her, it still feels so much better than anything you’ve ever felt. 

Agatha starts lazily dragging her fingers against your walls, in and out, occasionally twisting and making your hips roll. You’re holding onto her body, panting into her neck, and the tension inside you is building. 

“If only you knew how pretty you look right now,” she mutters, now picking up to a faster pace. Each thrust leaves you breathless and you can hardly comprehend what she’s saying. She circles your clit and you cry out with pleasure. “You’re so innocent, I see you squirming in your seat every time I talk about sex.” That makes you flush with heat even more. “Look at you now, honey. Taking my fingers like a good girl.” 

You gasp out something incoherent and she starts to pump her fingers harder. You’re throbbing and pulsing around her, pleasure starting to spread from your stomach to the rest of your body and you don’t know how much more you can take. 

She smiles when you moan her name. “You’re about to be in the orgasm phase. Your pelvic muscles will contract, and your vaginal walls will tighten. There will be an increase in lubrication and your heart rate will get even faster. It will feel euphoric.” 

It’s happening, you can feel it. “Agatha, please,” you groan and she twists her fingers inside you. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she says and the pleasure explodes inside you, the release of the tension overwhelming you and making your mind go completely blank for a minute. You can barely feel Agatha’s fingers still inside you, gently stroking against your inner walls until you come down from your high, and while it still feels amazing, you’re incredibly sensitive now. 

“Agatha,” you groan and she chuckles before pulling her fingers out of you, making you wince. They’re absolutely soaked and she pops them into her mouth to clean them and your jaw drops open. 

She moans at the taste and sits back down in her chair, putting her hands above her head and nodding at your test that’s still sitting there. “You should have no trouble finishing now,” she says and you swallow hard before getting off her desk and going around it to take your seat. 

You pick up your pen and begin writing, trying to ignore how you can still feel Agatha’s fingers inside you. 

And Agatha? Agatha smirks to herself, still tasting you on her tongue, knowing that she got exactly what she wanted just by making a few well picked-out questions worth a few more points. 

[harknessxo]

Any chance you'd write Agatha x reader fic where Agatha is a teacher/professor but reader looks up to her & also has a crush & Agatha notices it. Maybe some slight manipulation, mommy issues etc etc 😂

I'm so sorry this took so long to write 😅 this one's from November and I apologize to everyone else who submitted requests months ago, I promise I am working on them and I will get to them sooner or later

Shoutout to the two teachers who I would do anything for and may have been used as some inspiration for this one (also I have no clue how this one got so long and I really hope it's good)

The power she holds

You're Agatha's TA for her History of Witchcraft class and you're more than happy to help with whatever she needs

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: manipulative Agatha, mommy issues, massive praise kink, fingering, slight mommy kink, oral (barely)

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna

“Good morning,” you say with a knock on the open door to Professor Harkness’s office. She glances up from her seat at the desk and gives you the hint of a polite smile, beckoning you in with a hand. 

You plop down at the desk in the back of the room, the one closest to hers, and your backpack hits the ground with a thud. 

“You’re here early,” she muses, typing something on her computer without looking at you. 

But your cheeks still grow hot. She hasn’t said anything about your punctuality so far, even though you always try to get to her class at least ten minutes before it starts. Not because you want to impress her or get her to notice you or anything. You’re just being a good Teacher’s Assistant. 

Agatha Harkness was your teacher last semester in History of Witchcraft, and when she sent out applications for TA’s for the spring, you had jumped at the chance. You had gotten one of the highest grades in her class and often attended her office hours, so you had gotten pretty close to her, as far as teacher-student relationships go. 

You would never tell her this, but you strived for her approval. You didn’t try half as hard in your other classes, partly because they were easy, but there was also something about getting validation from her that made it all worth it. 

Your relationship with your mother is tense, with you never feeling like you were good enough for her, so you know where it comes from. It’s happened before, with older female teachers, where you would neglect everything else just for a chance for them to tell you that they were proud of you. 

But it’s a little different with Agatha, because of how attractive she is. She’s also incredibly smart, and when she looks at you, it’s like she really sees you, and that makes you warm inside. 

You know that she likes you, at least more than the average student, but you were still surprised when she had picked you to be her TA.  

It’s only a week into the semester and she hasn’t had you do anything yet. Her class is held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and both Monday and Wednesday this week, you’ve just been sitting next to her desk while she lectures. 

You’re thankful that she’s not bogging you down with work, you already have enough of it in your other classes, but you wish she’d give you something to do so you could feel like you’re being useful. Except you know there isn’t really anything she needs help with yet, with it being the start of a new class and the students haven’t had any real assignments for you to help with. Seems like you’ll just have to wait.

She mutters something to herself while moving to flip through papers on her desk and you frown. “Is there anything you need help with?” You ask and she turns to face you finally, but in the process, knocks over her mug of coffee. It spills all over the floor and she jumps up to avoid getting wet. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath just as the door opens and students start to come in. She looks at the mess on the floor and then up at you, and you spring into motion. 

You practically run down the hallway to the bathroom, pump the lever on the paper towel holder about ten times, and rip the bundle off, ignoring the confused looks from the other girls washing their hands. You sprint back and drop to your knees to soak up the coffee. 

“Who knew I could get my assistant to do other things than just help me grade papers?” Agatha asks rhetorically, voice light and teasing, but you blush. 

After you clean the floor and stand back up, you shake your hair out of your face and nod to her now-empty mug. “Do you want me to get you some more coffee?” 

Agatha’s eyes light up and she holds out the cup for you to take. You ignore the electricity that flares up under your skin when your fingers brush against hers. “Black with two sugars,” she says and you nod. 

She smirks before straightening up and walking to the front of the classroom to begin her lecture while you throw the wet paper towels away in the trash and go down to the student union to the coffee machine. 

You tap your foot impatiently while the maker whirrs to life and starts to spit coffee into the mug. Your nose wrinkles; you’ve never been a big coffee drinker, and even the smell gets to you sometimes. 

Finally, the cup is full and you add in two sugars, stirring delicately, and then carefully walking back to Agatha’s classroom. She’s talking about the Valais Witch Trials in Switzerland, the first systematic European Witch Hunt. You make sure the door closes quietly behind you before walking over to place it on the lectern where she’s standing. 

She pauses to watch you before leaning in close and whispering, “Thanks, hon. Appreciate it,” into your ear and you can feel your heart start to pound. Can she see how flustered you get? It’s just a simple thing, barely any praise at all, and yet – you suddenly have lost the ability to think.

“Of course,” you stammer out quickly and then rush to the back of the classroom, back to your desk, where you can breathe without the heat of her body radiating against yours. 

What is wrong with you? Agatha was just being polite, nothing more than that. You’ve seriously got to get your mommy issues under control. 

You pull out your laptop and try to work on stuff for other classes, but you keep getting drawn into Agatha’s lecture. It’s fascinating, the way she talks about historical events, the way she waves her hands around in the air. 

It’s something you didn’t notice last semester while you were in her class, definitely too busy scrambling to write everything that she said down, but now you can appreciate how much she talks with her hands. Her fingers wave around, curling and flexing, adding extra emphasis to what she’s saying, and for some reason, you can’t look away. 

You’re so entranced by her that you’ve completely zoned out, not even comprehending a word of what she’s saying. And then, for some reason, your eyes flick up to meet hers, and you find – much to your surprise – that she’s already looking at you. 

She winks so fast you think you might’ve imagined it. But what you’re not imagining is the rush of heat that floods through your body. You shift in your seat. It’s possible that your appreciation for the professor has grown into more of a crush. 

The class period ends sooner than you think it should, but you haven’t noticed how much time has passed because of how intently you’ve been watching Agatha. You start to slowly pack up your things so that you won’t have to leave before she comes back to her desk. 

And sure enough, you’re just zipping up your backpack when she drops into her chair and heaves a big sigh. 

“You okay?” You ask, repressing a giggle at her theatrics. 

She spins to face you. “Half of those kids are about to turn in god-awful rough drafts for us to look at next week. We’re going to have our work cut out for us, sweetheart.” The pet name turns you to putty and you have to make a conscious effort to regain your thoughts. 

“Well, I’m happy to help in any way you need,” you say before you can think of the innuendo that might be implied, and then inwardly curse. Will she think you’re offering more than what’s professional? 

Agatha just smiles pleasantly and you relax. Of course she wouldn’t. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good weekend, honey. I’ll see you on Monday.” 

You nod in agreement, a bit sad that she’s dismissing you so quickly, but you don’t want to overstay so you leave and go back to your dorm. 

Your thoughts hardly stray from her Saturday and Sunday. 

When the week starts back up again, you’re ten minutes early to her class. She hums a greeting when you open the door but doesn’t look up after, even when you sit next to her. 

“Good weekend?” You ask, trying to make small talk. 

She shrugs. “Just lesson-planning. You?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was all right. Went to the gym, did some homework. Pretty chill.” Agatha does look up at the mention of the gym and runs her eyes over your body, raising an eyebrow in approval. You feel something in your stomach, not entirely unpleasant. 

But she doesn’t say anything else, just turns back to her work and raises her cup to her lips and frowns. She sets down the mug at the edge of the desk closest to you – an invitation. “Be a dear and get me some more coffee?” 

It’s not exactly a question, but there’s no way you’d say no anyway. You jump out of your chair and grab the mug, hurrying to the student union so maybe you can get the drink back to her before class starts. 

“Two sugars?” Agatha asks when you put it down in front of her. She’s still at her desk, only a minute before she has to get up and teach, almost like she was waiting for you. 

“Of course,” you answer and she takes a long sip despite the steam coming off the top. 

She exhales and stands up. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best assistant I could’ve asked for.” And you know she’s just saying that to be nice, an over-exaggeration of course, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. 

On Wednesday, you borrow your roommate’s mug without asking and fill it up with black coffee and two sugars before even getting to Agatha’s class. 

When you place the mug on her desk, her eyes flit up to yours in surprise. “Look at you, sweetheart, bringing me coffee. How thoughtful,” she says, something unrecognizable on her face, and she raises it to her lips to take a drink. When she puts it down, she nods to the mug that’s already sitting there – her mug – which, much to your chagrin, is full. “Why don’t you take that?” 

“Oh, Professor, I couldn’t. I don’t really like coffee anyway,” you say hastily, but she shakes her head, picks it up, and holds it out to you. 

She urges you to take it with a nod. “Try it.” There’s something between the two of you, a thick tension that grows, when you reach out and take it. She watches you slowly lift it up to your mouth and you part your lips around the rim, feeling the hot coffee flood your tastebuds. 

Agatha never breaks eye contact, even when you wince at the bitter taste. You think you’d need at least ten more sugar packets before you’d be able to stomach it. But you swallow it, and her pleased look almost makes up for it. 

“Good girl,” she says in a low voice, and your breath hitches, your mind instantly short-circuiting for a second. She sees it too, but instead of looking disgusted or creeped out by how you react, she looks intrigued, delighted even. 

You open your mouth with absolutely no plan or knowledge of what you’re about to say, but thankfully the door opens and students strew in, taking their seats. Agatha gives you a wink, for sure a wink this time, and stands up, taking the coffee you brought her up to the front of the room with her. 

This time, you force yourself to work on homework for your other classes and don’t allow yourself to get distracted by Agatha or her hands or the way she talks or walks or breathes in your direction –

Agatha says your name and you jump in your chair, almost knocking your laptop off the desk. 

“Yes?” You squeak, completely embarrassed, especially with the thirty-plus undergraduates looking at you. 

Her smirk is gleeful, like she knows what you were thinking about. “I was just telling the class that if they have any questions about the material, that my brilliant TA is more than happy to help them. After all, you did get one of the highest grades in my class, possibly ever. I have no doubt that she can give you exactly what you need.” You’re not sure you could blush any harder, and you hate how you can feel yourself getting wet. 

Is having a praise kink a little too on the nose for a burnt-out gifted child? There’s something about it coming from Agatha that just makes it affect you even more.

“Um, yeah, just send me an email or talk to me after class. I’ll also read your rough drafts for the papers if you want some feedback on them, but they have to be turned in seventy-two hours before the due date,” you add, trying to keep your voice level. You can’t even be sure that she hasn’t already said that information; you haven’t been listening at all. But she nods in approval and you stare at nothing on your computer screen for the rest of the class, willing your brain to work but it just won’t. 

When the period ends, she walks back slowly to where you are and drums her fingers on your desk. You watch with bated breath as she sits in her chair facing you, and her eyes scrutinize you while you try not to squirm. “Thanks for bringing me coffee, honey. I really appreciate it,” Agatha says.  

And so it becomes the routine: you bring her coffee before every class period in a mug that you take from your dorm because you don’t have any, and she praises you each time. You get better at hiding how much it turns you on, which you swear makes her try even harder to get to you. 

She practically purrs one time about how thankful she is that she has an assistant as good as you. Sometimes, it’s all you can do to barely resist going to the bathroom during her class and shoving a hand into your pants because of how worked up she gets you. 

Masturbating after each class also becomes part of your routine. 

But as the semester progresses, so does your workload, both for your classes and hers. Her students flood your inbox with questions asking for clarification on assignments or about the material, and you spend hours on the weekends pouring over essays and giving feedback. Some of them aren’t terrible, while others have you wondering how they even got into college. 

You spend more time after the class talking to Agatha about her pupils, how you watch some of them shop on Amazon the whole time while she teases you about the boys and girls that blatantly check you out inside of taking notes. 

“I’m not really interested in boys,” you say off-handedly one day. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and leans in. “Oh, really?” But something in her tone makes it sound like she already knew that. 

You nod slowly, wondering if she’s going to drag any more details about it out of you. You wonder if she’ll ask about your type, in which case, would you admit that your type is brunettes old enough to be your mother? 

It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together then, especially for someone as smart as Agatha. 

Thankfully she doesn’t ask, and you don’t volunteer that information. But now you’re curious – what about her? There’s no pictures on her desk, and in the little over a semester you’ve known her, she’s never mentioned a partner, kids, anything. 

Not that it matters. You’re a student, you’re her teacher’s assistant. That is definitely against some rules. 

Plus she would never think of you in that way. 

Except there’s the way that she tells you what a good girl you are for bringing her coffee and getting all your work as her TA done. The way she’s gotten more touchy with you; what first started as a brush of her skin against yours every now and then has turned into a hand on your shoulder, dragging her fingertips down your arm when she walks past you. The way her eyes find yours all the way from the front of the classroom when she’s teaching and says something funny. The wink she gives you when she catches you watching her. 

She has to know what she’s doing, right? 

“Ugh, I don’t have time to go to this fucking meeting,” she groans after class one day, dropping her head into her hands. 

You’re just about to get up and go, currently texting one of your friends about lunch plans, but you immediately look up at the older woman. “Everything okay?” 

She shakes her head, her dark, curly hair falling and blocking her face from view. “I have to go to this department meeting right now, but I need to finish inputting these grades and it’s taking forever.” You know along with History of Witchcraft, she also teaches at least one other class, a general one with a lot more students. 

And you also know that as a TA, you’re not technically allowed to help with what she’s doing right now. But that doesn’t stop you from asking: “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Oh, you don’t want to do this,” she says, the corners of her mouth quirking up, like she’s pushing. Like she wants to see if you’ll offer again.

You look at her earnestly. “I can help. I know how stressed you are, let me take some things off your plate.” 

It doesn’t take much convincing and she looks thrilled that you’re insisting. She stands up with her laptop and puts it in front of you on your desk, bending over so her mouth is right next to your ear, her arm firm against yours. 

You forget how to breathe. She is so close. 

“All you have to do,” she murmurs and goosebumps explode all down your body. You keep your eyes trained on the screen so you don’t accidentally do something stupid. “is copy the grade from the spreadsheet into the portal. The names aren’t in alphabetical order which is why it’s taking so long. This is the last time I have them submit anything like this. I thought it would be easier because the form they filled out automatically inputs their score into this, but there’s no order. Make sense?” 

You nod stiffly. You can feel her hot breath on your ear and it’s driving you crazy. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Truly, I don’t know what I would do without you,” she says and it almost makes you melt. “And this has to be our little secret, okay? I’m serious, I could get into serious trouble if anyone found out a TA was putting my grades in for me.” 

There’s a good chance you might combust on the spot. “I won’t say anything, Professor,” you croak and you don’t have to look at her to know she’s smirking. 

“That’s my good girl,” she says and it feels like your entire body is on fire. “And please, call me Agatha.” 

She walks away, but her perfume lingers, vanilla and wood and a hint of something darker. Powerful, even. It makes your mouth water and if you close your eyes, you swear you can still feel her presence next to you. You text your friend that you won’t be able to make it to lunch, and lose yourself in the work. 

You don’t even realize how long it’s been until Agatha comes back from her meeting and is surprised to still find you there. 

“Honey, you’re not finished yet?” She asks. 

You blink and look at her, startled. “Oh — yeah, I’m almost done though.” She puts her hands on either side of your body from behind and her head gently rests atop yours while she looks at her computer. You suddenly lose the ability to move, think, and breathe. 

“God, you’re doing so well,” she says, her hands now moving to stroke up and down your arms. Your mind wishes she was saying that in a different context — you’re on your knees for her, fingers inside her and tongue licking at her while she praises you — but you force yourself to snap out of it. “Think you can finish up for me? I really need to get organized for my next class.” 

You swallow hard and your stomach rumbles. One of Agatha’s eyebrows raise, you can see it in the reflection from the screen, like she’s waiting to see what you’ll do. “Yeah, of course,” you finally agree. You can get food after. 

Her hands squeeze your shoulders. “Thanks, hon, you’re the best.” And you’re only too happy to keep working if it gets her to say more of those things. 

Agatha gets much more comfortable asking you to do things that aren’t specifically in your job description as a TA after that. You start putting in all her final grades. You teach a few classes here and there. She consults you for help with project ideas and lesson plans. 

She knows all she has to do is ask nicely, throw in a bit of praise, and you’ll do anything she wants. 

You know she might be using it to her advantage. But the way you feel when she smiles at you and says “There’s my good girl” makes any reservations you have melt away. 

Halfway through the semester, right after midterms happen, you and Agatha are both in her classroom; you’re already getting a head start on homework for next week while Agatha is tapping a pen against her desk and staring at you. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” She asks. It touches you in a strange way, usually she doesn’t bring up life outside of the classroom unless you do it first. 

Maybe she’s starting to like you, too. You pull up your calendar. “Oh, I’m going out tomorrow night with some friends to celebrate surviving midterms. Probably just go to a bar or a club or something.” You glance at her, expecting to find Agatha nodding in approval at a typical college kid’s night out, but instead she looks pissed. 

“You don’t have work you have to do instead?” She says stiffly, and you wonder what caused this change in her mood. 

You shake your head. “No, we’re just getting back into material in my other classes and I’ve already finished grading my half of your midterms. You saw that I put them into the system, right?” 

“Yes,” Agatha admits and looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. “Be careful, then.” She gets up out of her chair, your coffee cup in hand, and leaves the room. 

It’s clear she doesn’t want you to be there when she comes back, so you pack your stuff up, feeling completely confused, and start to go back to your dorm. 

You walk through the student union, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and your stomach sinks when you see her laughing with one of her students and you grit your teeth as jealousy gnaws at your stomach. Her eyes flit to yours, somehow knowing that you’re there, and she gently pats the student’s arm with her hand, nothing more than a casual touch, but you think you might throw up. 

Why are you having this much of a reaction? You shouldn’t be storming off, there shouldn’t be tears stinging your eyes, but it feels like everything is crashing and burning around you. 

For some reason, it feels like Agatha is upset with you, disappointed even. It shouldn’t be a big deal – it shouldn’t, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. 

Should you go back and talk to her? Should you text her? Maybe you can make it up to her somehow, you’ll bring her two cups of coffee or volunteer to grade all her work, whatever it takes to get her to look at you with the same light she always did, with the same light she just gave one of her undergrads just now. You’re supposed to be special. Agatha is supposed to think that you’re special. 

You’re going crazy. The logical part in your brain knows it. You take deep breaths on your walk and try to calm yourself down, convince yourself that Agatha still likes you. She’s allowed to be nice to other people. It’s okay. 

And yet, anxious thoughts plague your mind the rest of the day, and you spend practically all of Saturday obsessing over every little thing that you could have possibly done wrong. It’s almost enough to make you cancel your plans with your friends, but then you realize that getting drunk might be exactly what you need. 

It’ll at least be a way to loosen up. This semester has been taking its toll on you, with the workload from your classes and all the extra stuff Agatha has you doing for her. Not that you’d complain about that or ever say no to her, but you do often end up skipping lunch and staying up late in your attempts to get your work for her done as quickly and as perfectly as possible. 

Yes, you think, a few drinks couldn’t hurt one bit. You fish around your closet until you find an acceptable outfit, feeling the best you have since yesterday morning, and you’re getting ready when your phone buzzes with a call. 

It’s Agatha. 

Immediately, your stomach erupts with butterflies and your heart starts to pound almost painfully in your chest. 

“Hello?” You ask after you raise the phone to your ear, clutching it close to you like you don’t want to miss a thing she says. 

There’s a moment of silence and you’re about to repeat yourself when she starts talking. “Hey, honey, listen, I’m really sorry to bother you right now, but do you think you could come to my room? I really need some help with the last of the midterms and then putting the grades in.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little crestfallen that this is all she’s calling about, and you weigh your options. You really want to go out with your friends, and some part of you thinks that maybe you can get her back after yesterday. Will she be as jealous as you were if you blow her off for your friends? “Can it wait until tomorrow or Monday? I’m about to go out.” 

Agatha gives a little hum. “I would really like all this stuff to be done tonight.” 

“Agatha, I–” You don’t know exactly where you’re going with it, you’re not sure exactly what to say. Why is it so hard to say no to her? You have every right to, you should toughen up and tell her that you can’t, you’ve already done enough for her, you’re not even supposed to be doing what she’s asking you to do.

“Please, honey?” She asks, so sincerely that it turns your insides to mush. “I just, I really need you right now. I really need your help.” 

You know what she’s doing. You know and it makes you really fucking angry, but also it makes you feel more wanted than you have in your entire life. “Will it take long?” You ask and listen to her relieved exhale. 

“An hour tops,” she promises, and you know it’ll take longer, but you tell her you’ll be there in ten minutes anyway. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, sweetheart. You’re my good girl.” She hangs up and you hate yourself a little for letting her control you so easily, but you still text your friends you’ll be late and head across campus. 

You’re still grappling with the conflicted feelings in your head when you push open the door to her classroom. Agatha’s sitting in her normal spot, legs kicked up on her desk, typing on the laptop in her lap. She looks up at you the second she hears you and smiles. Her eyes rake up and down your scantily-clad body in the dress you picked out to wear for the bar. 

“Sorry to drag you away from your plans, but thank you for coming,” she says. “I’m almost done, I just have a few more papers to grade. Thought it would go quicker if it was the two of us.” 

It’s almost enough to make you furious that she called you all the way over here for just a little bit of work that she easily could’ve done herself. “Yeah, of course,” you reply, voice taut with frustration. 

She either doesn’t notice, or just ignores it, and she holds out a small stack of completed midterms. You snatch them and sit down at your desk, stealing a pen from the cup of writing utensils near Agatha. You’ve graded enough of the exams that you don’t even need the answer key and you fly through marking them up before handing them back to her and standing up. 

“Is there anything else?” You ask cooly and she raises an eyebrow at you. It’s not that you intend to sound rude, it’s just the general annoyance at yourself and at her that leaks into your tone. 

“Running off so quickly?” She retorts lightly. “I thought you would stay for a bit, maybe we could order some food or something.” The look on her face shows that she’s expecting you to give in. 

But you scoff. “I have plans. You know I have plans. And for some reason, you made me come here and do work that you would have finished in ten minutes. And now you want to just ‘hang out?’ Why?” 

You’re expecting her to give up the ruse, the pretense. What you’re not expecting is for her to slump down in her chair, eyes falling to the ground. 

“Look, honey,” she starts, and panic spikes through you. Is something wrong? “I’ve just been really stressed lately, and you have been helping me with that so much. You’ve been such a valuable assistant to me, and I deeply apologize if I’ve been taking advantage of that in any way.” 

And now you feel like the worst person ever. “No, no, it’s okay,” you rush to say, and if you were paying closer attention, you might have noticed the glint in her eyes. “I’m happy to help, really. Is there anything else I can do to help you feel less stressed?” 

It’s like you’ve said the magic words. Her head springs up, a smirk on her face. “What all are you offering, sweetheart?” 

You gulp, suddenly feeling like you’re in dangerous territory. “Um, well, I could go get us something to eat, or take some work off your plate, something like that?” 

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, tossing the options around in her head. Even though you’re standing above her sitting in her chair, you feel like she’s looking down at you. “You really are such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You know, I really should reward you for all the things you do for me.” 

Is it possible for all the air to get sucked out of a room just from one sentence? “Oh,” you start, your throat suddenly dryer than it’s ever been in your life. Surely she can’t be implying… 

Agatha stands up so she’s nose to nose with you and she cups your cheek, running her thumb over your bottom lip. You shiver under her intense gaze and your pulse quickens. It’s like every nerve inside you is vibrating with anticipation. 

You never thought in a million years that this would be happening. You had hoped, of course. “Agatha,” you say softly and she smirks, tugging at your lip, eyes burning into yours. You can hardly see the blue in them. 

“You take such good care of me,” she purrs. “Let me return the favor, honey? It’ll be such good stress relief for me, too.” 

Nodding breathlessly, you can feel the fire stoking to life in your stomach and her hands trace down your body to grab onto your hips, pulling you firmly against her. 

“You’re such a good girl for me,” Agatha murmurs and your cheeks heat up. Can she see the flush creeping down your neck too? 

She leans in, ghosting her lips over yours, and you chase when she pulls away, needing to feel her. “Ah ah,” she tuts. “Why don’t you get on my desk?” 

You throb when she says that and she slides her laptop and papers out of the way so you can hop onto it. Her hands find your thighs, stroking up and down, enjoying the warmth of your skin. Your head is already spinning with want and you can feel the mess between your legs. 

Agatha comes back in and you think she’s going to kiss you, but her head drops down and she presses her lips to your chin. Your head rolls back, giving her more access, and your eyes close at the sensation. 

Her fingers inch more up your thighs, getting closer to the heat at the juncture and you wrap your hands around her shoulders to get her closer. You bury your fingers in her hair as her lips move down your neck and she sucks, making your hips jerk. There’s a livewire under your skin, connecting the pulse point she flicks her tongue against to your pussy and you’re dripping. 

“Agatha, please,” you groan and she chuckles, her hot breath on your skin making goosebumps appear. 

She scrapes her teeth against your naked collarbone. “Please what, honey? Use your words like a good girl.” 

Your hips roll to try and get her to touch you where you need her. “Please – I need you, please fuck me,” you splutter and she smirks into your neck. 

Her fingertips stroke up your underwear and she gasps when she feels how wet you are. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so needy. “God, sweetheart, is this what I do to you? I call you a good girl and you’re dripping for me.” 

“Like you don’t know,” you whine, struggling to get more stimulation. 

Agatha barks out a laugh. “Oh, I do know, honey. I see how much I affect you. How you’ll do anything I ask as long as I give you a little praise. I love it, sweetheart.” 

You should be insulted that she thinks you’re easy, that you just got confirmation she’s been taking advantage of your mommy issues, but you can’t find it in you to care when she slides your underwear over and buries two fingers in you up to the hilt. 

A gasp tears itself out of your throat when she drags her fingers out and thrusts back in, filling you deliciously. “Fuck,” you swear and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” she mumbles and starts to set a slow pace. Your walls grip her, trying to pull her in, and she reaches a thumb up to rub your clit. You clench around her fingers and moan obscenely. 

“Agatha, god, please,” you whimper. “I need more.”

Her grin is wolfish as she takes in the mess you’ve become. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she says, beginning to go faster, scissoring and twisting and curling her fingers, each movement making you sharply inhale. “You look so fucking pretty like this, honey, you’re taking me like such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.” The praise makes you keen, the tension quickly building in your stomach. You know you’re going to cum embarrassingly fast if she keeps that up. “Say it,” she demands and through the fog in your brain, you can just barely understand what she wants. 

“I’m your good girl,” you cry, hips meeting every thrust, fingers scrambling to hold onto her shoulders for leverage and stability. “Fuck, please, Agatha.” 

Her lips kiss down the expanse of your chest and it’s like fireworks lighting up. Each touch only pushes you further and further towards your release, and you need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life. 

“So fucking perfect for me,” Agatha mutters. Your walls pulse around her and she smirks to herself. She has you exactly where she wants you, exactly where she’s been wanting you. “You’re everything I ever wanted. My good girl.” 

“Yes, fuck,” you sob, getting closer, so close you can taste it, you just need a little more. 

Agatha shoves her fingers back inside you as far as they’ll go and curls them so she finds that spot and it makes you moan. She licks up your earlobe, swipes at your clit hard, and whispers, “Mommy’s good girl.” 

And it sends you straight into an orgasm, noises slipping from your lips as you ride through the most explosive one you’ve ever had. She breathes more praises into your ear while still gently moving her fingers inside you and it only prolongs the pleasure you feel. 

How did she know exactly what you needed? 

Once you come down completely, she peppers your face with kisses while you take focus on inhaling and exhaling to slow your racing heart. “You did so good for me, honey, so good,” she says and you smile weakly. 

You examine the professor and see the desire and heat on her face and you know what you have to do. Your fingers release the locks of her hair you were holding onto and fumble with her belt and she helps you undo it and she slides her pants down and kicks them over her shoes. 

Agatha steps back and before you can make a sound of protest, she slinks down into her chair and spreads her legs so you’re able to see the wetness through her underwear, and fuck, she’s almost completely soaked through the fabric. 

As if in a trance, you slide off the desk and drop to your knees in front of her, leaving soft bites up the skin of her inner thigh and getting immense pleasure from the red marks that litter once you’re done. 

You should’ve texted your friends that you weren’t going to make it to the bar at all tonight, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you toy with the hem of her panties and she lifts her ass off the seat so you can take them off. 

“Be a good girl for Mommy,” she says, putting a hand on your head, tangling her fingers in your hair, and leading you to between her legs. 

Your mouth waters at the smell of her and you moan at the taste when you first lick through her folds. Your eyes flick up to watch Agatha’s head loll against the back of the chair. 

“God,” she sighs, looking down appreciatively at you. “You really are the best assistant I could’ve asked for.”

[harknessxo]

Agatha Harkness x Reader- Secrets of Want

A/N: couldn‘t help myself when I saw Kathryn looking like an absolute queen at the golden globes🤍

Prompt: While Agatha is out one afternoon, you go to her basement and look at her magical items. Turns out there is one that intrigues you more than either of you would have expected.

tw/tags: nsfw, established relationship, female reader, soft top Agatha, kinda inexperienced shy reader, mommy kink, choking kink, enchanted strap, hair pulling, breeding, slight manipulation

word count: 3.8k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay, @laavaagirl

The afternoon sun illuminates your shared apartment with golden and red tones as you make your way through each room. Your girlfriend had left for some errands a little while ago and you tried everything to distract yourself, making sure to clean up and tidy, do the laundry and prepare dinner for tonight but you couldn‘t help the growing boredom, making you wish you would have accompanied Aggie now. As you pass through the hallway, the door to your girlfriends basement is slightly ajar and curiosity gets the better of you as you peak your head inside, seeing some faint lights and making your way down, assuming the brunette wasn‘t going to be home for another few hours.

This hadn‘t been the first time you are in her basement, her safe space where she works on her magic regularly. She had shown you everything once before, always wanting to include you as you had always been curious about her powers. You see some crystals on the table, countless plants and little vials with what you assume to be potions. Your fingers ghost over her bookshelfs, remembering she had told you not to touch those before as some are filled with dangerous magic. As you walk further down her workbench, your eyes linger on a drawer slightly ajar and something gets the better of you as you peak inside.

Your heart stops in your throat as you see the item, looking very much like a strap on, dark purple and several notes underneath it, incarnations by the looks of it. Your cheeks begin glowing red as your mind trails off, wondering why she would have this, what use it could be in combination with her magic. The two of you had taken things slow since you both started dating. Of course you had been intimate with each other but due to your shyness and the slight inexperience, you both kept things slow and gentle, never having talked about toys before or how to use them.

When you hear a faint noise upstairs, you slam it shut, sprinting upstairs before keeping the door exactly like it had been. You are just in time for the front door to unlock, Aggie stepping inside with several bags and kicking her shoes off before closing the door. With a smile you offer to take her bags as she smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. „Hi sweet girl, what have you been up to?“ she asks as you unpack the grocery bags with shaking hands, trying to hide your nerves about the discovery you had made. „Not much“ you mumble before she chuckles „Liar“ which causes your eyes to widen as you glance at her. „Look at the place, everything is so clean“ she praises which causes you to sigh in relief inaudibly.

The two of you begin unpacking together, filling the fridge with the things she had bought as well as stocking up some bathroom shelves. Your girlfriend‘s hands linger on you whenever you brush past her and you can‘t help but tense, the discovery still vivid in your mind. By the time you prepare dinner the brunette disappeared to her basment for a while, checking on some of her potions before returning quietly, sneaking her arms around you as she hugs you from behind. You jump, flinching at the sudden sensation, almost dropping the spoon you are using to stir the food. Her eyebrows furrow at your reaction before she whispers „Sorry baby, didn‘t mean to startle you“. You remain quiet before forcing a chuckle „It‘s okay Aggie“‘you reassure.

By the time the two of you are having dinner together, her eyes burn holes into you as your gaze is fixed on your plate, mind continuously trailing off, wondering why Agatha had the strap in her basement, whether she had been wanting to do it or whether she has used it in the past before, suddenly growing extremely insecure. And your girlfriend can tell, knowing you are often quiet and in your own little world but something wasn‘t right since she returned home and she could tell. Her eyebrows furrow in concern as she reaches for your hand, causing you to meet her eyes.

Her thumb brushes gently over your knuckles as her concerned gaze locks onto yours. „Sweetheart“ she begins softly, voice laced with worry. „What‘s going on? you‘ve been so quiet since I got home“. Her tone is warm, patient but is makes your chest tighten either way. You bite your lip, unsure how to respond, mind racing back to the discovery and guilt consuming you. „I“ you start but your voice betrays you as you look down unable to meet her eyes. „It‘s nothing Aggie, I‘m fine really“ you try but the brunette tilts her head slightly, brows knitting together. „That doesn‘t sound very convincing darling, talk to me“ she encourages as she moves her chair closer, her presence calming and yet making the anxiety in your chest grow.

You shake your head, pulling your hand back as your eyes sting with tears „I‘m sorry“ you whisper, voice barely above a whisper. „Sorry?“ Agatha questions, confusion flickering across her face as she reaches out again, fingers warm as they rest on your arm. „Whatever for my love?“ she asks. Your chest heaves with a shaky breath and as you finally look at her again, tears brim in your eyes. „I.. was bored earlier and went into your basement“ you admit, voice breaking slightly. „I didn‘t mean to snoop, the door was open and I was just curious but I shouldn‘t have looked I‘m sorry“. Agatha blinks the confusion away as her expression softens, understanding filling her features.

„Oh sweet girl“ she coos, voice filled with affection „Is that‘s whats been eating you up?“ she asks as you nod but bite your lip. „I saw… I saw something in the drawer“ you admit, cheeks burning red with embarrassment. „I shouldn‘t have touched it. I know you told me not to mess with things but I couldn‘t help it“ you admit. Her lips curl into a knowing smile as her thumbs brush over your cheeks, seeing the tears threatening to spill over. „Hey hey, look at me“ she ushers „I‘m not mad at you sweetheart, I don‘t care that you went down there. Besides I‘ve never been good at keeping you away from things you are curious about“ she smiles, causing you to giggle.

There is silence for a moment before you speak again „But.. that thing I found.. why do you have it?“ you ask and her eyes widen for a brief moment before a mischievous smile tugs at her lips. „Ah.. the strap?“ she murmurs, causing your cheeks to glow red. „So you found that drawer, huh?“. You nod again, not daring to look at her right now as you didn‘t mean to invade her privacy, curious nevertheless. „That thing you found sweetheart? it‘s enchanted.. I‘ve been working on it for you, actually“ she admits, causing your eyes to meet hers again. „For me?“ you ask a bit dumfounded as she nods, her thumb brushing over your hand again.

She nods, her smile softening „I wanted to wait until you are ready to talk about something lile that. It‘s not just an ordinary toy, sweet girl. It‘s designed to connect us both in ways you can‘t begin to imagine- emotionally, physically and magically. But I didn‘t want to push you into anything until you are comfortable darling“ she explains calmly.

The tone of her voice and the honesty in her eyes makes your throat tighten. „I see, I‘m sorry for going through your things, I should have waited“ you admit, causing for her eyes to soften as she pulls you into her arms. „Don‘t worry about it sweet girl, I could never stay mad at you“ she chuckles as you hold onto her, snuggling in the crook of her neck, the familiar scent causing your heart to feel warm as she kisses your cheek. „I love you sweet girl“ she whispers before you smile „I love you too Aggie“. The two of you remain in the warmth of each other before she pulls away a little „Now how about we finish this delicious meal you made? Wouldn‘t want it going to waste“ she smiles which causes you to nod and turn your attention back on your food.

A few days pass and you can‘t help but think about her words, the dark purple item and how much you had been thinking about it. She intrigued you and you found yourself googling, doing some research as you hadn‘t experimented with toys before, not alone and not with Agatha. But there was something in the way she had been treating you since the beginning of your relationship, so patient, so kind despite her sarcastic and sometimes dark demenour that makes you feel even more drawn to her over the next few days. You had made up your mind that morning, seeing her so sleepy and adorable as she held you, preparing yourself with a long bath and choosing the appropriate lingerie. As the two of you sit together after dinner, watching some TV your eyes can‘t help but travel to your girlfriend, her rings, her shirt and the lilac collar.

„Aggie?“ you whisper which causes her attention to shift from the tv to you. „Yes sweet girl?“ she asks and you nudge closer before meeting her eyes. „Can I have a cuddle?“ you murmur which causes her to chuckle before she opens her arms for you. Instead though, you crawl onto her lap, facing her as you craddle her, the sudden motion causing her to look at you in surprise. Your eyes meet hers before you kiss her, soft, gentle and tentative as she melts into you. „Aggie I‘m ready“ you whisper into her ear which causes her surprised and confused eyes to meet your own. „Are you sure?“ she asks in surprise before you nod, a reassuring smile on your face. „Wait in bed for me sweet darling“ she coos before she kisses you one more time, fiercer this time before you walk away, letting her retrieve the item from her basement.

As you wait with anticipation, your breathing hitches as you undress yourself, having bought some new lingerie in her favorite colour, hoping it would please your girlfriend. Carefully you undress yourself, making sure not too make too much noise as you lay on the bed in the purple bra and panties. Aggie walks into the room moments later, strap and harness in her hand as her eyes trail to you, smirk raising on her lips as she closes the door. „Wow“ she murmurs as she approaches, seeing your abandoned clothes on the floor and her eyes trailing down your body. „When did you get these?“ she asks surprised and your shy gaze meets hers as you admit you had bought them when she was out the other day. „You look breathtaking babygirl“ she coos as she abandons the item on the floor, crawling on top of you as her face hovers above yours.

„Are you sure you are ready for this? I‘m happy to wait for as long as you need“ she offers but you nod, almost impatiently as you want nothing more to experience than what she had talked about. „Okay sweetie, it may hurt a little“ she admits and you nod, having read about that bit too. „Um Aggie?“ you whisper which causes her to look at you „Can you tell me how this works?“ you ask carefully as she nods. „So“ she begins as she captures your lips in a fierce kiss. „Whenever you are ready I‘m going to put this on my hips and then it‘s up to you what you wanna do. I can wear it for a bit“ she explains as her mouth travels to your chest, moving your bra aside as she captures your nipple in her mouth. „You can get on your knees and suck it“ she whispers as she lets go off it with a pop. „I can make you feel good baby“ she explains before carrying on „The enchanment lets me feel everything too.. so the experience is- very authentic“ she teases.

You listen to her words carefully, eyes locked onto hers as her mouth travels down your body, leaving hot kisses and gentle marks. Now usually Agatha wasn‘t this sweet and gentle with you, the two of you having experimented quiet a bit but considering this was your first time, considering how your hands trembled and breathing hitched but your eyes betraying how much you wanted this, she can‘t help herself. „Aggie please“ you whine as her hand travels to the waistband of your underwear, slowly pushing it aside as she collects your wetness on her fingers. „God sweetie you are soaked“ she gasps in surprise, never having felt you this wet before.

„I want it Aggie, I‘m ready“ you whisper as you close your eyes, feeling her fingers rubbing circles on your clit and teasing your entrance. She can‘t help but chuckle at your desperation, slowly leaving you with a kiss before she gets off the bed and puts the harness around her hips, making sure everything is in place and the enchantments ready for you. The sight takes your breath away, watching as she removes every single piece of clothing, leaving her butt naked with nothing other than the purple strap tugged neatly between her waist. Something within you takes over as you get off the bed, getting on your knees as your eyes meet hers, her pupils blown at your actions. With slow and gentle movements you wrap your hands around it, of course not being oblivious as to how this works. As soon as your hand touches her she leaves out a gasp, the feeling much better than she could have anticipated, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

„Sweetie just like that“ she coos and before she can ask the question, you do what she told you earlier, opening your mouth as you suck the tip gently before taking some of her length into your mouth, sucking gently. Tears of bliss brim in her eyes as she sees you so obedient, on your knees for her sucking her off. „You‘re such a good girl“ she murmurs as her hands find your hair, slowly pushing you into her more as you supress the need to gag. Her taste is intoxicating and you tremble under the intensity of it all. Before too long, Agatha picks you up, putting you into her steady arms, causing you to gasp in surprise as she lowers you onto the bed. The older woman gets on her knees, capturing your lips into a more heated kiss as her tongue enters your mouth, tasting herself on you as she moans into you.

„Please Aggie“ you whimper again, body trembling with need for your girlfriend. „So desperate darling“ she teases before she sits up on her knees again, aligning herself careful with your entrance as she had pulled your panties off a while ago during your making out. Her eyes find yours, checking for any sign of hesitation but when she finds none, simply pure desperation and want, she leans down, her strap teasing your entrance as she whispers „If this gets too much you tell me. I don‘t care okay? you tell me. I just care about making you comfortable“ she says, her tone firm as she wants to make sure you understand her words. You nod before she stops you, her hands tugging under your chin ���Words sweetie“ and you quickly mumble a „Yes I promise“ before she smiles.

The older woman doesn‘t waste anymore time, hands balancing on your knees as she gently pushes the tip in, causing your eyes to close and your hands to grip the sheets. Just like she said the sensation feels a little painful at first but with how slow she is fucking you, you quickly adjust before the pure bliss takes over. Your eyes rip open as you lock eyes with her, hands gripping the sheets to the point your knuckles turning white as gutteral moans escape you, ones that you can‘t even hold in. She takes note of course, adjusting her pace as she begins sinking into you deeper, her eyes closing, moaning herself as she stretches you so well, feeling your walls pulsing around her cock.

„Aggie“ you cry out, the sensation taking over you as you see the lilac smoke in the air from the spells, feeling the magic tickle across your body and spread into every fiber of your being. Your chest heaves with pleasure and as Agatha collapses onto you, still deep inside you, her hips moving the perfect rhythm, something takes over you. Hungry lips clashing against her own as you your tongues dance together, the two of you taken over by the pure bliss of it all as your hips move together, pushing your hips forward to meet her. The room is filled with sloppy noises from your soaking pussy meeting her cock. „Oh god“ you cry out, tears of bliss streaming down your cheeks as Agatha‘s fingers gently wipe them.

„Are you“ she begins but stops herself when a gutteral moan escapes her „Doing okay swee- sweet girl“ she moans out of breath as you nod, the witch able to see that words aren‘t going to manage to escape you right now. „Aggie I need more“ you whine, feeling the pure bliss take over. She leans back, pulling out of you for only a second before turning you on your back, face hitting the pillow as you lift your ass to meet her. She goes on her knees again, the new angle letting her hit into you even harder and she is beyond surprised at how well you are taking her, the shy side suddenly completely gone as this was so much more than vanilla.

Her pupils are blown as she feels your walls pulsing even more, your juices beginning to leak down her cock. With a last effort her free hand wraps around your throat, moving your head forward to capture your neck in a kiss. She takes your hair, pulling at it as she fucks you at a ruthless pace from behind. „Mommy“ you whimper, barely above a whisper as your entire body is on fire, feeling her magic flowing through you, the strap hitting you so perfectly and her moans only bringing you closer. „Aggie I‘m“ you can‘t even finish before she whispers „Cum for mommy“ leaving no room for arguments as your head pushes further back, her hand tightly pulling your hair as screams errupt in the bedroom. Her name flows from you so naturally and the last waves of magic flow through your body.

The orgasm feels like drugs to you, Agatha pulling out just in time and covering your ass in her cum, the two of you panting messes as the ability to breathe leaves you for a while. By the time she collapses next to you, she sees how tense you are, head completely red before she quickly wipes your sweat and tears „Breathe sweetie“ she instructs and as her hand finds it‘s way to your chest, you remember to do just that, ragged breathing leaving your mouth. „That was“ she begins but you interrupt her „Amazing“. She snuggles closer to you, holding you in her arms for a while as you both come down from this. By the time she begins fiddling with the harness your hands find hers, stopping her movements.

Her eyebrows raise in surprise as you shake your head a little, a questioning pout on your face „My sweet girl wants to go again?“ she teases, usually the two of you keeping things slow and gentle, never doing more than one or two gos when being intimate. She watches in awe as you balance on your knees, adjusting her strap as you climb onto her and the imagine of seeing you on top, watching as you allign her dick with your soaked pussy, climbing on top and beginning to ride her, she‘s in complete bliss and awe. Your tits bounce as your hands grip hers, tight as you enter her fully again, riding her so perfectly almost as if the strap had taken away your shyness and every ounce of holding back you had shown before.

„God baby- you‘re so damn hot“ she mumbles as she holds your hips in place, moving into you at the perfect pace and causing that familiar feeling back in your bodies. The two of you can feel everything together, the magic flowing through your veins, stomachs tightening as the familiar urge to burst returns. „Mommy“ you moan, eyes closed and there is something about how she is having you right now that makes your girlfriend love you even more, having waited to get this side out of you as she knew it was there somewhere. The two of you only manage to keep the pace for bare seconds before you are both close, moans and screams errupting in the bedroom as all you can hear is the sound of skin slapping and your combined wetness.

„Aggie?“ you whine, opening your eyes to meet hers „Yes sweetie?“ she struggles through her ragged breathing as you whisper „Can you cum inside me please?“. Her puplis blow even more, hands travelling up your chest and finding your throat as she gently squeezes. „Oh god“ she rolls her eyes back, unable to believe this. „Do you want mommy to fill you up my angel?“ she manages to coo and you nod frantically before she picks up the pace, pushing your hips up and down her cock and before you know it, your orgasms wash over you and you feel her hot cum inside you. Neither of you think about moving, eventually you collapsing onto her chest but staying inside as she captures your lips in a kiss.

„I love you Aggie“ you whisper as you both catch your breathing and her smile returns quickly, proud and loving as she moves the sweat covered hair from your forehead. „I love you so much sweet girl“ she coos before you find each other‘s lips again, the same hunger and desperation. And if one thing was for sure, neither of you wanted this to stop and as Aggie begins moving slowly again you almost feel like cumming again. And the two of you knew this was going to be a long night, the woman having left her door and the drawer ajar for a purpose of course and she couldn‘t be more prouder of you for tonight. And you couldn‘t get enough, the taste of her, the feel and filling you with her cum like an addiction, intoxicating you and driving you crazy, crazy for your Aggie.

[harknessxo]

Professor Harkness

Paring: Darkish!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha is a very attractive but strict Professor in your College. You somehow manage to keep up with her without seducing her like many students tried but failed to, which makes her take an interest in you.

Warnings; spanking, fingering, cunnilingus, professor kink?

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: Haven’t posted in quite a bit, my bad!!! This is lowkey ass but I hope you like it!

This was your first year of college. You lived in Eastview most of your life but chose to go to Westview college when you got a full ride scholarship. It was scary at first, moving away from home, away from your parents but you got a new start.

As you got comfortable in your new environment, you had asked around about your teachers to know what to expect from them and everyone told you they were chill except for one, Professor Harkness. Many of the people you asked said she was a bitch, was way too strict, acted like she had a stick up her ass but “at least she was hot.” ‘Lucky me,’ you thought. You later figured out you had her once a week on Wednesdays. At least you only had to deal with her one day a week.

Your first day soon approached, your teachers all seemed very easygoing and understanding which only made you more nervous to meet the infamous Professor Harkness. Wednesday rolled around and you woke up nice and early to get ready. You wanted to make a good first impression, well, at least attempt to.

You were the first student to show up to the lecture hall. You took a seat at the very front, you liked to be able to hear everything your teachers said. After about five minutes, more students strolled in, filling up all the seats and finally, in all her glory, she walked in last. They weren’t lying when they said she was hot.

She walked to the front of the room, carrying a stack of papers and a bag. She placed the stack on the podium and began to set up for class. She didn’t bother addressing the class until the bell rang.

“Good morning everyone. I’m Professor Harkness and you will address me as such, no ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs,’” she picked up the stack she had previously placed on her desk and started passing the papers out, “This is my syllabus. My email and office hours and at the top, if you have any questions, competent questions I mean, feel free to reach out. The first section talks about my deadlines-“ she was suddenly interrupted by a tardy student knocking on the door.

Her expression turned from somewhat welcoming to anger in seconds. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly frustrated by the tardy student, then opened the door.

“Don’t bother coming back to this class.” She stated in a cold tone before shutting the door on the student’s face. She continued on going over her rules and expectations, which were extremely high but nothing you couldn’t handle, like nothing happened.

This was going to be fun.

As the weeks went on, less and less people remained in her class either because they couldn’t handle it or they got kicked out. Many tried to seduce their way to an A but Professor Harkness was not having any of it. You found it embarrassing how the boys tried to flirt with her, sometimes even girls.

She dealt with the various attempts made to seduce her in the most professional ways, or unprofessional too, she didn’t seem to care. She would ignore their comments or straight up insult them, she had no time to deal with idiots.

You found it hot. You might have thought about her treating you just like that once or twice while getting yourself off, but of course you would never admit it or tell anyone. You were too scared to approach her anyway. She would most likely report you if she ever heard that you found her strict and harsh ways “hot”.

She didn’t seem to notice your presence much until she started noticing the efforts you put into her class. She couldn’t remember the last time any of her students were competent enough to reach the bare minimum of her expectations. She was not one to have a soft spot for students yet she found herself paying more attention to you in particular, she found it amusing how serious you were about her class.

You didn’t seem to notice her attraction at all. You didn’t notice the hungry looks or the way she would speak just a bit softer towards you if you raised your hand in class. Well, you did but you thought you were imagining things or that she was just in a good mood. You never actually approached her one on one. You thought she was very intimidating plus you always understood her material and never had to approach her. That was until now.

She had assigned a project and you couldn’t seem to understand a specific part of it so when the class was over and everyone strolled out, you stayed behind.

“Professor Harkness?” You called out nervously. She looked up from her papers and saw you still sitting in the classroom, the rest of the students were gone.

“Ah, Y/n.” She spoke your name, which honestly kinda surprised you. She set down her pen and stood up from her desk, walking over to you and leaned against the edge of the desk.

“You need something?”

“Y-yeah. I don’t mean to be annoying, I know you said if we had any questions, to reach you through email or visit you during office hours but I promise this is quick.” You rambled on, hoping she wouldn’t curse you out like she did other students. To your surprise, she simply nodded for you to go on.

“I can’t seem to understand this part of the project,” you pointed to a specific part of the rubric she gave out, “Could you explain further please?” She leaned over your desk to look at the rubric, her body hovering over yours. She studied the part you were pointing at, taking note of your struggle.

“Ah, I see. That part can be a bit tricky for some,” she proceeded to explain the section in more depth, her eyes scanning your features as you took in her every word. She made sure you were understanding every word she said, her gaze never leaving your face as she watched your expressions. It was almost addicting how attentive you were.

“Oh okay. That makes so much more sense now, thank you Professor Harkness. I hope it wasn’t a bother.” She smirked at your response, amused by how polite you were.

“It’s no bother at all, Y/n.” She said, straightening up and leaning against the desk again.

“But, since you’re still here…” she turned to a stack of archives on her desk, “Would you be a sweetheart and help me take these to my office?”

“Of course!” you agreed immediately. You took half of the stack while she took the other half and led you to her office. The office was spacious and organized. She had shelves full of books, papers and other things. A large desk was displayed in the middle of the room, along with a comfortable looking couch against the wall and a chair across from it. She gestured to the chair as she set her half of the archives down on her desk.

“Set those down here, please.” You carefully placed the stack on her desk. She walked over to her chair and sat down, watching you set the archives down with a satisfied smile.

“Is there anything else you need, professor?” You asked, sweetly.

“No, that’s all for now. But I have a question for you, Y/n.”

“What is it?” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours as she studied your expression.

“You’re one of my best students, if not the best. You’re not like the other idiots who just show up to class and fail every test. You actually care about the material, don’t you?”

“Mhm…” you hummed in response, trying to figure out what she was getting at. She chuckled softly, crossing her legs.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint me then, would you?”

“O-of course not.” She smirked at your stutter, finding it adorable how nervous you seemed.

“Good. You may go now. Have a good day, hon.” Your cheeks flushed at the pet name.

“H-have a good day, professor.” She watched as you left her office, a smirk still on her face. She couldn’t help but think about how cute you were when you blushed like that.

—

As the semester went on, Agatha tested you. She would give you material that was harder than the rest to see how you would do and you always came out on top. Rarely did you ever ask for help, nine times out of ten you could handle yourself. She was proud of you but she felt the need to punish you for something. To make you submit to her in a way, so when midterms began and you took her exam, she failed you on purpose.

When you got your grade back, you were stunned. You had studied your ass off night after night to prepare for it and you still somehow failed. This could potentially jeopardize your scholarship and not only that but you let down Agatha. You desperately needed her approval for some reason and you knew she would most likely not give you a chance to retake it but you chose to test your luck.

“Professor Harkness?” You said meekly as you strode into her office. It was six in the afternoon so mostly everyone had already gone home except for her apparently even though it was way past her office hours. She looked up from her desk, a small smirk on her face when she saw you. It was like she was expecting you.

“Yes, Y/n? Come in, close the door behind you.” You did as she asked.

“I um…I wanted to talk about my test score. I know you’re not one to give second chances but I really need to retake it. I studied so hard for it and this could put my scholarship at risk.” You pleaded with her. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and looking at you with a cold expression.

“I was so disappointed when I graded your test, Y/n,” she stood up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the desk where you were, “But the fact is that you failed. I can’t just give you a second chance. It’s unfair to the other students who work just as hard as you.” Her words hurt you to your core. You let your favorite teacher down and now she was disappointed in you.

“Please, professor! I’ll do anything! I want to make you proud again.” You pleaded, desperately needing her approval. She stepped closer to you, standing in front of you now. She tilted your chin up with her fingers, making you look at her.

“Anything, huh?”

“Y-yes…” She smirked again, looking into your eyes and noticing the desperation in them. She could see how much you needed her approval, it was like you were addicted to it.

“I think there’s a way you can make it up to me…”

“Tell me…please?” You leaned further into her touch. She chuckled at your eagerness, running her thumb across your lower lip as she looked down at you.

“It’s going to be quite the task, darling. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Anything just- please? I’ll be a good girl.” You almost sobbed. She shushed you, pulling you closer by your chin.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re already such a good girl. So eager to please…I can’t wait to see how well you can do this for me.” She pressed her lips against yours and you let her. You let her take control and so as she pleased.

She explored every inch of your mouth and moved her hand to grip at the nape of your neck. She roughly pulled your head back with a grin plastered on her face. In one quick motion, she manhandled you to bend over her desk. A pathetic moan left your lips when she did so.

She chuckled darkly at the sound, enjoying the way you bent over for her. She pushed everything off her desk with one arm, making a loud thud as it all fell to the floor.

“You want to be a good girl for me don’t you?” you nodded your head, “Then you will take this punishment for me and if you do good, I will change your grade on your test, is that a deal?”

“D-deal.” She smirked and moved her hand from your neck to your back, gently running her hand down your spine. She then pulled your hips back, pressing them against her.

“Good girl…” She lifted the hem of the skirt you were wearing and admired the lacy purple panties you had chosen to wear. Her eyes darkened as she ran her fingers over the lace.

Sometimes, when you would start daydreaming in class while staring at her beauty, you noticed she would always wear something purple. You guessed it was her favorite color and therefore wore purple panties. Of course, you didn’t expect for things to turn out this way but good thing you did.

She was quite pleased with your choice. It was almost like you were a perfect little doll for her, a toy to play with and do as she pleased. She knew you would submit to her easily and it was going to be so much fun breaking you in.

“Look at you, already being a tease for me even before I’ve begun. You look so pretty in my color, honey.” You blushed at her compliment and gasped when she started sliding the fabric off until it reached your ankles, leaving you completely bare before her.

She ran her hands up your bare thighs and ass, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. She admired the way your body reacted to her every touch, she loved how easily she could rile you up.

“I’m going to give you ten spankings and you’re going to take them like a good girl, right?”

“Yes, professor…” you whimpered. She hummed in approval, her hands still roaming your thighs. She leaned down and whispered in your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

“Stay nice and still for me. If you move too much, I’ll have to punish you even more. Understood?”

“Understood.” She smiled at your obedience and straightened up. She raised her hand and brought it down on your right cheek, leaving a red handprint behind.

“Count them for me, darling.”

“One…” She hummed again, satisfied with your response. She continued her onslaught of smacks, each one harder than the last. By the time she reached ten, your skin was red and sensitive, stinging from her touch. Tears had managed to escape your eyes and your breathing was ragged.

She rubbed her hands over your stinging cheeks, admiring her handiwork. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lower back, her lips gently brushing against your skin.

“You did so well, darling. You took your punishment so well for me…such a good girl.”

“T-thank you, professor…” you sniffled. She smiled against your skin, her hands still rubbing soothing circles into your flesh.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you. Maybe I should reward you…” You felt your own arousal pool down your thighs at the thought of what kind of reward she meant.

“A r-reward?” She chuckled as she noticed the way you were reacting, noticing the way you got wet at the mere thought of a reward.

“Mhm…you look like you really want one, honey.”

“P-please? I’ve been so good!”

“I know you have, sweetheart. You’ve been such a good little toy for me…” She hummed in agreement, her hands slowly moving from your ass to your folds, dipping her fingers in your wetness. You shuddered at her touch, moaning as she spread your juices all over your lips. She smirked at the sound of your moans, enjoying the way your body reacted to her every touch. She circled your clit with her thumb, teasing you as she spoke.

“Look at you, so desperate and needy. You really do want a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I need it!” She chuckled darkly, continuing to toy with your sensitive bundle of nerves as she spoke. She leaned closer to your ear, her voice a low whisper.

“Yeah? You need it? You need your professor to fuck you senseless?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Her smirk widened at your desperate pleas.

“Such a good girl…” She removed her hand from your cunt, bringing it up to your lips.

“Open your mouth.” You opened your mouth almost immediately, allowing her to slide her arousal coated fingers inside. She pushed her fingers into your mouth, her eyes darkening as she watched you suck on them.

“That’s it, pet. Taste yourself for me…” She pulled them out slowly, a string of saliva connecting them to your lips. She then roughly pulled your head back by your hair and crashed her lips against yours. You moaned shamelessly against her lips. She kissed you passionately, her tongue exploring every inch of your mouth again as she held you in place all while tasting you as well.

“You taste sweeter than I imagined.” That made you even wetter. The fact that she’d been thinking about you as much as you made you feel warm inside.

She could tell that you were getting even more turned on by her words, and she loved it. She knew just how to push your buttons and make you squirm for her. She pulled away from the kiss, a grin on her face as she looked at you with hungry eyes.

“You’re so responsive, darling. It’s adorable.” You gasped loudly when she slipped her fingers inside you without warning, thrusting them in and out without letting you adjust. She chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you gasped and moaned for her. She started to pump her fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, curling them against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Look at you, taking my fingers so well. You’re so tight, sweetheart…”

“Thank- thank you!” you stuttered out, overwhelmed with pleasure. She hummed in amusement, enjoying the way you were struggling to form coherent sentences.

“Such a polite little toy…I love how easily you unravel under me…”

“Only- fuck- only for you, professor!” She smiled, her fingers continuing to move inside you at a relentless pace. She leaned down and began kissing and biting your neck, leaving marks all over your skin.

“That’s right, only for me. You belong to me, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes! I belong to you!” You panted out. She let out a low growl against your neck, her possessive nature coming out.

“Good girl…now cum for me. Cum for your professor…” her mouth soon joined her finger, sucking mercilessly at your clit, sending you over the edge. You had to bite down on your hand to withhold the loud moan that almost left your lips as you came. Mostly everyone was gone but there were still janitors and such. You didn’t want to get caught.

She kept her mouth on you, helping you ride out your orgasm. She smirked against your skin, amused by your attempts to be quiet.

“Oh, pet…you’re trying so hard to be quiet, but I can see how much you’re struggling.”

“It felt so- so good…” you muttered, tiredly. She pulled her fingers out of you and licked them clean, looking at you with a satisfied expression.

“I know, hon. You did so well for me…” she reached down and pulled your panties back up. She gently patted your thigh once your panties were back in place, her eyes raking over your body with a possessive gleam.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up. We can’t have you walking around with cum on your thighs, can we?”

“Mhmm…” you hummed, too fucked out to form real words. She chuckled and picked you up, carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom in her office.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this, all dazed and fucked out.” She placed you on the sink countertop and used a wet cloth to wipe down your inner thighs. She was gentle as she cleaned you up, making sure to remove any evidence of your encounter. She smirked as she looked at your face, noticing how you were still coming down from your high.

“There we go, all clean and presentable again.”

“Are you changing my test grade?” You asked shyly. She chuckled and shook her head, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to look at her.

“Well, of course. We made a deal and you even got a reward out of it. Now, run along. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression.”

“Yes, ma’am.” you hopped off the counter and almost ran out of her office. Did that really just happen? Did you let your professor fuck you senseless? God, you were a mess.

She watched you leave, a satisfied smirk on her face. She chuckled to herself as she sat down at her desk, picking up a pen and grading papers as if nothing had happened.

“See you in class, pet.”

Taglist; @polaris-likethestar @wandasreallover @oh-no-bummer @phixiesworld @eliscannotdance @venomhimbo @aka-patsy @scoliobean @chlondykebar @marvelwomenarehot0 @mgruiz @daenerys713

[harknessxo]

⊹₊⟡⋆ THE EMPRESS

(teacher!)lilia calderu x gn!reader

✮⋆˙summary

lilia was trying to teach you card reading, but you are constantly distracted. she makes it her mission to find out what distracts you so much and punish you accordingly.

✮⋆˙trigger warnings

spanking (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), mommy kink, some degradation

✮⋆˙author’s note

hey, starling here! so this is my second post and i never thought my little story about wanda would blow up as much as it did! thank you for all the likes and reblogs, and followers! before i posted, i had three and now i have 60!

i’m working on the second part to my wanda story, meanwhile, enjoy this if you like :)

in this story, i tried to make the reader gender neutral, i hope that’s the right term. i mean, obviously the reader is described with having female body parts, but i kept the pet names gender neutral. for my non binary enjoyers :3 let me know what you think, please! i do not want to offend anyone or stuff, and decided to try it out.

you had never known hands could be this attractive. sure, you’ve read of it. random people in the internet thirsting about a celebrity’s, or a movie characters hands but in real life? it had seemed odd, weird even but right now, you understood it all.

you were sitting across from lilia, who was somewhat of your teacher. you had come into her little store and asked if she could give you instructions on tarot reading and lilia had decided to just take you under her wing, because she had enough time, how she put it.

you think she just wanted to spend time with someone.

whatever words lilia was explaining to you, you were too focused on something else. the way her hands, those veiny, slender hands were moving around the tarot board. she was probably explaining to you which card belonged where, which place holder symbolised what — but your mind was completely fixed in those hands.

her slender, long fingers, adorned by short, manicured nails. her pretty, chunky rings that fit her overall style and personality. they did something to you. your stomach churned, your legs clenched together.

god, how would those hands feel on your skin? wrapped around your throat. her nails gently raking up and down on your thighs before parting them. her fingers brushing through your folds, her cold rings making contact with your clit and —

“are you even listening to me right now?”, lilia’s soft but stern voice rings out, affectively cutting of whatever imagery had been playing in your head.

until you look up and meet those big, brown puppy eyes of hers. the once that make you want to fall on your knees and beg for forgiveness, even though you haven’t done anything. the one’s that make you wnat to do anything she asks of you.

“sweatheart”, lilia huffs, her brows furrowing a little. “answer me”

god. did she even know what she was doing to you? you wet your dry lips and swallow, hoping to smoothen your hoarse throat. you shift on your chair, trying to ease some tension and cross your legs.

“i- of course i was listening, lilia”

her eyes narrow at you. “you know i don’t like liars, sweatheart”, she drawles, her hands resting on the divination table and lilia leans forward a little. “spit it out. now”

her commanding tone sends a shiver down your back and you you have to gulp. shit. “i was-“

“starring at my hands like a pathetic whore?”

you flinch, eyes widening at her cross language. you immediately sit up straighter, heart beating against your ribcage. “no, i was -“

“lying? again?”, lilia sharply cuts you off. “maybe i ought to teach you a lesson, hu?”

she rounds the divination table and comes to a stip before you, shifting your chair effortlessly with her foot so you’re facing her. she’s towering over your sitting form, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.

“now, what to do with such a naughty girl”, she mutters. her eyes raking up and down your body, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“lilia, i-“, you attempt to save yourself. but do you truly want to? no.

“bend over the table”, her voice is low and commanding, it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“what?”, you ask — but like a puppet, do as asked. you bend over the divination table, it’s cold edge diggig into your stomach.

lilia studies your form for a few moments, before her hands cone up to gently caress your butt. “i think today you need a different lesson taught”, she mutters, more to herself than you.

“one in obedience”

god, you could have moaned on the spot and maybe you would have, had her hand not come crashing down on your butt.

a pained cry falls over your lips, but lilia immediately shushes you with a gentle rub on your butt and a kiss to your cheek.

„sh, sweetling“, she mumbles, her lips brushing against your cheek. her breath is hot on your blushing cheeks. „be a good pet for me and stay still“

a shiver runs down your body and you weakly nod. your grab the edges of the divination table, trying to ground yourself while lilia‘s hand continues to rub soothing circles over your butt.

„i‘m thinking 6 more spanks“, lilia says softly, a contemplative undertone in her voice. „one for each card placement you didn’t listen to me explain“

it seems — fair.

you can’t really argue with her logic, and you can’t exactly voice your approval, because her palm meets your butt again.

a mix between a moan and a pained groan leaves your lips and you close your eyes.

„is that alright, my darling?“

god, how you love her concern, her eagerness to punish you but still be nice. it makes you rub your legs together. „t‘is okay“, you weakly mutter, which earns you another kiss on the cheek.

„that‘s a good pet“, lilia praises soflty and spanks your butt again.

that was three. so four more to go. god, you can’t wait. you‘re already so wet, it’s embarrassing. what will lilia do with you, once she‘s done with your punishment? will she fuck you? or leave you high and dry?

another spank cuts of your thought process. it was harder than the others, but lilia immediately soothed you by gently caressing your behind.

„there you go again“, lilia huffs, her brows furrowed in irritation. „your little mind wandering off when you should be paying attention to me“

„sorr-”, your apology ends in a moan, as lilia‘s harsh palm connects a fifth time with your behind.

„sorry won’t cut it, darling“, she huffs firmly. „where does your mind wander off to, hm? tell me, pretty pet“

lilia rubs her hand in circles over your butt and when you hesitate to speak up, the sixth slap hits you — dangerously close to your center.

„i said tell me, brat“, her hand is in your hair and pulling your head back. it’s surprisingly firm but gentle — like everything lila does.

you decide you don’t want to try and push her limits. today, at least. who knows, maybe this little incident will happen again. for now, you‘ll enjoy what you‘re getting.

you clear your throat before you speak. „i‘m thinking about you fucking me“

it was a blunt, breathless statement. which earned you a low chuckle and your last spank — right on your core.

it was softer than the others, but it still made you flinch and an immediate moan slip out.

“oh do you now?”, lilia purrs and leans forward, her chest brushing against your back. her hand still rests on your core, gently rubbing circles over your clothes. “well that can be arranged, darling”

was this a dream? or were you finally winning in life?

lilia sneaks her arm around your waist and swiftly undoes the button of your pants, which makes you realise she’s definitely done this countless of times before.

“if you need me to stop or slow down at any time during this, you tell me, alright?”, lilia asks, no, demands of you.

you let out a shuddering breath and nod. “yes lilia”

a smirk tugs at lilia’s lips and she pulls down your pants, along with your soaked underwear. “such a good pet”, she mumbles, her eyes fixed on your glistening core.

“who knew a little spanking could get you this wet?”, she muses and slides two of her fingers through your wet folds, parting them with a soft sound.

a moan leaves your lips and lean your burning forehead against the cold divination table. “lilia please”, you moan pathetically.

a gentle chuckle rings out and lilia’s fingers brush against your clit, making you jolt. “so needy, my sweet pet”, lilia tuts. “but i suppose you deserve a reward after taking your punishment so well”

you don’t think anything has ever fet so deliciously good, as her veiny fingers breaching past your wet entrance. you’ve never been turned into a moaning mess so quickly, as with her fingers gently moving in and out of you.

lilia’s breath is heavy in your ear as she pumps two of her fingers in and out. her pace is steady, meant to reward and get you off.

“god- fuck”, you moan, which earns you a chuckle.

“such a good pet, hm?”, lilia murmurs into your ear and her other hand sneaks around your waist to start gently toying with your clit.

you moan loudly and arch into her touch. “yes- lilila please-“

lilia groans into your ear, which makes your brain even fussier than it already is. “that’s it, just like that”, lilia whispers and starts to pepper your neck with kisses.

“are you going to cum for me, pretty? yeah?”, she whispers, her fingers plunging in and out of you.

“gonna cum on my fingers?”, lilia continues, wanting to talk you through it. “that’s a good pet, so pretty obedient for me”

you whimper and whine, your hips erratically moving against her hand to feel her even deeper, needing to cum. “please, please, pretty please lilia”

“that’s mommy for you, darling”

that’s all you need. your stomach coils together, your back arches into her and you cry out. “oh god, oh- mommy!”

“there you go, good pet, good pet”, lilia whispers and helps you ride out your orgasm with languid strokes. she detaches her hand from your clit and slows down her fingers, before gently pulling out.

you whimper at the empty feeling, your fussy brain wanting more of her.

lilia softly helps you move from the table and gathers you in her arms. she sits down on the chair you’ve sat in before and pulls you on her lap.

the older witch hooks your legs over the arms of the chair and begins stroking your pussy again. her movements are slow and steady.

you whine and lean against her, your head wanting to nestle in her neck, but her disapproving tut stops you. “look at the table, my darling”, she orders, her hands slowly parting your folds again.

“you’re going to listen and watch as i explain the cards this time, alright?”

“yes mommy”, you say shakily, willing your hips not to thrust upwards into her touch. “m gonna listen”

“such a good pet”, lilia praises, a proud undertone in her voice.

she pulls out a random card of her tarot deck and holds it in front of you, so you can see it. meanwhile, she gingerly runs her fingers up and down your slit, rubs your clit every now and then, but other than that, doesn’t do anything.

she’s teasing you and you don’t know how much of the cards you’ll recognise with her maddening touches.

“what’s this card, darling?”, she asks and you can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

“the empress”, you choke out.

[harknessxo]

I love your Agatha stories!! I was wondering of you could write something where reader is the daughter of one of detective Agnes’ coworkers, who she doesn’t get along with, and they met in one of those cop friends reunion. She sees reader in the pool and can’t help but be infatuated by them, and when she discovers who reader’s father is, her needs to defile reader just increases😈

may have been a lil drunk finishing this so hopefully there's not too many mistakes lol

(Not so) Good girl, bad cop

Detective Agnes meets the attractive daughter of her annoying partner at the annual Westview PD Christmas party and decides that she has to have her

Word count: 3300

Warnings: bratty reader, top agatha, fingering, virgin reader, teasing, degradation, daddy kink, implied oral

The house of Agnes’s partner, Gary, is filled with food, music, and merriment for the annual Westview Police Department Christmas party. 

And yet, Agnes would rather be anywhere else. She makes a mental list of the places she wishes she could be instead, the bottom of a ditch making an appearance surprisingly high up. 

Her kiss-ass partner had practically begged Chief to let him throw it at his house, always trying to get ahead some way or another. 

Agnes can’t stand him. 

His smug little face when he took credit for one of her solves. The way he would mansplain things to her. The way he would take his fucking shoes off and put his feet up on desk. 

But she puts on a fake smile and hands him the obligatory bottle of wine when she walks into the home. 

“Ah, Agnes, there you are!” He booms and claps her on the shoulder. She grits her teeth before she removes his hand herself. She grunts as a way of greeting and steps right past him further into the foyer. 

Detectives and officers wave as she passes through the crowd of people to go find a corner to stand in and drink a beer. Everyone seems to be having a good time and she hates it. Hates to see Gary win like this. 

Her bored eyes flit through to find someone interesting enough to talk to, and that’s when she catches sight of someone outside. 

More specifically, a girl in the pool. You. 

Agnes’s forehead creases. All she can see is your shoulders and head and she turns her body fully to the sliding glass door to observe. 

You seem to just be floating around but there’s something about you that has her transfixed. 

Maybe it’s your wet hair matted around your face, or your nose and cheekbones, or the color of your eyes that she can see from inside. 

And that mouth, god. Agnes groans inwardly. What it must be like to kiss those pretty lips. 

Or for them to be elsewhere. 

“Hey, Agnes, Merry Christmas!” Agnes jolts out of her trance to find Chief standing next to her. 

“Same to you,” she says gruffly and then lifts her hand with the beer to point at you. “Who is that?” 

“Oh, that’s Gary’s daughter, Y/N. She’s home from freshman year of college. Met her a few times,” he says disinterestedly. 

But Agnes feels a thrill run through her. She didn’t know Gary had a daughter. Now, instead of just wanting an unknown person’s mouth on her, she wants Gary’s daughter’s mouth on her. The son of a bitch may have the favor of the entire Westview PD, but she is surely going to have you. 

And then you wade through the water to the side of the pool and push yourself out of it and Agnes almost moans at the way your muscles flex in your arms. 

And then she’s able to take all of you in. 

Your skimpy purple two-piece, the low cut of the top and how it shows significant cleavage, and the bottoms that rest just above the hip bones that Agnes wants to scrape her teeth against. 

She barely notices Chief walking away before making the executive decision to shove open the door and go talk to Gary’s daughter. 

You’re toweling off next to your pile of clothes on the patio table when you hear someone stepping out onto the back deck. You figure it’s just your dad, maybe coming to yell at you for being outside swimming instead of “mingling with the guests” like he wanted. 

But you hate these parties, having been to enough of them your whole life. Cops were boring and most of them had the biggest superiority complexes you’d ever seen. 

So you said fuck it and put on your swim suit. 

Footsteps get closer to you and you glance back, bracing for the lecture. 

But it’s not your dad. 

It’s Detective Agnes, his partner. 

You had seen her a few times at cop events you’d been forced into going to, but you had never spoken to her. You’re not sure she actually knows who you are.

However, you certainly know her. 

Her frizzy dark hair. Her piercing blue eyes. The way her lips pursed and her veiny hands would grip onto her belt. 

She is one of the hottest women you’ve ever seen. 

And she came wearing a suit tonight, hair tied back in a ponytail: black pants and a blazer over a neatly tucked in white button-down shirt that makes you want to drop to your knees. And a fucking tie, is she serious. 

The things you want her to do to you…god. Even though you’d only seen her from afar a few times, you still spent quite a few nights imagining her, hand between your legs. 

“Come to swim?” You ask when she finally gets close to you. She snorts and gives you a once-over. 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

You shrug even though the windy December air is brutally harsh against your bare wet skin. The urge to shiver is almost all-consuming, but with her standing this close to you, there’s a faint warmth in your stomach distracting you. 

You know that your body is reacting, however, and you twist your hair up into the towel so that Agnes can see your nipples poking through your top, harder than glass. Her eyes dart down, almost too fast to catch, but the way she gulps and clenches her teeth gives her away. 

“Maybe a little,” you answer. “Just need a way to warm up.” It sounds just as suggestive as you intend it and you can see her eyes darken. 

“Putting some clothes on would surely help,” she suggests and you pout mockingly but pull your long sleeve shirt over your head and wrap the towel around your waist. “Better?” 

You hum in agreement. “Did my dad send you out here? I don’t need a babysitter, you know.” 

She chuckles like something’s funny. “No, he didn’t, but are you sure you don’t? You would’ve caught hypothermia if it weren’t for me.”

“Wow,” you say, voice sickly sweet. “I had no idea my dad’s partner was a better daddy than he is. Look at you watching out for me.” You smirk, hearing her breath catch in her throat. 

But then Agnes scoffs. “And I had no idea my partner’s daughter was such a brat.” It’s impossible to miss the spark that goes straight to your cunt when she calls you that and you simper. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Detective?” You’re not sure where this boldness is coming from, but you like it and you think she likes it, too. 

Agnes growls and takes a step closer to you. You stand your ground, daring her with your eyes. 

“Your lips are blue, doll. The only thing I’m ‘gonna do about it’ is get your ass inside so your father doesn’t kill me when you freeze on my watch.” Her hand clasps your bicep and she practically hauls you back towards the door. 

“You’re really strong,” you remark, enjoying the way her grip tightens around you. “Do you work out?” You do mean for it to sound sexier, like a smooth pick-up line, but with the way your teeth have started chattering, it sounds like you’re slurring and you barely get the words out. She slides open the door and pushes you inside, the balmy air instantly making you feel better. 

“Go take a shower,” she tells you. 

You bite your bottom lip and bat your eyelashes. “Why don’t you come join me? That would really warm me up.” You toy with the edge of her tie, pulling on it ever so slightly and looking up at her through your eyelashes.

“You’re shameless, aren’t you?” She hisses, the vein in her forehead throbbing. “Throwing yourself at anyone who gives you a little attention, begging to be put in your place. Are you like this with all the girls at college, too? Getting fucked by a new one every night?”

You lean in closer so only she can hear you. “I’m a virgin,” you whisper in her ear, blush spreading to your cheeks, and she sharply inhales, almost giving into you right there. She’s going to take Gary’s daughter’s virginity. You can see her neck taunt with restraint and she steps back to put some space between you, almost all the blue in her eyes being swallowed up by her pupils. 

“Go upstairs and take a shower now,” she orders, her voice hard. 

“And then what?” 

She rolls her eyes. “If you can behave, maybe you’ll get a reward.” Heat flares through you and you take the stairs two at a time and shower faster than you ever have before. 

When you come back down, clad in a short red dress, you immediately find Agnes standing alone and out of sight in the hallway to the guest room. You join her, momentarily getting distracted by her loosened tie and blazer rolled up to her forearms. 

“I did it,” you say, voice coming out hushed. She rakes her eyes over you, smirking appreciatively. 

“So you did,” she agrees. “I’m glad you can follow simple directions.”

You wait a second with a raised eyebrow. She says nothing. “Do I get a reward now?”

She barks out a laugh. “So eager, aren’t you, pet?” The new name sends a bolt of lightning straight through you and you nod. “Let’s see if you can behave just a bit longer before I ruin you for everyone else.” 

You stick out your bottom lip like a petulant child and she pats your face roughly. 

“Come on,” you try again, whining. “Why can’t we just sneak away right now? No one would notice if you just came up to my bedroom with me.”

Your fingers play with her tie again, giving her a wicked grin as you tug her in closer by it, but she quickly snatches your wrists off her and pins them against the wall over your head, body pressing against yours. 

A moan escapes your mouth and your heart skips a beat. 

“Is this what you want?” She snarls, husky and deep and heat-filled, and it’s hard to think straight. Her leg presses between your legs and your head lolls back against the wall, tilting so she can lean in closer. “You want someone to punish you for being a bad girl? Want someone to take you rough and fast to teach you a lesson? What would your father think if he saw you this desperate for me? His perfect little darling daughter, grinding on my leg like a slut?” 

You whimper and try to force words out of your mouth, but you have no luck. She huffs and steps back, letting go of you and you instantly miss her heat against you. 

“See, you don’t even know what you want,” she scoffs. “Are you going to be good?”

You smirk. “Why should I, if it gets you this hot and bothered?” She fixes her stare on you, but you hold it, glare unwavering. 

“You know what?” She snaps and excitement rises inside you. “Fuck it.” You open your mouth to ask what she means, but she grabs your hand and pulls you back into the guest bedroom. 

You wonder if she had scoped it out while you were in the shower. Just canvassing the place, trying to find the best place for this. 

Agnes shoves your front against the door, holding your arms behind your back with her body like you’re being arrested, and yanks your head back by your hair. 

“What do I have to do to get you to behave, hm?” She asks. “Bend you over and spank you? Get you so wound up that you’re begging to cum and then leave you high and dry? Or make you cum so many times that your pretty face is covered in tears?”

You can’t help but whimper at her words. “Please, Detective,” you beg, feeling an ache that you’ve never felt before. “Anything.” 

Her hand comes down to rub your ass soothingly and you arch back into her touch. “Are you sure you want this to be your first time?” She asks quietly and carefully. Your knees tremble at the sudden softness and you nod so hard your head hurts. 

“Yes,” you rasp. “I need you so badly.”

She groans into your ear, seemingly very affected by your words. “In case you ever want to stop, say ‘purple’ or tap anywhere on me twice. Got it?” 

“Got it,” you breathe and her tongue licks a hot stripe up your throat. “Please, Detective, please touch me.” 

She flips you around and traces her hands up the sides of your stomach, her warmth seeping through your dress. She studies you. “You know, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that with how you’ve been acting all night.”

“Please, please, want you to fuck me, want you to be my first,” you whine, letting the words pour out of your mouth. “Detective, I need to feel you, please, daddy.” The last word kind of just slips out, but based on her strangled gasp, it seems to turn her on. 

She grabs your chin in her hand and holds eye contact with you. “Say it again,” she orders in a deep voice. Hearing her like this, seeing her like this, is doing wonders to you. 

But there’s still a bit of brat inside you. 

“Make me,” you challenge. Agnes raises an eyebrow and her other hand slips under your dress and cups you over your underwear. 

You sharply inhale at the feeling of someone else touching you there. While you are no stranger to your own body, having Agnes’s fingers against your most sensitive area is a whole new sensation. 

“God, you’ve really been getting off on being a brat, haven’t you?” She taunts, feeling your wetness against her fingers.

“Maybe…” you trail off softly and she pushes your underwear aside. Your knees almost buckle at the feeling of her against you, stroking through her folds. One finger teases your entrance and you try to maneuver yourself to get her to dip inside. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts, refusing to give you what you want. “Say it again.” 

This time, you give in straight away, needing her more than your pride. “Please, daddy, just fuck me.” 

She slides a finger into you and you moan, head dropping back against the wall. You can’t believe you're losing your virginity to your dad’s partner against the door to your guest room. You didn’t picture it like this, but you had wished she would be your first, so either way the end result was the same. 

“Fuck, doll, you’re so wet and hot around me,” Agnes says, beginning to slowly move her finger in and out, twisting to hit a spot that has you panting. “If only your father could see me now, fingers deep in his only child. Corrupting his perfect daughter.” 

For some reason, that only turns you on more and you roll your hips against her, drawing her finger in. 

“Please, daddy, need more,” you plead and she chuckles meanly before slipping a second finger into you. The stretch makes you groan but it feels so good. You meet every thrust and you can feel yourself getting closer already. She’s twisting her fingers, not exactly kindly, and you’re a mess, noises falling out of your mouth, doing anything to get her deeper. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you let out a loud moan, her other hand coming to clamp over your lips. 

“Gotta be quiet, baby girl,” she says. “Don’t want the whole party to know what a slut you’re being for me, do you?” 

You shake your head but wrap one of your legs around her waist so she can more easily hit the spot inside you that you have trouble reaching yourself. 

She laughs at how needy you are and fucks you even harder, fingers moving at a bruising pace that steals all the breath from your lungs. 

“Daddy, oh my god, please,” you moan, feeling yourself getting so close. Everything is so much more heightened than it feels like when you’re touching yourself, and you can’t believe Agnes is actually fucking you.

“Want to cum all over daddy’s fingers, huh?” Her question makes you even wetter, clenching around her, whimpering. Her eyes are burning into you and you’ve never felt more alive. 

“Please, yes, wanna cum, daddy, just for you.” You’ve never felt so needy, so desperate, in your life. Your entire body is taunt like a lifewire, electricity crackling and making you feel better than you ever have. 

She laughs. “What a naughty brat, making me fuck you at your dad’s Christmas party like this. Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to act out just to get what you want?” 

All you can do is whine as she forces another finger into you, not even burning a little from how wet you are, and your head falls back against the door. Her thumb starts to rub a rhythm against your clit and your walls flutter around her three fingers. You start babbling, saying her name, telling her how good she’s fucking you. 

Agnes’s lips part, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead, and all you can do is gasp as she continues to fuck you so well. You don’t think anyone else will ever compare to her. 

“Cum for me, baby girl, cum for daddy,” she says, and hearing herself call herself that sends you right over the edge. 

You soak her fingers with a loud moan, riding them until the stimulation becomes too much to bear. She pulls out of you and you still mewl weakly at the emptiness. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” She asks and you drop your forehead onto her shoulder and sigh. 

And then you laugh a little at the situation and she huffs too. “I’m great, thank you, Agnes.” It’s the first time you’ve called her by her real name all night and she lets out a little sound that tells you exactly how much she likes it. 

She strokes a hand through your hair and brings you in for a kiss. You didn't realize how bad you wanted her lips against yours until it finally happens. But her tongue strokes into your mouth and you find out just how good she tastes. 

And just how much you want to taste a different part of her. 

Agnes also seems to have a similar idea. Her fingers tighten in your hair and guide you down to your knees. She unbuttons her pants and your throat goes dry as she slides them down her perfect, pale legs. You can see a bit of muscle in her thighs and it makes you want to lean over and bite them, just to leave marks. 

“You’ve been a brat all night, you know,” she says, peeling over her underwear and revealing her glistening pussy to you. Your jaw drops open, absolutely enthralled, needing to have her on your tongue. You nod at her words, not even denying what you did to get yourself into this position. “Running your mouth, saying the most desperate things, acting like such a brat. Well, I think we better put those pretty little lips to some better use, don’t you?” 

You couldn’t agree more, and you tell her that. 

She leads your eager mouth to her cunt and shuts you up in the best way possible.  

[harknessxo]

Your Witch (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: It's your hand in marriage in return for ending the terror against your town, and your parents have decided. The Witch of the Westview Woods is to be your wife. No matter how much you might protest.

Words: 7k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, shades of self harm, toxic family relationships, virgin R, oral (R receiving), shades of a praise kink

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme@grilledcheeseandguavajelly

“I will not.”

You glared at your parents, arms crossed over your chest, lips pursed. Anger was coursing through your veins, hot and acute, making you vibrate. You had to keep from growling at them, or lashing out. This was a level of disrespect you weren’t willing to live with. This was a step too far. This was the straw that was breaking the camel’s back.

“It’s already been arranged,” your father said, his arm around your mother’s shoulder, providing a united front.

“I won’t,” you said.

“It’s your duty,” your father said.

“Duty?” you scoffed, “and what of your duty as my parents?”

“What would you have us do?” your mother demanded.

“Not sell me off like some farm animal for your own comfort,” you spat.

“The Witch of the Westview Woods has made her request clear. If we give her you she will leave our town alone,” your father said.

“I doubt she even knows who I am,” you muttered.

“You are more than aware of your reputation in town. She made her choice. You are to be hers and in exchange our safety will be ensured. You should feel honoured to be serving our town,” your father said.

“I’d be more honoured if I wasn’t the sacrificial lamb,” you said, “you would never have agreed to this if it was James she asked for.”

Your younger brother was the favourite. You knew it. You parents knew it. Everyone knew it. If the Witch had demanded him, your father would have fought tooth and nail to keep him. But the moment it was you being asked for, he was shoving you out the door. James was the heir, you were just a measly daughter. No one needed you except to increase the social status of your family.

No wonder you were being sold off to the first witch that came along.

“And I don’t see why it has to be a marriage,” you said before they could give a half hearted excuse.

“We’re not risking you running off after you’ve been collected by her,” he said.

“I can run off when I’m married to her,” you muttered.

“You’ll do no such thing,” your mother snapped, “now, stop this silliness. This a show of good faith. An exchange. She receives something precious to us in return for our safety.”

“You don’t have to pretend as if you’re not excited about this,” you said.

“It’s a great honour to be chosen by her,” she said.

“Then you do it!.”

You stomped away, hiking your skirt up to speed up. Slamming your bedroom door behind you, you let the entire household know exactly how you felt. Falling back on the bed, you buried your face in your pillow and screamed.

The Witch of the Westview Woods had been terrorising your town for as long as anyone could remember. Children stolen in the night, fires set, storms tearing the roofs off homes. Floods and locusts and droughts. One thing after another that no one should be capable of. But she had magic and no matter who was sent to slay her, she triumphed.

And you were being handed right to her.

If you survived to the years end you would be surprised. It made no sense for you to be the exact thing that would save the town. If it all it took was marrying her, how hard could it be to vanquish her?

This whole thing reeked of something. You just wish you knew what it was.

And yet you found yourself being shoved into a white dress the next afternoon, your hair pinned tight enough to bring on a headache and makeup painted over your face. Poked and prodded, your mother’s servants got you ready for the moment your life was going to end.

Walking towards the church, your father was your guard, his hand around your arm keeping you from slipping away and living life as a vagrant. Anything would be better than the fate that awaited you at the end of that alter.

The organ music began and on heavy feet you were dragged down the aisle. Fuming, you refused to even look at your bride as you were forced to stand in front of her. You were slow to drag your gaze up her body, over her bare feet and deep purple skirts, over her laced up bodice and into bright blue eyes. Your mouth fell open, shocked by the woman staring back you with an assessing gaze and lips curling up into a smile.

This was not a wild hag living in the woods. This was a woman beautiful enough to steal your breath. This was a problem.

One way or another, the Witch of the Westview Woods was going to kill you.

Her voice was husky as she repeated the vows, blue eyes burning you as her gaze rested on your face. You stumbled through your own vows, the wind taken out of your sails. The anger had fizzled out in the face of this woman, so unexpected, so unlike anything you could have anticipated.

Her hand took yours, warm and steady where you felt unbalanced. She slipped the ring on your finger, the cool metal heavy and you found yourself having to swallow past a lump in your throat. You whispered your I do and then her hand was grasping yours and she was dragging you out of the chapel.

“Come on, hon,” she said, “we have a wedding night to get to.”

Your cheeks heated.

You didn’t even glance back at your family as she practically flew out of town. Her hand was steady in yours, gripping tight enough to hurt. She plunged into the forest, branches whipping at you. Any time you stumbled, her strong arm would curl around your waist and steady you before taking off again.

The house that emerged from the trees was small, a cottage covered in ivy, plants snarled together in the garden, a soft light glowing in the window. She shoved the door open, pulling you into the interior of the home. It was comfortable, a fire burning in the hearth. Books were in tumbling piles and there was an armchair draped in a soft looking blanket. She dropped your hand, stepping further into her home.

“Home sweet home,” she hummed.

She flopped down into her armchair, grinning up at you. You hesitated at the door, the lace of your dress scratching at your skin, buttons pinching, too tight to breathe properly. She was watching you from behind wild hair, assessing you.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” she asked.

“No,” you said, taking a step forward.

“C’mere, hon,” she said.

On unsure feet you drew closer to her. Long fingers reached out, snagging on the skirt of your dress, the lace dirty and ripped from your flight through the forest. Her fingers ran over the material, looking up at you from under lowered lashes.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to slip into something more comfortable?” she asked, voice a low rumble that had your knees turning to jelly.

“I didn’t bring anything with me,” you said.

“Even better.” She brightened, “do you need any help?”

You squeaked, cheeks aflame as your eyes widened and your mouth fell open. She chuckled, falling back to slouch in the chair.

“Feel free to wear anything you find upstairs,” she said, nodding towards the stairs.

You lingered a moment before making your way upstairs. It was only one room, a large bed dominating the room. You skirted around it, doing your best to ignore it. The wardrobe had clothes spilling out, a mishmash of materials, all in shades of purple.

You tore the buttons from the dress, doing your best to get out of it. You didn’t bother trying to be careful, never wanting to see the torture device again. Reaching in, you grabbed the first dress you could find. Lilac was not a colour you were often given over to wearing, but you supposed it was the best you had. You opened the window, throwing your heels outside into the garden, your feet thanking you for it.

Padding downstairs on bare feet, you found the Witch curled up in the chair, a book open in her lap. A bunny hopped past and you found yourself smiling.

“Señor Scratchy likes you,” she said without even glancing up from the page she was reading.

“You have a pet bunny?” you asked.

“Every witch has to have a familiar,” she replied.

“Is that a rule or a guideline?” you wondered.

Her gaze finally dragged up to you and something in it darkened, sweeping over you in her dress. You froze but her grin was pleased.

“Well, aren’t you a vision in purple,” she purred.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Lingering by the stairs you let her look her fill. Your weight shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what she’d be expecting from you. It was your wedding night. You knew how these things usually went.

“Do you cook?” she asked once she was done.

“Do I…? I can,” you answered.

“Good because I’ve been missing that skill for more years than is polite,” she said.

“I can do that,” you said, nodding to yourself.

The kitchen was small and pokey, washing up needing to be done before you could even begin cooking. Having something to do with your hands made it easier being in that cottage. You could focus on that rather than the woman in the other room.

She was nothing like you’d expected. She was hardly the horrifying figure of legend you’d spent your entire life hearing about. She wasn’t even particularly mean as far as you could tell. Disarming, flirty, overwhelming, sure. She was all those things. But not horrifying.

You passed her a plate of food once you were done, doing your best with the ingredients you could find. She didn’t look up, taking it from you, fingers picking at the food. You lowered yourself onto the rug in front of the fire, eating your own meal.

“Not bad,” she muttered, mouth half full of food.

You looked up from the flickering flames, watching her eat. She hardly had the manners that had been drilled into you by your mother. Eating with her hands, she tore through the meat with her teeth, looking half wild. Her eyes were roving over the pages of her book, not paying you any attention.

The sky had darkened outside the window, the only light coming from the lamp lit beside her and the fire you were sitting in front of. The light played over the planes of her face, cheeks sunk beneath sharp cheekbones, eyes shadowed, skin pale. She truly was beautiful.

Maybe you could make this marriage work.

“You’re staring,” Her voice was a low rumble.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Just say whatever is going through your pretty little head,” she said, finally looking up at you.

She pinned you under her gaze. Her tongue dragged along her lips, and you found yourself considering all the things that tongue could do. Your cheeks flamed and you had to remind yourself this was a woman who went out of her way to hurt people.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” you blurted out.

“Were you hoping for some wizened old crone?” she asked.

“The stories were hazy. No one’s seen you in a while,” you replied, “and you’ve been around a while so…”

“So you naturally assumed I would be ravaged by the hands of time,” she said, “aren’t you lucky I wasn’t.”

You pressed your lips together, fingers wringing at your skirts. You hadn’t anticipated flirting. You hadn’t prepared for it. You hadn’t figured out how to respond to it.

“Aren’t you just adorable,” she hummed, “I promise I’ll make you a very happy wife.”

The implication of her words sent a spark of heat through your veins, right between your legs. If she kept talking in that voice, it would be so easy to ignore all the evil acts she’d done and let her have her way with you. No one in your town had ever elicited this reaction in you.

“Yes, that’s the look,” she said, “I picked well.”

She settled back in her chair, smirking at you. You ducked your head, not able to handle her scrutiny. Although, if the way your heart was racing was any indication, the wedding night with your new bride wouldn’t be as bad as you’d thought it would be.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you stood, collecting her empty plate from the arm of her chair. Washing up, you ignored the sound of her in the other woman. This was hardly the life you were expecting to have for yourself. Even in the last 24 hours, you’d grown used to the idea of spending your life with a hag whose company you could never enjoy.

The Witch had turned out to be both beautiful and charming, if not incredibly disarming.

“Come here, hon,” she called through the door.

On unsure feet, you returned to her. She was standing by the fire, staring down into it. You paused behind her, waiting.

“It’s been a long day. You must be tired,” she said.

“I suppose,” you said.

“Come on. Bed time.”

Her hand slipped into yours, tugging you up the stairs. Anticipation curled in your stomach. It wouldn’t be so bad. You might even enjoy it. With the Witch. And not the hag you’d been expecting. There would be no need to close your eyes and think of something else as she got on with it.

“Here,” she said, shoving a gauzy piece of fabric at you.

“You want me to change?” you asked, staring down at it.

“Unless you want to sleep in that dress, but I promise you that will be more comfortable,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Sleep well, hon,” she said, one foot already on the top stair.

“You’re not staying?” you asked.

She paused, eyes sweeping over you.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you should get your rest,” she said.

She left you standing by the bed, clutching a negligee, wondering what you’d done wrong. Trying to ignore your disappointment, you changed into the nightdress, the lace and gauzy material sexier than anything you’d owned back home. You left those thoughts, slipping into the large bed. It was comfortable, more so than you’d been expecting, the blankets soft and warm, the sheets smooth. Laying your head on one of the pillows, you stared up at the ceiling.

Many hours passed, alone in the bed, ears straining for the sound of the Witch down below. The stairs creaked as she climbed them, padding on soft feet. You closed your eyes, not wanting to be caught disobeying orders. The soft thump of fabric hitting the floor, a shuffle, and then the mattress was dipping beside you.

“Does the bed not meet your standards?” she asked into the darkness.

You sighed, eyes blinking open.

“It’s very comfortable,” you said.

“Were you waiting for me?”

The bed shifted. Her warmth brushed against you and a hand slid over your waist. You stiffened, then forced yourself to relax. This was more what you were expecting. Touches and a bed and the cover of darkness.

“Relax, hon,” she whispered, the hand retreating.

You turned your head, staring at her in the darkness. She rolled over, presenting her back to you, leaving you nothing back dark hair to look at. You watched her breathe for a moment.

“What should I call you?” you whispered across the distance.

“What?” She rolled to look at you.

“I can’t keep calling you the Witch,” you said, “I don’t know your name.”

“Huh.” She rolled back to where she was before, not giving you an answer.

You watched her for a moment more before you sighed. Rolling over, keeping your back to her, you closed your eyes and did your best to relax.

“Agatha,” she whispered. You froze, “my name is Agatha.”

You settled down, holding her name close to your heart, like it was something precious. No one in town knew her name. This was just for you.

From that day you settled into some kind of routine with Agatha. You’d wake early while she luxuriated in bed long after the sun had risen. You’d clean and cook and tend to the garden, doing all you could to turn her cottage into a home. Agatha would swan in and out of the house, sometimes gone for hours, singing under her breath, or muttering curses.

In the evenings, she’d curl up in her chair and you’d sit on the rug, whiling away the hours in companionable silence. You’d embroider or begin the process of drying herbs, or stare at the flames as you thought with Señor Scratchy in your lap.

You hadn’t been back to town, nor had you heard from your family. They’d well and truly abandoned you the moment you’d said I do. Truth be told, you weren’t sure you wanted to see them. They’d given you up so easily and clearly weren’t missing you. In your cottage deep within the Westview Woods, you were comfortable and safe and calm. You knew your place and you were never forced to do anything you didn’t want to do.

Sometimes you’d catch Agatha watching you. Blue eyes peering out the window as you worked at taming the garden or glancing up from a book as you cuddled with Señor Scratchy. Each time it made you self conscious but you never asked her about it. The relationship was tenuous at best. You didn’t want to upset her.

She would still flirt with you and she still seemed to gain enjoyment from flustering you. But she wasn’t doing anything to treat you like a real wife. You had no clue what it was she was getting out of this arrangement other than a maid. If that was what she’d wanted, she could have just asked for it. The wedding wasn’t necessary.

And yet you were her wife and you would be until one of you died.

It took about a month before you cracked open one of her books one night. You had no idea what she could be reading and your curiosity got the better of you in a moment of boredom. Looking down at the page, the incomprehensible symbols made no sense to you. Flicking through more and more pages, you tried to understand.

“Interested in magic?” she asked.

Startled, you dropped the book. Apologising, you snatched it up, turning to look at her. She was standing in the doorway, night pressing in behind her, returned from wherever it was she disappeared to for those long hours. There was an errant leaf tangled in her hair. Standing, she froze as you reached out, tugging it free and throwing it behind her, out the door.

You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten to her. Her face was so close to yours you could count the shades of blue in her eyes. Your breath froze in your chest and you stilled.

“It’s not safe to learn magic on your own,” she whispered, reaching for the book in your hand.

You let her take it without argument, a sense of shame from being caught reminding you how this conversation had started. You stepped away from her, putting distance between the two of you. After weeks together, you thought her ability to fluster you with just her presence were gone, but your heart was thundering and you felt breathless.

“If you’re looking for a mentor, I’m more than happy to teach you,” she said, voice softening.

“You’d teach me magic?” you asked.

“What are wives for?” she said, sweeping into the room, depositing the book on top of a tilting stack. If the way you were feeling was any indication, wives were for a lot more than teaching magic.

She settled you on the rug, taking her usual place in her chair. At her feet, you gazed up at her, trying to ignore the way there was a throbbing between your legs and fire in your veins. She reached out, taking your hand, delicate fingers manipulating it until it was in a position that met her approval.

“Alright, the first thing you should know is that your power comes from deep within you. Not everyone has enough to create even a spark of magic. Do not feel disappointed if you can’t. It takes a very special woman to do even the most simple of magic,” she said.

“You must be the most special woman in the world then,” you said, looking at the point where her hand met yours.

When she didn’t respond to you, you looked up. She was staring down at you, something unreadable in her eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“I suppose I am,” she replied, but it wasn’t with the cocky little tilt of her head you’d grown used to, “now, burrow down deep into yourself. Find that well of power, see what you have.”

You closed your eyes, feeling her finger stroke over the palm of your hand, trying to find what she was talking about. All you found was the fire she brought out in you, the anger still simmering at your family, the disappointment and hurt you’d been carrying for longer than you could count at your place in the world. It was why you kept your hands busy, refusing to look too deeply into the way your family had let you down.

It burnt. Lingering on it hurt. The scars left on your soul were sore to the touch. You pressed harder. The pain, at least, was a relief from the feeling of shame you carried with you at all hours of the day.

“Well, would you look at that.”

You blinked your eyes open, finding light reflected in Agatha’s eyes. Cradled in the palm of your hand was a pale blue energy, roiling and rolling in the air. Your mouth fell open, staring at it, trying to wrap your head around what you had done.

It flickered out.

“Apparently I’m not the only special woman in this house,” Agatha murmured.

You cheeks heated, eyes widened as you stared up into her face. She lent forward, fingertips brushing over the apple of your cheeks, soft and gentle, barely there, making you shiver.

“Yes, I chose very well,” she said, drawing back.

Under her assessing gaze, you did it again and again and again, until your head began to hurt. She put you to bed, tucking you in, fingers gently running through your hair until you fell asleep. Just a month ago, you could have never imagined being treated so comfortingly by her.

So began the next phase of your routine. Your days were your own but your nights were Agatha’s. In front of the fire, sitting at her feet, a desperate need to please her, she taught you to wield and control your own power. Her murmured praises and her soft touches made your head spin, addictive and heady, only spurring you on for more.

Watching from the window one afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the boughs of the trees above, you focused on Agatha wandering through the garden. You’d tidied it since arriving, giving it more order, planting things you found out in the forest to go with what you already found strangled under the weeds. Your hands had been in the dirt, coaxing life back into the garden.

She bowed her head over a flower, you thought maybe smelling it. A smile bloomed over your own face, watching her as she moved around the garden. She was so gentle with the plants, pausing occasionally to look at the work you’d done. You wished you knew what she was thinking but she was always so enigmatic. You never knew what was going on behind her eyes.

When she returned to the cottage, a flower was clutched in her hand, petals soft, a new bloom. You looked up from the book she’d asked you to read, legs curled beneath you, skirt pushed up around your knees to bring some cool air to your skin. Spring had well and truly arrived.

“Are you working for me?” she purred.

You nodded, watching her swaying hips as she approached. All those touches and all that praise had only made it harder to pretend as if she didn’t set you alight. She crouched in front of you. With careful fingers, she tucked the flower behind your ear. Your breath caught. She tilted your chin up, the touch of her fingers against your skin making you heat again. Her eyes roved over your face, drinking you in.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

It was like being pierced by an arrow. You would have fallen into her in that moment, the words begging for a kiss tingling on your lips. Before they could spill out, she stood, leaving you on the rug, breathless and wanting.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” she said, turning from you.

Her skirt fanned out around her calves and just the flash of skin had your mouth drying. It wasn’t as if you’d seen the sight before, but every time it only made you more desperate to see more. It took a moment for her words to make sense to you.

“You are?” you asked, scrabbling to your feet.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, fingers tracing over the spines of some of her books, “I have business in the next town over. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” you said, voice small.

“You might want to go visit your family while I’m gone. You must be missing them,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Aw, don’t pout, kitten,” she said, curling her arm around your waist as she turned back to you, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her hand burned through the thin fabric of your dress. It was these touches that drove you mad. You always wanted more, to feel that touch on every inch of your body. She pulled you closer, soft curves pressing against yours in a way that had your head reeling.

“Try not to miss me too much,” she said before releasing you.

You could only watch as she moved back to the door. She lingered in the doorway, snatching one last look at you before she swept out of the cottage. Despite the fire roaring and the sun streaming in through the window, you felt suddenly cold.

The days stretched without Agatha in the cottage. The bed was too big and although you could sit in the chair before the fire at night rather than the hard flagstones beneath the rug, it left you feeling unsettled. You lazed through the days, perking up at every little sound, hope climbing up your throat only to be crushed back down when it wasn’t her return.

When the storm swept in, you felt the first pangs of worry. Sequestered in the house, you were climbing the walls, not able to drown your worry in work in the garden. The cottage was clean and there was only so much folding and refolding of clothes you could do before you began to question your sanity.

Lying in bed, you did your best to keep your thoughts away from Agatha. With the storm raging outside, it was easy to conjure images of her getting hurt or stranded, flashes of lightning striking her down too far away for you to find her and bring her home. You tossed and turned, the bed feeling huge and empty and cold without Agatha in it with you.

A crash from downstairs had you jolting up. You froze, listening intently. Another bang. Crawling to the edge of the bed, your heart was thundering, fear seeping into your veins. Sneaking to the top of the stairs, you peeked down.

A shadowed figure was standing in front of the fire, burnt down to their embers. You grasped the closest heavy object, a candlestick fancier than anything else in the cottage that you’d never quite built up the courage to ask about, and crept down the stairs. The figure didn’t seem to hear you, bending to stoke the flames. Raising the candlestick above your head, you swung.

A pale hand whipped out in a flash of lightning, grasping your wrist. The candlestick clattered to the floor. You gasped.

“This wasn’t quite the warm welcome home I was hoping for,” Agatha said.

“You’re back,” you said, breathless, heart thumping for a whole new reason.

“You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”

You threw yourself into her arms, not even bothering to answer her. The joy at her reappearance in your cozy cottage was overwhelming. She chuckled, catching you, pressing her face to the top of your head.

“Now this is more what I was hoping for,” she said.

She trembled in the cage of your arms. Pulling back, you realised she was completely soaked through, wet hair stuck to her skin in a tangle. Her clothes were plastered to her and she was shivering. You ran your hands down her arms, feeling the goosebumps, grasping her hands.

“You’re freezing,” you said, “come here and warm up.”

You sat her down in her chair, stoking the fire until the flames began to blaze again. You turned, finding her gaze locked on you. It was dark and dangerous, roving over you with a level of possession you weren’t used to. Your knees trembled, turning to jelly as she drank her fill.

Glancing down, you realised your negligee was clinging to your body, wet from the embrace you’d given her, see through in all the places you weren’t sure you wanted it to be. Your eyes met hers again, your shiver nothing to do with the rain water seeping into your skin. Her tongue ran along her lower lip, stealing your breath.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” you whispered.

“Is that an offer, hon?” she asked.

You’d missed her. You wanted her. And from the way she was looking at you, she wanted you too. So why not take what you wanted? She certainly had when she’d demanded a wedding.

“Yes.”

Her face brightened before it settled into something more predatory. Holding a hand out to you, she pulled you towards her. You fell into her lap, a small squeak on your lips. Her hand slid up your thigh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

You lent forward, capturing her lips in an all consuming kiss. She growled, hands grasping you, dragging you closer. You whimpered into her mouth, hands clutching at her shoulders. She burned beneath you, every point of contact making you quiver. Her lips were searing hot as they made their way down the column of your neck. Your head tipped back, giving her more access, fingers burying themselves in her hair. Her name was a breathy moan on your lips. When her teeth sunk in, you groaned, pressing her closer.

“We’ve been married for months,” you murmured, breathless, desperate for her.

“We have,” she said, whispered into her skin.

Her tongue ran over your skin. You forgot what you were saying, luxuriating in the feeling of her worshipping your neck. Her hand was pushing up past the hem of your negligee, seeking out warm skin.

“You were saying, hon?” she asked, lips brushing your skin.

“Oh uh…” Her fingers ghosted over the skin of your inner thigh, “just that you…”

“I?” she murmured, finding the vulnerable spot behind your jaw.

“You never asked me to fulfil my wifey duties,” you sighed.

“I’m not a monster who forces young women to got to bed with me when they don’t want to,” she said before her lips closed over your earlobe.

“But I did want to,” you sighed, “I do.”

“So I’m gathering, hon,” she said.

You kissed her again, already addicted to her taste. With arms stronger than you were expecting, she lifted you, laying you down on the rug you’d spent so many evenings on. The fire was warm from so close, the air heating the chill of the night. A clap of thunder boomed above the house. You jumped, before laughing, self conscious at your own reaction. Her smile was fond.

“You know, when I gave you this nightie, I was hoping you’d look as delicious as I’d imagined,” she said, one hand stroking down your side, “it looks even better when it’s wet.”

She drew back, looking down at you. The front was completely soaked through, practically baring you to her faze. You shivered, breath stuttering. The look in her eye suggested she wanted to eat you alive. Her hand stroked between your breasts, pressing against your stomach when you wriggled beneath her.

“Stay still, pet. I’m enjoying my new wife,” she said.

Both hands cupped your breasts through the lace and silk of the dress you were in. Each nipple was already peaked, pebbling from the chilled water you’d had pressed against your skin. Palming them, she watched your face. You whimpered, not used to someone else touching you like this.

“You make such pretty noises for me, pet,” she said right as she pinched your nipples.

Your back arched up into her touch, offering yourself to her. Your hands grasped her hips, breathing coming fast.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked, watching you writhe under her touch.

“No,” you sighed.

“Really?” She sat back to look at you, a look of pleasure passing over her face, “I’ll be your first?”

“No one ever made me want to before,” you replied, pushing your hands under her skirts, wanting to feel her skin. It was as soft as you’d imagined, the muscles of her thighs strong under your palms.

“You are a gift,” she said before swooping in to kiss you again.

You lost yourself in it, your entire body a live wire underneath her. She hummed when your hands delved further up her skirt, the fabric still heavy with rain. You pulled away, ignoring the displeased noise she made.

“I wasn’t kidding about getting you out of these wet clothes. You’ll catch your death,” you said.

“Well, if you insist.”

She stood, pulling the dress over her head. In the firelight, she was nothing but enticing shadows and soft curves. You stared, overwhelmed with how beautiful she was. You could spend the rest of your life looking at this view. Pushing up onto your elbows, you let your gaze travel over her, practically drooling. You pressed your thighs together.

“Do I pass muster?” she asked.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you breathed.

Something shifted in her face, almost as if you’d surprised her. In the shadows, you couldn’t be sure, but you thought her cheeks might be flushed. She lowered back onto her knees, straddling your waist. Your hands skimmed over her ribs, feeling her inhale beneath your fingertips. You cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms.

“I think it’s only fair that I return the favour,” she said, “after all, I got you all wet.”

Your cheeks heated and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, but you let her peel the negligee from your body, throwing it aside. Her hands were everywhere, barely touching you. Your whimper only had her grinning down at you.

“Use your words, pet,” she said.

“Touch me,” you begged, “please, Agatha.”

“All you had to do was ask,” she said before her hands were back on your body.

Her lips were soon to follow after, wrapping around one nipple. Your strangled moan only seemed to spur her on. The rumble of a groan vibrated through your body and you arched up into her mouth.

Her hands were sliding further down your body and you felt on fire. When she began to press kisses to your sternum, making her way down your body, you gasped. Her hands were gently as they parted your legs, settling between them. You had no idea how she was doing it, but your entire body was a live wire, sending you insane with how good it felt.

“I need you to tell me if you’re about to change your mind,” she said, her lips pressing the crease of your thigh, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop once I’ve tasted you.”

“If you stop you can go back out into that storm right now,” you said.

“I knew I chose right.”

Your head fell back as her tongue made contact with the hot throbbing between your legs. You cursed, loud enough to be heard over the thunder still crashing up above, and your hips jumped up into her mouth. Her talent didn’t just lie in magic, although it felt pretty magical whatever it was she was doing. You gave yourself over to it, uncaring that you were being too loud or too desperate. Nothing had ever felt as good as her mouth on you.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her there, hips undulating. When her lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves you knew resided between your thighs, you made a choked noise, her name unintelligible. She was moaning, the vibrations driving you crazy, spinning higher and higher. Your legs were trembling where they rested over her shoulders.

When the dam broke, you screamed, clutching at her. Looking up your body, she caught your eye, the smouldering burning in her gaze only making you wonder what she would look like when you returned the favour. She drew back, her grin very satisfied despite you being the boneless body on the rug.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” you whispered.

“You’ve never…?” she asked.

“Never like that,” you said.

The fingers in her hair tugged her up your body. Your legs curled around her waist as you kissed her, tasting yourself on her tongue. She chuckled, drawing away, fingers running over your lower lip.

“You are a wonder,” she said, “I knew you would be that first time I saw you.”

“When did you see me?” you asked, sure you’d remember if you’d seen her before the wedding.

“I’d heard rumours of the town beauty, grown into a woman of marriageable age. The way the men were hoping to own you. I’ll admit I was curious. And then, there you were, wandering through my woods, a basket of flowers on your arm. I happened to be passing by as you stopped to speak to a lovely little bunny and I knew I had to have you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m never wrong about these things.”

“So that’s why you asked for me specifically,” you mused.

“I wanted the prettiest girl in the village,” she said before she swooped down to kiss you again. For a while, you could get lost in it.

“Agatha,” you sighed when her lips began to trace a path down your neck again.

“Come, pet. I’ve had a long journey and I’m tired. I’d much rather sleep in our bed,” she said.

She rose, holding a hand out to you. You grasped it, letting her haul you to your feet. Stumbling you fell against her body, warm skin against warm skin, making your head spin. She slipped her arm around your waist, holding you close.

She swept you up into her arms, carrying you up the stairs. Depositing you on the bed, you stared up at her until she slipped between the sheets, taking the place that had been empty for too many days. She held her arms open to you, letting you curl against her her side.

“I’m glad you chose me to be your wife,” you whispered, face buried in the place her shoulder met her throat.

“As am I, hon,” she murmured, lips pressing to the top of your head.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax properly for the first time since she’d left. Her fingertips were trailing over your skin, stroking in a comforting rhythm. You were on the edge of sleep when you heard her soft whisper.

“I didn’t expect you to stay.”

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head up towards her. She was already gazing down at you, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I gave you leave to return to your family. I was expecting to find our home empty upon my return,” she said.

“But we’re married,” you said.

“That’s never stopped a woman before,” she replied.

“Why would I choose my family when I have you? They’d never forgive me for leaving you. They gave me no choice in my future,” you said, “I don’t want to ever see them again.”

“They didn’t?” Her fingers tightened in your hair.

“They told me I’d be marrying you. There was no discussion, no understanding that perhaps I didn’t want this.” You shifted closer to her, legs tangling together, “stupid girl. How could I ever not want you?”

“I’m a centuries old witch that terrorises local towns?” she suggested.

“Maybe, but you’re my witch,” you said, “and more importantly, you’re my wife. And I choose you. I didn’t like when you were gone. I was counting down the minutes you’d return.”

“Next time, would you like to come with me?” she asked.

“Please,” you said.

“Then you will,” she replied.

Your lips brushed her skin as you settled against her again, closing your eyes, kissing the closest part of her. Her breath hitched and she tightened her arms around you. Holding her close, you sighed, letting yourself relax again. With her home you had nothing to worry about anymore.

“More fool your parents for handing over the only person who could bring me to my knees,” she murmured, so soft you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it.

Slipping closer to sleep, comforted by the sounds of her breath and the warmth of her skin, you thought maybe being forced to marry the Witch of the Westview Woods was the best thing that had ever happened to you.