myharkness

[myharkness]

One Last Drink (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're out for casual drinks with your friend Agatha, who you may or may not find extremely attractive—it's too bad she doesn't like you like that. She convinces you to stay for another round but this drink sends you over the edge and Agatha has to help you home

- OR -

Agatha spikes your drink and then fucks you in your bed like the good friend she is

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dub/non-con, smut, Dark Agatha, alcohol, drugging/drink spiking, thigh riding (A doing), fingering (R recv),

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains drink-spiking and non-con smut so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, mingling with the faint melody of a piano drifting from a corner of the dimly lit bar. You and Agatha have claimed your usual spot—a small, worn booth tucked away near the back, where the shadows seem to linger longer than they should. It always feels a little darker here, but it doesn’t matter when you’re with her. Agatha’s presence has a way of consuming everything else.

She sits across from you, an effortless vision of elegance. The soft glow from the overhead lamp catches the curve of her cheekbone and illuminates the knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She nurses a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily in her hand as her eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. Agatha always has this way of looking at you—like she knows more than she lets on. Like she knows you inside and out.

“You’re quiet tonight, doll,” she says, her voice a velvety thread winding its way around your mind. “You alright over there?”

You tear your gaze from the half-empty cocktail in your hand, giving her a crooked smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. You always make me pick my poison, and somehow I still end up blacking out by the end of the night.”

Her smirk widens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she takes a slow sip of her wine. “You’ve got the tolerance of a baby bunny, darling. Not my fault you can’t keep up.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling as you lean back in the booth. “You’re probably right. But it’s weird—it only happens when we come here. What do they put in these drinks?”

The comment is light, a joke meant to tease, but Agatha’s smile sharpens at the edges. She tilts her head, her gaze slipping down to your drink and lingering there for just a beat too long. “Oh, honey,” she teases, leaning closer, allowing you to see down her top. “They’re just making sure you have a good time.”

Your breath hitches, the heat of her proximity sending a shiver down your spine. You’ve always found Agatha attractive, but it’s a secret you keep buried deep. There’s no way she feels the same; her flirty nature is just who she is. It’s not real. It can’t be.

You laugh, shaking your head as you lift your glass for another sip. “Well, here’s to waking up in one piece tomorrow.”

Agatha’s lips quirk as she raises her glass in a mock toast, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll drink to that,” she says smoothly, her tone carrying an edge of amusement. But as you glance away to scan the bar, her gaze darkens ever so slightly, her smile fading as she mutters something low under her breath—something just out of earshot.

—

“Alright,” you say, setting your glass down with a thud. “I think I’m done for the night. I should head back.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a sly smile, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not so fast, doll. Just one more round—my treat. What do you say?”

You hesitate, your resolve already wavering under the weight of her gaze. It’s those eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to strip you bare every time they meet yours.

“Fine,” you relent, trying to sound casual. “But just one more.”

Agatha’s smile widens, and she gives your cheek a playful pat. “That’s my girl. Sit tight.”

You watch her glide to the bar, her movements unhurried, deliberate, and far too mesmerising. The way her hips sway under the dim lights makes your breath hitch, and you curse yourself silently for the hundredth time that night. This is agony. Agatha isn’t just beautiful; she’s magnetic, commanding the attention of anyone with the misfortune to look her way—including you.

You drag a hand through your hair, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. What are you even doing? Agatha is your friend. Your friend. The idea of being anything more is a fantasy you let linger too long after nights like these. She couldn’t possibly know how she makes your pulse race or how the heat of her gaze seems to settle between your thighs. And even if she did know, why would it matter? Women like her don’t look at you like that.

By the time she returns, her signature smirk is firmly in place, two glasses in hand. She sets one down in front of you with a deliberate slowness that has your heart skipping a beat. As the amber liquid swirls in the glass, you think you catch the faint remnants of something dissolving at the bottom, but the hazy glow of the bar lights and the alcohol coursing through you make it easy to dismiss.

Agatha slides into the booth beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing against yours and staying there. “Cheers, sweetheart,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. She raises her glass, her piercing gaze locking with yours as the corners of her mouth curl into a devilish smile.

“Cheers,” you manage, clinking your glass against hers. You take a sip, the liquor’s burn sliding down your throat and pooling in your stomach like molten heat. You lean into her just a little, the warmth of her body grounding you as the room begins to feel a bit fuzzier from the alcohol.

“Y/N,” Agatha drawls, her voice thick with a teasing edge. “Are you getting tipsy on me now?” She reaches up, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingers longer than it should, her dark eyes gleaming with something you can’t name. “Poor thing. You really can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

You laugh weakly, the sound catching in your throat as the warmth in your chest grows into a pleasant haze. “I can handle it,” you protest, though your slurred words betray you. You slump slightly against her, your cheek brushing her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on your arm, steadying you.

She mock-coos at you, her voice dripping with a patronising sweetness that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, honey,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re so cute like this. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in her tone sends a thrill through you, but you quickly bury it beneath another sip of your drink, hoping more alcohol will drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to. She could never.

—

When you finally leave the bar, the cool night air is a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Agatha’s arm is around your waist, steadying you as you stumble slightly on the uneven sidewalk. You can feel the strength in her grip, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your hip where your shirt has ridden up.

“I’ve got you,” she teases, her breath warm against your temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

Agatha chuckles, a dark, velvety sound that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I insist. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this state—there are some real creeps in the world.”

Her tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it, something darker that you can’t quite place. You glance up at her, but her expression is unreadable; her eyes are fixed ahead as she half-carries you toward your apartment.

When you reach your door, Agatha helps you inside, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she steadies you against the wall. You watch her through half-lidded eyes as she moves around your small living room, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains.

“Alright, darling,” she says, turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips. She guides you toward your bedroom, her touch firm yet gentle, and you can’t help but lean into her.

“You’re too good to me,” you utter, your words slurring slightly.

Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “You deserve it, doll.”

She helps you sit on the edge of your bed, her hands lingering on your arms as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the air between you thick and heavy.

When you sway slightly, still perched on the edge of your bed, Agatha’s hands steady you again, her touch warm but searing, her fingers curling gently around your arms. Her smile softens into something almost tender, her sharp eyes roaming over your flushed face.

“Let’s get you comfortable, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice low, dripping with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond—as if you even have the strength—her hands are already at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers brush your bare skin as she lifts it over your head, the cool air against your torso making you shiver. You blink sluggishly, caught in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol, watching her through heavy eyes as she kneels in front of you, utterly unhurried.

“I can do it myself," you protest weakly, barely able to form words.

She silences you with a chuckle, her dark curls brushing against your thighs as she leans forward slightly. “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

Her hands work deftly, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down your legs, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver again. She hums softly, a pleased sound in the back of her throat, as she folds your clothes neatly and sets them aside. You start to question why she always seems so at ease, so practiced, but the thought slips away like water through your fingers when her gaze meets yours again—steady and smouldering.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she murmurs, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. But there’s something darker behind it now, something that sends a tingle racing down your spine.

Heat rises to your face as you try to look away, but her hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her. The room feels impossibly warm as she leans closer, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first. But then she presses harder, her tongue slipping past your lips with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You can’t think, can’t do anything but let her guide you as she kisses her way down your neck, her lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. “I’ll make you feel so good, doll,” she whispers against your collarbone, her voice a dark promise that makes your pulse quicken. “I always do.”

The words don’t quite register—blurred and hazy—but you can’t focus on anything except the way her lips trail lower, her hands bracing your thighs to part them slightly. She presses you back against the bed, her weight a gentle but undeniable force as she crawls over you.

Agatha straddles your thigh, and you can feel the heat of her arousal even through the thick fabric of her pants. You gasp softly, the sound catching in your throat when her lips close around your nipple. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper, your body arching instinctively into her touch.

“Shh, that’s it, darling,” her voice vibrates against your skin as her fingers trail lower. Her hand slides over your stomach, then further, her touch maddeningly slow as she brushes against the edge of your underwear. “Let me take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

Her words melt into you, warm and liquid, as her fingers slip beneath the fabric, her touch firm but teasing. She drags her lips from your chest, her gaze catching yours as she smirks again, her expression dark and knowing. 

You couldn’t stop her even if you wanted to.

And somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you feel the faintest flicker of familiarity—of déjà vu, as if you’ve been here before, like this, with her. But before you can grasp the thought, it disappears, swallowed by the sensations overtaking you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, her hand moving in deliberate, measured strokes as she leans in to kiss you again, her lips claiming yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Always have been.”

Agatha’s fingers dip lower, teasing for a moment before sliding inside you with a deliberate push. You gasp, your body tensing briefly before melting into her touch. Her other hand grips your thigh, urging you to press up against her as she grinds herself down on your leg. The raw desperation in her movements sends shivers through you; her rhythm measured but insistent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” she groans, her voice dripping with amusement and hunger. Her hips roll against your thigh, breath hitching as she finds her rhythm. The friction between her and your skin sends a flood of heat pooling in your stomach, the coil tightening with every slow, deliberate movement.

You whimper as her fingers thrust inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath catch. “A-Agatha…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Hm?” she hums, her lips quirking into a smirk as her pace quickens. She presses her forehead to yours, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “You gonna come for me, sweet girl? I can feel how close you are.”

You nod helplessly, your nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure build higher and higher, your thighs trembling beneath her. The noises spilling from your lips are shameless, needy, and only seem to spur her on.

Agatha’s own moans fill the air, low and breathy, her hips grinding harder against your thigh as her fingers work you with precision. “You make it so damn difficult,” she huffs through her moans, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you’d just make a goddamn move when you’re sober, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to make you feel good.”

Her words barely register in your haze, too intoxicated to make sense of anything, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the push and pull of pleasure that threatens to undo you. Her hand grips your thigh harder, anchoring herself as her movements grow more frantic and desperate.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as the climax crashes over you in waves. Agatha follows moments later, her hips jerking as a guttural moan escapes her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She doesn’t stop right away, her fingers and hips moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re both breathless and spent. Slowly, she stills, her lips brushing over your damp skin as she catches her breath.

Agatha climbs off you with a satisfied smirk, the weight of her absence both a relief and a strange ache. “Stay put, darling,” she mocks softly; you’re too drugged up to move anyway. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

You barely register the sound of water running before she returns, a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water and some aspirin in the other. She cleans you with practiced care, her touch gentle but efficient, before setting the glass and aspirin on the bedside table.

“Agatha…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words catch in your throat as she cups your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Hush, darling,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Just rest.”

You nod, your head still feeling floaty, letting her pull the comforter over you. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel her fingers brush against your hair, her touch gentle yet possessive.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” she purrs, her voice carrying a dark undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

And then she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Outside your apartment, Agatha adjusts her coat, her smirk widening as she descends the stairs. She knows you won’t remember a thing by morning—you never do; she always makes sure of that.

-----

Yes, reader wants to be fucked by Agatha but drunk (and drugged) people cannot consent. That is why I marked it as non-con rather than just dub-con

Not that you needed reminding but please don't do this in the real world, folks it is very much illegal and just a dick move in general

-----

Taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33

[myharkness]

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

[myharkness]

Hers and Hers Alone

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha Harkness’s possessive nature burns brighter than ever when she claims you, not just with her words but with her magic. In the charged intimacy of her study, the line between dominance and devotion blurs, leaving no doubt that you belong entirely to her.

-OR-

She marks you with a magic tattoo cause you're oblivious to people flirting with you

Warnings: Possessive Agatha, reader is an idiot when it comes to flirting, magical marking, jealousy/obsession, claiming trope, slight angst, kind of dark romance is implied (at least their relationship is in my head)

Words: 1.9k

A/N: FuckMarvelEveryoneLives AU :P I errrr had carried this fic into the smut but then realised the request didn't ask for it so I guess what happened will just stay in my head :))

AO3 | Masterlist

Agatha Harkness always gets what she wants.

That’s the first thing you learnt when you fell into her orbit—her sharp eyes, her wicked smirk, the way her presence alone felt like it could strip you bare. It wasn’t just her power that made her dangerous; it was her confidence, the knowledge that she could claim you with nothing more than a look. And claim you, she did.

Tonight, that claim becomes permanent.

It starts earlier in the evening, though you’re far too oblivious to notice. Another witch—a newcomer to your coven—has been lingering a little too close, her compliments flowing like honey, her hand brushing yours just a bit too often. You think nothing of it, laughing at her jokes and responding with your usual warmth, but Agatha sees it all. She sits across the room, her wine glass in hand, her gaze locked on you with an intensity that sends lesser witches scattering. It’s subtle at first—the narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head—but as the other witch leans in and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, Agatha’s smile falters, replaced by something far sharper.

Jen sidles up beside her, an amused glint in her eye as she tracks Agatha’s gaze. “You’re going to set the room on fire if you keep glaring like that,” she says dryly.

“Perhaps,” Agatha mutters, her tone deceptively smooth. “But how could anyone blame me?" Her gaze flicks briefly to Jen before settling back on you.

Jen’s laughter is soft, a knowing sound that holds no pity. “She’s not doing anything. It’s you who sees it as a challenge.”

“A challenge easily won,” Agatha snaps, her irritation slipping through. Still, she doesn’t move. Not yet. She knows you too well to make a scene in public. No, this required precision.

—

The air buzzes with conversation, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that dance across the stone walls and when you finally turn toward her, your face brightens at the sight of her. You weave through everybody, the scent of burning herbs mingling with the faint tang of red wine, excusing yourself with a polite smile and a brief touch of hands that only fuel Agatha’s determination. By the time you reach her, she has composed herself into a picture of calm.

“You’re being antisocial again,” you tease lightly, tilting your head to study her. “Should I be worried?”

“Hardly,” she replies smoothly, though her voice dips into a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “Although perhaps you should.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Agatha steps closer, her fingers brushing your wrist lightly. The contact sparks against your skin, her magic coiling beneath the surface. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you feel the weight of her presence settle over you like a velvet cloak.

“You’ve been quite generous with your attention tonight,” she says softly, her voice carrying an edge that makes your heart skip. “Perhaps too generous.”

Your brows furrowed. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” She laughs low and dangerous. “No, darling. Jealousy is for those who doubt their place. I know exactly where I stand. Do you?”

Her words linger in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, and then Agatha’s fingers trail up your arm, her touch deliberate and slow, leaving behind a faint, smouldering heat. The air between you thickens, charged with her magic and something even more primal. Her breath brushes your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You don’t understand yet,” she whispers, her tone laced with a dark promise. “But you will.”

“Come with me,” she commands, making your pulse race.

Agatha doesn’t speak as she pulls you down the hallway, her grip firm but not painful, though there’s no mistaking the fire in her movements. You trail after her, a little breathless from trying to keep up, still half-confused about what’s gotten into her. It’s not until she shoves open the door to her study and drags you inside that she finally stops, turning to face you. The door clicks shut behind you with a wave of her hand, the air in the room thickening, charged with something electric and unrelenting.

“Agatha—” you start, but her sharp look cuts you off.

“Do you enjoy parading yourself like that?” she asks, her voice deceptively soft as she steps closer. “Letting them think they have the right to touch what’s mine?” The words cut like a knife, her tone equal parts petal and thorn, daring you to challenge her claim.

Her words sting, but there’s a flicker of defiance in your chest. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong, yet the weight of her gaze makes you second-guess yourself. “What? She was just being nice."

“Nice.” Agatha repeats, a dark chuckle escaping her lips as she closes the distance between you. “That wasn’t ‘nice,’ darling. She was flirting. And you…" Agatha pauses, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. For a fleeting moment, there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—not doubt, exactly, but something close. Vulnerability that is quickly buried under her usual sharpness. “You’re far too sweet to see it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die in your throat as her thumb brushes your bottom lip, lingering just long enough to make your heart stutter. “You’re mine,” she says softly, almost like a warning, her eyes darkening as she leans in. “You can laugh and smile at the others all you want,” she continues, her voice like silk laced with steel. “But they’ll never know you the way I do. They’ll never touch you like this.”

Your breath hitches; your body already betraying you as heat pools in your stomach. Agatha’s hands move to your shoulders, steady and deliberate as she turns you around to face the desk. You feel the press of her body against your back, her breath warm against your neck as she leans in. “Don’t move,” she murmurs, the command dripping with authority.

You stand still, barely daring to breathe, though your mind races. The weight of her gaze, the heat of her power, wraps around you like an unrelenting grip. A thrill courses through your chest—half fear, half longing—as you realise what she’s about to do. This is more than a claim; it’s a declaration, a tether, and deep down, you’re not sure if you’d ever want to break free.

 Agatha brushes her fingers down the column of your throat and across your collarbone before stopping over your chest. Her touch is gentle, but the power swirling from her is anything but. 

“Right here,” she murmurs, her voice a dark velvet caress. Her fingers brush over your chest, leaving a tingling trail of magic in their wake. “This is where my claim belongs—above your heart, so no one ever forgets who it beats for.”

A surge of violet magic blooms from her palm, tendrils of shimmering light twisting and curling as they seep into your skin. It’s not just energy—it’s alive, sparking and crackling like a storm contained within your chest. Heat rushes through you, both foreign and familiar, as if her power is carving itself into your very being.

You gasp, your body arching instinctively as Agatha mumbles soft incantations under her breath. When she pulls her hand away, your heart is racing, and you feel it—a faint, lingering hum where her magic settled.

“Look,” she instructs, her voice soft yet commanding. 

There, etched into your skin in delicate, curling lines of violet, are Agatha’s initials. It’s an ancient and commanding mark, pulsing faintly with magic. You feel it thrum in time with your heartbeat, as though Agatha herself has left a piece of her soul imprinted onto you. 

You blink, lips parted in surprise, but before you can speak, Agatha’s fingers ghost over the mark. The second she touches it, a wave of pleasure rushes through you, leaving you trembling as a choked gasp escapes your throat.

“Sensitive, isn’t it?” She murmurs, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Maybe now you’ll remember who owns you.”

You shiver under her touch, the magic from the mark sparking with every deliberate brush of her fingers. She leans in close, her voice a low purr against your ear. “And if you ever let anyone get that close again, I’ll make sure you cannot walk for days, darling. Do you understand?”

You swallow hard, nodding wordlessly, and Agatha hums approvingly. “Good girl.”

Agatha’s approval drips like honey into your veins, the warmth of her magic lingering just beneath your skin. Your body betrays you completely—breath shaky, pulse fluttering, and heat pooling low in your stomach. Every brush of her fingers near the freshly marked skin pulls a soft gasp from your lips, and you can feel her smile against your ear.

“Sensitive already,” she husks with dark amusement, the words sending a fresh shiver down your spine. Her fingertips ghost over the mark again, just enough to make your knees buckle, and you clutch at the edge of the desk for support. “Such a pretty reaction. I could play with you like this for hours, you know. Watch you squirm. Hear you beg.”

"Agatha,” you breathe, her name tumbling from your lips in a desperate mix of frustration and longing.

She tsks softly, her free hand trailing down your side, gripping your hip firmly enough to hold you in place. “Do you feel it yet?” she asks softly, tilting your chin up to force your gaze on her. “The way you need me now?” Her voice drops lower, the teasing edge softening into something deeper, more possessive. “That mark isn’t just to ward off wandering hands, love. It’s a tether. A reminder of exactly who you belong to.”

You can only nod, unable to find your voice as the thrum of magic beneath your skin grows more insistent. The mark feels alive—Agatha’s initials pulsing faintly, like they’re echoing your own heartbeat. The sensation deepens when she leans closer, her lips just grazing the sensitive skin below your jaw, and you let out a shaky whimper before you can stop yourself.

“That’s it,” Agatha whispers against your neck, her breath sending another ripple of arousal through you. Her lips curl into a smirk as she presses a kiss there, followed by a deliberate flick of her tongue. “You’re already so desperate. My mark is working beautifully.”

Her hand trails down the front of your body, teasing but never quite satisfying the ache that’s grown unbearable. “I could make you cum just by touching it,” she continues, her voice like velvet as she strokes a single finger lightly over the mark once more. The pleasure spikes instantly—so sharp and overwhelming that your head falls back with a gasp, your thighs pressing together in a feeble attempt for relief.

Agatha pulls back just enough to watch the way you tremble, utterly at her mercy. “Tell me, darling. Do you understand now? Do you know who you belong to?”

“Yes,” you manage, the word escaping in a breathless, desperate whisper.

Her smirk widens. “Say it.”

“You, Agatha,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I belong to you.”

“Good girl,” she hums, her voice softer now, almost tender. Her fingers trace the edge of the mark, drawing a shuddering breath from your lips. “You wear it beautifully,” she murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss just above the sigil. Her magic lingers there, warm and possessive, as she cups your cheek with a rare gentleness. “Mine,” she whispers again, more for herself than you.

-----

I just need to take a moment to appreciate the way Kathryn looks at the camera in the gif used at the start... the woman is staring into my soul and ughhhh the piercingssssss 😩😩😩

-----

Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony

[myharkness]

teacher's pet (professor!agatha x student!reader)

W4NDALOVER'S KINKMAS | 2024

dec 6: teachers pet (professor!agatha x student!reader)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

KINKMAS MASTERLIST | 2024

summary: Professor Harkness has always wanted you, but when you don't give into her advances she decides to use an enchanted quill in order to sway you in her direction.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon, enchanted quill, strap-on, begging, choking, mommy kink (used cautiously), slight breeding kink, kind of edging if you squint hard enough

teachers pet.

Agatha sat at her desk, a carefully measured distance between herself and the papers that lay before her. She had long since learned to enjoy the quiet moments alone in her office, the brief respite between the chaos of the outside world and the controlled environment she had created here. It was a sanctuary, a place where she could indulge in her thoughts. Thoughts of you.

She’d noticed you from the very first day you stepped into her office and over time, the quiet ache of her desire had only grown. Your eagerness, the way you were always the first to arrive at class, sitting at the front with a notebook in hand, always eager to ask questions, always searching for her approval. You were the perfect student, disciplined, careful - but there was something in the way you looked at her, something that went past mere respect.

She watched as you entered her office, just as you always did - tentative, but eager. Your hand, delicately rested against the doorframe for a moment before you stepped inside, a slight hesitation hanging in the air. Your gaze flickered toward her before quickly looking down at the floor, and Agatha’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles. 

You were still shy, still so innocent, but there was something undeniably captivating about you. The way you moved, so aware of your body, and yet, you couldn’t help but draw attention to yourself. The tightness of your skirts that gripped so perfectly to your ass, and she couldn’t deny that she’d caught a glimpse of you more and more. Your carefully chosen attire, always polished and proper, but undeniably teasing. 

“Professor, you wanted to discuss my project?” You say, your voice soft, a little hesitant, as though you weren’t entirely sure how to be in her presence. Agatha had heard that tone before. It was the sound of someone trying too hard to act professional, to hold onto some semblance of control, when in reality, they were anything but composed. 

She tilted her head, letting her eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, taking in the way your fingers nervously played with the hem of your skirt, how your lips pressed together just a little too slightly. 

“Of course, come in darling.” Agatha responded, her voice smooth. She gestured for you to sit, and as you settled into the chair across from her, she couldn’t help but notice how you shifted slightly, tugging your skirt down as though it might betray you. She bit back a laugh and how you were so unaware of how you made her feel.

Your hands rested on your lap, fingers curled slightly, the faint tremble just noticeable enough for Agatha to catch it. She knew what you were trying to do, trying to appear professional, trying to act as if this meeting was no different from any other. But she had seen you enough times to know the difference between what you showed and what you truly felt. The way your gaze lingered on her when you thought she wasn’t looking, the slight quiver of your lip when you asked a question that was a little too personal, a little too loaded.

Her gaze drifted to your face, watching as you shifted again, glancing down at your notes, a lock of hair falling across your forehead. Agatha could feel the pull between you both, an invisible thread that kept drawing her attention to you, to the way your lips parted slightly when you spoke, as though you were unsure of the words coming out, unsure of yourself.

“Everything seems to be progressing well with your project,” Agatha said, her voice smooth, but her mind already elsewhere. The light in your eyes, the way your shoulders were just a bit too stiff for someone so young, so open. You wanted something more. She was sure of it. You didn’t have to say it, Agatha could see it in every small gesture, every fleeting glance.

You were so careful, always so careful, never pushing beyond the boundary you had drawn around yourself. But Agatha knew, in her quietest moments, that you wanted to. She had seen it in the way you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, the way your eyes lingered on her just a fraction longer than was appropriate. 

Her eyes fell to the desk, where the enchanted quill sat waiting. It had been in her possession for years, a relic of a past she tried to leave behind, and yet it called to her now, with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. With just a flick of her fingers, she could make this moment more than what it was, more than just a professor and her student. She could make you feel things, things that neither of you had ever allowed yourselves to feel before.

Agatha’s fingers brushed the edge of the quill, her gaze flickering over to you again. You were so beautiful in your innocence, so unaware of the depth of your own desire. But tonight, that would change.

“You’ll need to sign this for me,” Agatha said, breaking the silence, her voice suddenly sharper, more purposeful. She reached for the parchment, her fingers brushing against the edge of the quill as she pushed the document toward you. Your eyes followed her every movement, and she couldn’t miss the way you shifted in your seat, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than before.

You reached for the quill, your fingers brushing against the smooth, cool surface. Agatha’s heart skipped a beat. There it was. The magic would begin, slowly at first, unnoticed. But it would build, and when it did, you would have no choice but to acknowledge what you both had been avoiding for far too long.

The moment your fingers brushed the enchanted quill, a shift occurred in the room—subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. Agatha’s pulse quickened, her gaze locked on you with a quiet intensity as you signed your name on the parchment, the ink swirling a little too smoothly beneath your hand. She watched, savoring the way your shoulders tensed, the slight shift in your posture, as if something deep inside of you had stirred to life.

You didn’t know it yet, of course, but Agatha could already feel the subtle change in the air. The magic was working its way through your system, slow and steady, like a gentle tide pulling you under. You were still unaware, still looking down at the paper with a furrowed brow, your expression unreadable. But Agatha saw the smallest signs, the flush creeping up your neck, the way your breath seemed to catch in your throat.

“I also wanted to ask you about this part of your essay. It's a really interesting take.” Agatha says, wanting to confuse you even more as your head becomes fuzzy with the lust enchantment, knowing that the more you think about what to say, the more sensitive and desperate you’d become. 

You placed the quill back on the desk, the delicate tip still glimmering in the dim light of the office. Agatha leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping the edge of her pen, watching you closely. She could hear the soft rustle of your skirt as you shifted in the chair, the sound of your breath growing just a touch heavier with each passing moment. It was subtle, but it was there. The tension. The pull.

“You seem restless,” Agatha said, her voice low, almost a purr. She watched as your eyes flickered toward her, a brief hesitation before you met her gaze. The flush on your cheeks had deepened now, and Agatha couldn’t help but revel in the shift she had caused. She had always been so good at reading people, at sensing the smallest changes, and now she could see the effects of her subtle manipulation working its way through you.

You shifted again, this time more noticeable, a shift of your legs that made your skirt rise slightly, just enough for Agatha to catch a glimpse of the delicate skin beneath. She bit her lip, but only for a moment, as she kept her focus entirely on you. The way you crossed and uncrossed your legs, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, each motion a sign of the growing discomfort building within you. You weren’t just restless anymore; you were beginning to feel the weight of something unspoken, something you couldn’t quite name.

"Is everything alright?" Agatha asked, her voice soft, but her eyes sharp, taking in every little detail. She could see the way your eyes darted to her lips for the briefest of moments before you quickly looked away. The way you swallowed, throat bobbing, as though trying to push down something you didn’t know how to acknowledge.

"I - I think so," you murmured, but your voice was different now. The words came slower, as though you were struggling to keep your thoughts in order. Agatha saw it. The way your hands gripped the edge of your chair a little too tightly, the way your legs shifted restlessly beneath the table. There was no denying it now, the magic was working.

She leaned forward, just enough for her presence to feel closer, more palpable. She could see your chest rise and fall more quickly, your pupils dilating ever so slightly as she made the smallest movement, as though testing the waters.

"Are you sure?" Agatha's question hung in the air, almost teasing, but never fully pushing. She wanted to see just how far you would go, how much you would reveal before you could no longer control it. She had always watched you, watched you closely. She knew you were waiting for something, something that only she could give you.

You shifted again, a slight tremor in your hand as you placed it on the table, as if trying to steady yourself, but it only betrayed you. Agatha saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your eyes refused to meet hers, no matter how hard you tried to regain some semblance of control. You couldn’t hide it.

The air between you both was thick now, taut with something neither of you could name, but both of you could feel. The silence stretched for a moment before Agatha broke it with a soft, knowing smile.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," she said, the words laced with an almost untraceable sweetness. She could see the way your breath caught at the sound of her voice, the way your eyes flickered to her lips again, only this time, you didn’t look away.

You were slipping, Agatha realized, and she couldn’t help the small thrill that coursed through her. This was it. She had waited so long to see you like this, to watch you come undone before her eyes, and now, the anticipation of it was nearly unbearable.

You shifted in your seat once more, and Agatha’s eyes followed the movement, the way your body reacted to the growing heat between you both. She could see the slight sheen of sweat forming at the back of your neck, the way your breath was becoming more shallow, more labored. The quill had done its job, heightened your awareness, your sensitivity to every small movement, every fleeting touch.

"I- I think I need a moment," you whispered, your voice trembling now, no longer the calm, collected student she was used to.

Agatha’s lips curved upward, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. She could feel the weight of your desire, could almost taste it in the air between you. She knew exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t yet understand it yourself.

"You can have all the time you need," she said softly, her voice a mere breath of sound, knowing full well that the moment had already passed. The spell had already begun its work. And there was no turning back now.

Agatha lets her gaze drop to your hands, noting the way your fingers curl just slightly, as though the movement is automatic, as if you’re trying to hold onto something—anything—to stop the flood of feelings threatening to overwhelm you. You’re so close now, so close to giving in, and Agatha relishes in the control she holds over you, the way every little gesture of yours betrays your struggle.

“Are you feeling... uncomfortable?” Agatha asks, her voice soft, like silk. She leans forward ever so slightly, just enough to see the way you flinch, the way your breath catches in your throat, like you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way she’s watching you. Her eyes linger on your lips, and she can feel the subtle tension in your body as you fight not to follow her gaze, not to let the heat between you both become too obvious.

Your breath comes in shallow bursts now, faster than before. You shift in your seat again, a little more urgently this time, and Agatha watches as your legs move restlessly, the hem of your skirt inching higher, revealing the delicate curve of your calf. It’s an innocent movement, a natural shift, but Agatha’s eyes track it like a predator eyeing its prey. The magic of the quill hums in the air around you both, thickening the space between you, and she can feel the way it pulls at your resolve, making every small motion feel more intense, more charged with that irresistible pull.

“I, I don’t know what’s happening,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now, strained with the effort of trying to hold onto whatever control you have left. Your eyes flicker to hers for a fleeting moment, then quickly dart away, like a moth too afraid to fly too close to the flame.

Agatha feels her lips part in the smallest of smiles. You think you’re losing control, but she knows better. You’ve been wanting this, she tells herself, even as she watches you struggle against the tide. You want this. You just don’t have the courage to admit it yet.. Your hands clench tighter, your body swaying just slightly in your seat as though you can’t quite decide whether to move closer to her or flee. But Agatha knows. She knows you’ll stay. 

You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve had moments of embarrassment, the familiar flutter of nerves when speaking with Agatha, but this? This is something else entirely. It’s not just your heart racing; it’s something deep inside you, something primal that you can’t name. You feel hungry, in a way that’s foreign, unrecognizable, and yet you know it’s her. Her presence, the way she watches you, the way her eyes seem to follow your every move.

It’s all too much.

Agatha, on the other hand, remains completely oblivious to the chaos she’s unwittingly caused. Her fingers continue their idle drumming on the desk, her posture relaxed, as though nothing is out of the ordinary. She’s staring at the pile of papers in front of her, her attention seemingly elsewhere.

It should be comforting, the way she remains so calm, so controlled, but it only seems to fuel the fire within you. The longer she remains unaware, the more your body betrays you, the more desperate you become for her. You can’t think straight anymore, can’t focus on anything except the ache between your legs, the burning need that has taken root deep inside you.

Finally, you can’t take it any longer. You stand abruptly, your hands trembling as you push the chair back from the desk. Agatha doesn’t notice, her eyes still focused on her notes, still completely absorbed in whatever she’s reading. The sight of her so composed, so calm, is the final straw. You take a shaky step forward, the distance between you and her now feeling insurmountable, like something invisible but real is keeping you apart.

Your voice cracks when you speak, the words escaping before you can stop them. “Professor, I- I need you.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze. You hadn’t meant to say it. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so desperate, so raw, but the confession is out there now, hanging in the air between you. You swallow hard, your throat dry, as you dare to look up at her.

Agatha blinks, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks at you. For a moment, you wonder if she didn’t hear you properly, if she’s just playing it cool, trying to maintain the authority she always does. But then, slowly, her eyes shift from the papers on the desk to you, and she seems to take in the way you’re standing, how tense you are, how your breathing has changed. She pauses, her lips parting slightly, as though she’s unsure what to make of your admission.

“I-" she begins, her voice soft but still steady. "I’m not sure what you mean. Is something wrong with your project? I thought we were making good progress.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening with each passing second. This isn’t about the project. Not anymore. You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, your mind clouded by the sensation of wanting her, of needing her. Your body is practically shaking with the intensity of it, your fingers curling into fists at your sides to keep from reaching for her, to keep from pulling her closer.

“No,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a plea. “I need you. I don’t, I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t- I can’t control it anymore.”

Agatha’s eyes widen slightly, the confusion in her gaze evident, and for a moment, you think she might laugh it off, dismiss it as some odd outburst. But the longer she stares at you, the more she seems to realize that you’re not joking. That this isn’t some fleeting moment of embarrassment or an impulsive comment. This is real. And the realization crashes into her like a wave.

For the briefest of moments, there’s a flicker of something in her expression—something unreadable. Her lips part, but no words come out, as though she’s unsure of how to respond, unsure of whether she should push you away or give in to the pull that seems to be growing between you both.

You take a step closer, the sound of your shoes echoing in the silence. Your body is drawn to her as if it’s not your own anymore, each movement an involuntary reaction to the desire swelling inside you. You’re so close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating from her body, see the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It feels like there’s an invisible force pulling you both together, and you’re powerless to stop it.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” you say, your voice trembling now, the words tumbling out in a rush. “But I can’t think. I can’t think of anything but you.”

Agatha is silent for a long moment, her gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign that this might be a trick. But there’s no mistaking it now. She can see it, the desperation in your eyes, the way your body is trembling with the weight of your own need. She can feel it too, the way the air between you has shifted, charged with something neither of you can deny.

And still, she remains quiet, her fingers resting on the desk in front of her, her expression unreadable. For a brief, agonizing moment, you wonder if she will reject you, if she will turn away and pretend this never happened. But then, finally, she speaks.

“I see,” Agatha says, her voice almost too soft to hear, but there’s no mistaking the authority in it. “And what is it that you want from me?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, the tension palpable as Agatha stands still, her gaze unwavering. You can feel the heat pooling in your chest and between your legs, crawling up your neck, suffocating you. Every part of your body aches, an unfamiliar hunger gnawing at your insides, growing with each second that passes. You can’t think straight anymore. You can’t stand it.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and your hands shake as you finally break the silence. “Please, Agatha,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you. It hurts. Please, make it stop.” Your words spill out in a rush, a frantic plea, and you take a step forward, drawn to her as though you have no control over your body. “Please I don’t know what’s happening, but it hurts. I can’t think straight, I don’t know what to do, I don’t.”

You’re rambling now, desperation clear in your voice, your entire being trembling with the weight of your need. You’ve never felt like this before,so lost, so vulnerable, so exposed. You don’t know how much longer you can stand this unbearable pressure, this overwhelming heat, this need for her.

Agatha’s gaze softens slightly, and you see something flicker in her eyes, a flicker of understanding, maybe even something else. But her expression remains controlled, her facade still intact. She was corrupting you and it felt so sweet.

“Sit,” she commands, her voice calm but firm, her fingers tapping lightly on the top of her desk. The sound echoes through the room, and for a brief moment, you think she’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll obey, if you’ll listen to her.

Without thinking, your body moves before your mind can even catch up. You move quickly, too quickly, as if your limbs are not entirely your own, and you sit on the edge of the desk in front of her chair. The surface is cool beneath you, but it does nothing to quell the burning ache inside.

“I need you,” you say again, your voice barely more than a broken whisper. “It hurts so much, I can’t take it. Please, Agatha, please, I need you to, to make it stop.”

Your words are frantic now, desperate, each one laced with an urgency that makes your breath catch in your throat. You can’t think. You can only feel. Your body is on fire, your pulse pounding in your ears, and all you can do is beg.

Agatha leans back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on you, and for a long moment, she says nothing. Her fingers rest lightly on the arms of her chair, but the way she holds herself now is different, less rigid, less controlled. Her gaze moves slowly over you, and you feel it like a physical touch, every inch of her attention focused on your trembling form. She’s watching how your skirt has rode up your thighs, your dampened underwear on show to her, this is exactly how she wanted you. 

“I don’t think you understand,” she murmurs, her voice low and tender. But there’s no mistaking the edge to her tone, the quiet power behind her words. “You’re asking for something you don’t fully grasp. Something you won’t be able to walk away from.”

“I don’t care,” you say, the words coming out before you can stop them. “I don’t care. I just I need you to touch me. I need to feel something, anything, to stop this burning inside me.”

You’re on the edge of breaking, and it’s almost too much. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and the ache between your legs is unbearable. You need her. You need her so badly that the thought of being without her, of not feeling her, is enough to make you feel dizzy, lightheaded.

Agatha stands suddenly, her movement fluid and deliberate. You barely register it before she’s right in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from her body. Her fingers graze your knee as she steps closer, and the touch is electric, sending a jolt of sensation straight through you.

Her lips part slightly, and she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need,” she says softly, almost coaxing, but there’s an undeniable authority in her voice now, one that sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t hesitate. You can’t. “I need you to fuck me.” you gasp, the words slipping out as though they were the only thing holding you together. 

There’s a moment of silence, just a beat, a breath, before Agatha’s fingers press lightly against your chin, tilting your head up so that you’re forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes are dark now, and there’s something predatory in them, something that makes your heart race even faster, makes your body ache even more.

Without a word, she leans in, her lips brushing against your forehead, soft at first, gentle, before she pulls back slightly, her eyes still locked on yours. “You’re sure this is what you want?” she asks, her voice low, almost a whisper, but the weight behind the question makes it impossible to ignore.

You nod fervently, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with desperation. “Yes, yes, Agatha. I need this. I need you.”

Agatha’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s reconsidering, if she’s going to push you away, make you leave. But then, slowly, her lips curl into the faintest of smiles—something dark, something knowing.

“Good,” she murmurs, her voice almost satisfied. “Then I’ll give you what you need.”

With that, she steps closer, her hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer to her, the closeness nearly overwhelming. She doesn’t speak as she moves, doesn’t need to. There’s no need for words now. Her actions say everything. And you, desperate, trembling with need, can’t help but give in completely.

You reach for her neck, unable to contain yourself anymore, pulling her face closer to yours, trying to connect your lips together in a desperate scramble to feel her on your body. Agatha complied, that same smirk she always wore not once leaving her face as she finally had you sat on her desk, your legs spread round her body, doing anything you could to get her to touch you. 

She doesn’t dare resist your scrambling, instead letting you pull her into a deep kiss, her lips sliding against yours in a messy rhythm, not able to find any relief in how you were feeling. Agatha was anything but gentle with you but you were not complaining, her tongue started to trace your bottom lip and you opened up immediately, letting her explore you with her tongue. You groaned loudly into her mouth, your legs wrapping around her waist, trapping your professor between your legs. She took this opportunity to test your waters, her teeth scraping against your bottom lip before pulling it away from your face, her teeth digging into your skin. When she was met with a muffled moan, it was the prettiest sound Agatha had ever heard and she was thankful for how much rougher you were going to be able to take her now she’d enchanted your emotions and more importantly your body. 

You start to grind your hips up against Agatha’s crotch, you couldn’t work out what was making you feel like this, you’d never acted like this with anyone, and even though you’d imagined it with your professor, you never thought you’d be in this position. The harder you grinded against her, it became more apparent that she was packing something underneath her trousers and the thought of your professor wearing a strap beneath that suit was making you feral.

“You found something you’re looking for?” Agatha teased as you reached your hand to grab the bulge that lay underneath, a moan tumbling from your lips, your legs wrapping around her tighter to feel her cock against you. 

“Do you always wear that?” You ask breathlessly, confused momentarily for why your professor would be wearing a strap to just sit and grade papers in her office. Before you could question it further, Agatha snaked her hand around to touch you through your soaked underwear, hiking your skirt further up your legs and you couldn’t pass out at the feeling. 

“Fuck you’re soaked.” Agatha groaned, the sound of your breathy moans something that she couldn’t ignore, she wanted to devour you, but there was something about leaving you in this state, so whiny and desperate that was particularly appealing, but when she looked at your pleading eyes she realised she couldn’t ever do that to you. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Agatha cooed as she pushed your underwear to the side, looking in awe at your pussy dripping in arousal. You looked so pure and untouched, everything about how your folds trembled in the anticipation to be touched was drawing Agatha in more than she thought she could be.

“Professor please I need you to fill me up.” You whine, the cold air hitting your arousal making you realise just how worked up you’d become. You must’ve said something right, because Agatha let out a breathy grunt before working her index finger towards your entrance, her other hand coming up to grasp at your throat before she pushed her entire digit inside of you. Your strangled moan was even prettier than Agatha expected and when you pushed your neck further into her grip and started to lift your hips to slide her finger in and out of you, she shook her head in genuine disbelief at how pathetic you looked like this. 

You start whining when Agatha doesn’t match your thrusts, wanting nothing more than for her to start pounding her fingers into you, but instead she just slips another finger inside you with ease, stretching your tight pussy around her fingers instead of thrusting into you. You were squirming up against her touch, your clit burning at how it was being ignored by her. Your doe eyes looking up at her as her grip tightened around your neck. “You’re just too tight, I need to warm you up doll.” You groan at her words, knowing for a fact that you could take her. 

“Professor I can take you, I need to take all of you now.” You say desperately, thighs shaking around her waist. You take it into your own hands, unbuckling Agatha’s belt in a chaotic scramble to see her strap that was waiting to be buried inside of you. Normally Agatha wouldn’t tolerate this desperate behaviour, but considering she was the one that put the spell on you, she let it slide, watching in awe as you undressed her bottom half, waiting for the cock to spring out and when it did your eyes widened. “It’s huge.” You gasp, not expecting the sheer girth and length of the purple cock to take you this much by surprise.

“Yeah and you’re gonna take it.” Agatha grins at the scarlet flush on your cheeks, expecting some level of protest, but instead she is met with your hands scrambling at her hips, trying to push her towards you. Agatha chuckled with a low hum at the familiar eagerness that first drew her to you. She doesn’t waste any more time, spitting down onto her hand before rubbing it up and down her strap a few times before slapping the head against your pussy, drawing out a string of desperate whines, your hips bucking wildly at the feeling. “Keep still princess.” She whispers, holding your thighs down onto the desk as she slightly pushes into you, careful not to hurt you. 

You didn’t care, you needed to feel your Professor's cock deep inside you and when she can feel the tremble of your thighs trying to get yourself further onto her strap, she does it for you. She enters you with one single thrust and your fingernails dig hard into her back as she starts to pound harder into you, her hands now gripping your waist, pulling you harder onto her to meet each movement. 

Agatha could see how swollen your clit had become, it was basically begging to be touched, but she knew if she did so much as swipe her finger across it, you’d come and be way too sensitive to go again. The enchantment usually had that effect, but you weren’t letting this end here. You were way too shy to ever come back to her after you remember how pathetic you were asking, so she was going to drag this out for as long as she could. 

She kept pounding into you, your pretty moans had turned into guttural gasps and grunts as you felt the burning in your clit, wanting nothing but to reach down and touch yourself, but you knew better than that, even with the intense feelings you were having, you weren’t about to mess this up. 

You could feel something building inside of you, you’d never come without clitoral stimulation, it was different, but you were craving some sort of relief. Agatha could feel you trembling beneath her, and before you knew it you were empty again. You felt like crying, but before you had a chance to react, her hands were gripping at your scalp, pulling you off the desk and hitting the ground with a thump. Your knees were aching from the drop, but when Agatha turned to look at you, her strap eye level with you, you couldn’t feel it anymore, the only thing you could focus on was the fire in your core begging to be put out. 

“Come on doll, you know you want to.” Agatha smirks at the way your eyes were gleaming at the strap that was glistening in your arousal. Her hand was gripping around the base, guiding it towards your closed mouth, moving the head against your lips until you gave in and your mouth fell open, your tongue immediately attacking Agatha’s cock. 

You wanted nothing more than for her to grab your head and force her cock down your throat, so you tried to do just that. Taking as much of the length into your mouth as you could and Agatha groaned as if she could feel it, her head tilted back as she grabbed the back of your head, helping you as you desperately tried to take the entire thing down your throat. You started to choke as she thrusted into your mouth, she tried to pull out but you gripped the back of her thighs. You suddenly had an intense desire to have your throat fucked raw, something that you’d never even really been into before, but this felt so different. 

“God you’re such a whore,” Agatha spluttered at how keen you were to please her, “You’d do anything as long as I’m pounding into you.” With each word she thrusted harder into your mouth as you nodded at her assumption, moaning and spluttering around her cock, saliva dripping down your chin. 

This time she pulled out of you, sitting back onto her desk chair leaving you on your knees, your brain fuzzy and your face covered in saliva. “Come sit on my lap, you can do the rest of the work if you’re that desperate.” Agatha said casually and she’d never seen someone scramble to get up so quickly. You were dripping down your thighs, your mascara running down your cheeks and combining with the saliva dripping from your chin. 

Agatha couldn’t help but put her hand on your face as you straddled her lap, lowering yourself down onto her strap. She wiped the saliva from your chin, her eyes not leaving your cunt as you finally took the entire thing and before you could even adjust you started bouncing up and down on it, chasing the orgasm that had been ripped from you. Agatha would’ve usually sat back and watched you struggle, but there was something so endearing about your primal desperation to be fucked that she decided to help you out, thrusting her hips back into you as you moved down against her. 

“Fuck Momm-” You stopped yourself, “Professor sorry that’s what I meant.” That did it, Agatha moaned at your words, picking you up off of her cock and slamming you against the desk, forcefully bending you over and spreading you open before thrusting her cock back into you as you moaned gutterally against the desk. 

“You take Mommy’s cock so well princess.” Agatha growls, spreading you further so she could watch her strap disappear inside of you. She grabbed both of your hands, pinning them behind your back to give her some leverage as she thrusted harder into you than before. You could barely see, the pleasure overwhelming you to the point of no return. 

“Mommy my clit, please I need to cum all over your cock, please let me.” You whine, your words barely forming as each time you spoke your body was being shoved hard into her desk, her ungraded papers getting crumpled beneath you, but neither of you seemed to care. 

Agatha obliged, letting go of your hands, slipping one of hers between your legs to harshly brush circles against your clit, her other hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging on your neck so she could see the faint reflection of your fucked out face in the black screen of her computer. 

It wasn’t going to take much more, Agatha was sure she could feel you clenching around her strap and the moans that were leaving your mouth were scratchy and tired, your throat burning from where she was thrusting into you. 

“Mommy, i-’

“Come now pretty girl or you won’t be coming tonight.” Agatha insisted and like magic, you felt every single muscle stand on the edge, your entire body freezing in pleasure as your head went completely blurry. It was like you were in that space forever, before it all came crashing down, every movement, every touch, built upon the last, your rhythm synchronized, bodies attuned to one another. Your breath hitched, a tremor coursing through her frame as the sensation intensified.

Suddenly, it was as if your body had given in completely to the waves of pleasure, an uncontrollable release coursing through you. A warm surge followed, unexpected and thrilling, but it came washing all over you and Agatha’s desk. You fell against the surface, your body soaked with your own arousal. Your professor scoffed at how you’d just squirted all over your fellow students' papers, finding it nothing but amusing. 

“Feel better?” Agatha asks as you nod hard enough to break your neck, the enchantment beginning to wear off as you felt the embarrassment reach your cheeks. 

“I am so sorry, I’ve ruined all these papers.” You say in genuine panic, lifting yourself up and trying to stack all the papers together before a hand touches your wrist, stilling your hands. 

“The only thing ruined here is you.” Agatha smiles, her hand reaching for your chin, her thumb pressing into your cheek as she tries to get you to calm down a little bit. 

“I didn’t know I could do that.” You laugh nervously, your usual demeanor falling back into place and Agatha smirks at how the familiar shyness build back up into your voice. 

“I have my ways.” Agatha smiles, placing a kiss against your forehead as you tug back at your skirt, trying to stop it from riding up your soaked thighs. 

“What like using enchanted quills on your favourite student?” It was your turn to smirk, watching as Agatha’s smile dropped, her brows furrowed in confusion to how you could even know what she had done. 

“How did you-”

“I think you forget how good of a student I am.” You grin, knowing that you’d done your research on witchcraft heavily for your final project, you basically knew every trick Agatha had up her sleeve, “I knew from the moment I picked it up.” You blush, your eyes dropping, almost ashamed to be admitting that you liked the thought of your professor being so desperate to fuck you that she’d go as far as using centuries old enchantments just to be able to do it. 

Agatha smiled at you, her own cheeks slightly flushed pink at being found out, but delighted in the fact that you let the spell take over you, knowing exactly what you were going to get if you did. “God you’d really do anything wouldn’t you.” You nod in response, both of you smiling widely at each other. 

“I think I need another meeting about my project.”

“Tomorrow, 6pm, I’ll be waiting.”

[myharkness]

not a lot, just forever intertwined, sewn together like the rock bears the weather not a lot, just forever

agatha harkness + rio vidal adrianne lenker - not a lot just forever

[myharkness]

Good job, detective

Detective!Agatha x fem!reader (3.2k words)

summary: you’re a newly minted detective who just cracked your first murder case, and the entire police department decided to celebrate with a small party—naturally, Agatha Harkness was there.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, g!p agatha harkness, smut, dirty talk, penetration, blowjob, mommy issue, explicit language, age gap, praising kink, outdoor, unprotected sex, slight footjob

a/n: I was a little high on edibles and listening to Crush by Ethel Cain while writing this. Let me know if you guys want part 2!

Case closed. The bad guy got caught. You did it.

The air in the bar is filled with the smell of spilled beer and the stale scent of whiskey that lingered from the bar’s low-lit corners.

Tonight, the place felt even smaller than usual, the laughter of the police officers in the corner fading into the background as you kept your eyes on the one person who hadn't yet congratulated you on your first solved murder case: Detective Agatha Harkness.

She was sitting by herself like she always did. A worn cigarette dangled from her lips, ash falling off in slow, lazy bits. Her beer, the cheapest they had, was halfway gone, and her navy cargo pants and dark flannel looked as though they’d seen too many long nights like this.

She looked at ease, but the slight tension in her posture told you she wasn’t entirely relaxed. Maybe she hadn’t been for years.

“Good job, newbie,” Herb said, clinking his beer against your shoulder, snapping you back to the present.

You offered him a polite smile. Herb was one of the few people in the department you found easy to talk to. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Agatha helped a lot with the case.”

“She did,” Herb said, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching Agatha. “She can be tough, sure, but she’s one hell of a mentor—and an even better detective. The best we’ve got.”

Your heartbeat quickened, and you felt your cheeks flush as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, your voice quieter. “She’s really good at that.”

You’d been watching her all night, trying to figure out if she was as untouchable as she seemed. Now, drunk and buzzed from the alcohol, you figured you might as well try.

You waited until the last of the other cops had filtered out and the bar had quieted before finally making your move toward her.

You wobbled slightly as you approached her booth, the floor beneath your boots feeling unsteady. Agatha didn’t even look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew you were coming.

“Detective,” you said, your voice slurring just a bit. “Thought I’d join you.”

Agatha looked up slowly, her blue eyes narrowing just the slightest as she took in your unsteady stance. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word for a long moment. The only sound was the faint clink of her beer hitting the table.

“You’re drunk.” She muttered, voice rough like she hadn’t spoken all night. Her cigarette dangled from her lips, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light.

You didn’t care. You were tired of playing it safe, tired of pretending you didn’t notice her, that you didn’t feel that pull when you were around her. “So what?” you said, voice a little more defiant than you intended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes still locked on you, sizing you up. “It means you can’t think straight,” she said, voice flat. “And you’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“Maybe I do want to make a fool of myself.”

Agatha snorted softly, shaking her head as a sly smirk curved her lips. “I know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Oh?” you replied, tilting your head. “And what’s that?”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if she were interrogating a suspect. “Trying to sleep with your senior detective to fast-track your career. It’s cute, really.”

“It’s not about climbing the ladder,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of her scrutiny. “I just wanna have a drink with you, that’s all. Celebrating our success on the case. We worked so hard together, didn’t we?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Agatha countered, her eyes narrowing like she was analyzing every detail of your reaction. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks that way.”

“I’m not interested in hiding my desires, detective,” you said softly, looking down and seeing a noticeable bulge on Agatha’s pants. You wet your lips. “Can’t say the same to you, though.”

For the first time, Agatha didn’t look away. But she didn’t smile either. Instead, her gaze darkened, and she put the cigarette out in the ashtray between you. “I’m not the one you want, kid,” she said, voice a little more serious now, almost a warning. “I’m trouble. And you’re better off without it.”

You scoffed, your head swimming a little more with every word she said, but you pushed through. “You think I’m some little rookie who’s scared of a little trouble?”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “I think that’s exactly what you are. And you think you’re the first one who’s tried to make a move on me after a few drinks?”

Her words hit harder than you expected, but you didn’t back off. You weren’t going to let her get away with pushing you away like she had with everyone else.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, the alcohol making your thoughts fuzzier. “But I’m more fun. You’ll see.”

Agatha tilted her head, studying you carefully. You could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, and for a split second, there was something soft there— curiosity, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look that made her so damn good at shutting people out.

“I’ve been down that road, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low, cocky. “I don’t need another mess in my life. Especially not one that can’t even hold their liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” you said, your voice firm now, the alcohol starting to fuel your stubbornness. “I just think maybe you’re a little scared of me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Scared of you?” she repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been around, kid. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You leaned in closer, your chest almost brushing against the edge of the table. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s scared,” you said softly, words coming out before you could think. “Maybe you’re just too afraid to let someone in.”

She didn’t confirm, or deny. She didn’t need to.

Instead, Agatha stood up suddenly, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re drunk, rookie, get rest. Go home,” she muttered, her voice almost tired now. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, she walked out of the booth, her figure disappearing into the dim light of the small bar.

You watched the smoke from her last cigarette curl in the air, and it seemed to mock you, reminding you of the way Agatha had pulled away from you without a second thought. But you weren’t going to let it end like that. Not tonight.

You weren’t a fool. You could tell by the way she looked at you—half dismissive, half something else—that she wasn’t immune to whatever this was. That flicker of vulnerability that she quickly buried every time you came close, the little moments where she didn’t pull away fast enough. She might have tried to shut you down, but you could see it, just beneath the surface.

And you weren’t backing down.

You pushed yourself away from the booth and stumbled a little as you made your way to the door, your boots clicking a little too loudly against the worn wooden floors. You had no idea where she went, but you had a feeling you didn’t need to look far.

Agatha was at the far end of the empty parking lot, leaning against her car, a cigarette in her hand. The glow of the streetlamp cast a shadow over her, making her look even more like she belonged to the night than she had inside.

You walked toward her slowly, your thoughts still clouded by the alcohol, but your steps steady.

She didn’t look up when you stopped a few feet away from her. “Thought I told you to go home,” Agatha’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t turn to face you. Her thumb flickers a cigarette’s butt.

You didn’t take a step back. “I don’t think you told me that,” you replied, your voice more confident than you felt. “You just tried to get rid of me.”

“Same thing.” She took another drag. “You’ve already had your fun for the night. Go back inside, have another drink with the others. Let them keep telling you how great you are.”

“They’re all already gone home.”

Agatha shrugged. “And you should too, kid.”

Then, without warning,

You stepped forward, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her, the tension so thick between you two that it almost made the air crackle. Agatha’s breath hitched as you grabbed her crotch.

Fuck it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want me, liar,” you said softly, your voice low, your chest tight. “You’re hard, detective.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of your neck before pulling you in. The kiss was slow, deliberate, testing, like she was still deciding if she wanted this, if you were worth it.

You moan into her greedy mouth. Your hand squeezes her bulge, earning a sweet moan and a soft hip buck from Agatha. You’re practically throwing yourself into her arms. That pulled-up sleeve of her flannel is making your head dizzy. She’s such a handsome woman, and you want nothing more than for her to ruin you, to have your fingernails clawing onto her veiny arms as she choked you in bed.

When she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker than they had been before. Her breath was shallow, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Agatha?” you call for her, unsure if you have pushed it too far. “I—”

“Get in the car,” she demands, pulling your hair with force. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, you took a step back and reluctantly broke away from her embrace. As you walked towards the car, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, but the idea of being with Agatha, having her in every way possible, was intoxicating.

As you reached the car, Agatha slid into the driver's seat, her eyes never leaving yours. You could see the hunger and desire mirrored in her gaze. It made your heart race even faster and sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

"You’ve been bad," she whispered, breathing hard. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. Agatha just unzipped her cargo pants and freed her hardened, big, thick cock, and sighed in relief.

“God, Agatha—”

"Look at the mess you made me, hon."

You couldn't help but lick your lips in anticipation. The sight of it was overwhelming, and you felt a surge of arousal that you had never experienced before. You knew this was wrong to fuck your peer, but all you could think about was feeling that perfect cock inside you, being impaled on it and taken by the woman you had been so drawn to for months.

Your cunt clenched around nothing with the thought of Agatha’s hands on your hips, fucking your pussy. “Please.”

"Begging me to fuck you already, huh?" she said, her voice low and sexy. "I bet you'd be great at anything I asked you to do."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a warm sensation spread through your body. "What do you want me to do next?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward to press her lips against yours in a gentle, possessive kiss. "I think it's time for you to show me just how good you are," she said, her voice low and husky. She reached down, grasping your hair gently and pulling you toward her cock. "Suck me off, baby," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You didn't need to be told twice. You eagerly took Agatha's cock into your mouth, savoring the taste of her leaks like a sweet honey.

She groaned in pleasure as you began to suck and stroke her, feeling her cock twitch and grow harder in your mouth. She’s so big that you can’t even fit it down your throat without choking in tears.

“It’s fine, baby, take it slow.”

You nodded and ran your tongue over the head of her cock. You could feel her thighs trembling as you worked your way down her length, teasing the sensitive areas with your tongue and lips. Agatha moaned loudly, her hands gripping your hair tightly as she enjoyed the sensations.

You moved faster, knowing that you had to bring her to climax soon. You could feel a powerful energy building within you just from pleasuring her, and you knew that this was something you wanted to do for her again and again. Her hips bucked against you, both her hands now gripping your hair as she began to lose in the sensation, each movement pushing her cock deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice a low growl. Her head was throwing against the seat, her eyes were closed and her lips parted in messy moans as she held your head still and fucked into your mouth. She looked high and drunk in absolute pleasure, and that made you feel proud of yourself. "Yes, just like that."

You could feel the tension building within her, and you knew that she was close. Her breathing grew ragged, and her grip on your hair tightened as she neared the edge.

"I'm going to cum," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, right there."

And then it happened – Agatha's body stiffened, and her cock throbbed in your mouth as she came. You felt the warm rush of her climax as she flooded your mouth with hot fluids. Your eyes rolled in pleasure and your nose pressed against her pubic hair. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, as she rode out her orgasm.

Eventually, she softened and pulled out of your mouth, collapsing back onto her seat. You pushed yourself up, catching your breath. You’re dripping wet and Agatha noticed the needs in your eyes.

Then, Agatha commands. “On your knees.”

You quickly obeyed, moving to the backseat, getting down on all fours with your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you pushed yourself back against Agatha's legs, yearning for her touch.

You’re so ready to get fucked out of your sanity. You‘re a mess, drunk in alcohol and Agatha’s touch.

"That's it, baby," Agatha crooned, her hand running up and down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. "Just like that."

With a grunt of effort, Agatha positioned herself behind you. You could feel the head of her cock probing against your entrance, testing your readiness. You whimpered softly, a mix of fear and excitement washing over you.

With a fierce grip on your hips, Agatha thrust forward. You felt the head of her cock push past your tight entrance, stretching you in a way you never thought possible. A gasp escaped from you as she continued to push deeper, and you felt every inch of her cock slide into you. It was both painful and exhilarating, the sensation overwhelming.

"Oh god, yes," you cried out, your voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck me, Agatha. Fuck me hard."

Agatha didn't need to be told twice. She began thrusting into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. The slapping sounds of her hips hitting against your ass filled the car, punctuated by the occasional moan or gasp from either one of you.

Your hands reached back, gripping onto the seat belt clasps for support as Agatha pounded into you relentlessly. Her breaths came in short pants, her muscles tense with exertion. You could feel her heart pounding against your back, in sync with your own rapid heartbeat.

"This is what you want, huh?" you nodded, chanting her name like a sacred prayer. She growled, her grip tightening on your hips. "This is it, right? Getting fucked by an older woman’s cock, is that your kink?”

“Yes! Mommy,” you cried out, “yes, yesyesyes.”

Your body responded to her words, your pussy clenching around Agatha's cock with each thrust. The feeling was indescribable, and you knew that this was something you would never forget.

"Fuck, Agatha," you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each of her strokes. "I'm going to come so hard."

"Good," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel it, baby. I want to feel you come apart.”

Her words sent you over the edge. The pleasure built up inside of you, rushing through your body like wildfire until finally, it exploded out of you in waves of bliss. You screamed out her name, your pussy clenching down on her cock as your orgasm washed over you.

Agatha groaned as she felt your pussy contract around her cock, the sensation pushing her closer to her own release. "Fuck, hon," she hissed, "I'm right there with you."

Her hips bucked harder, each thrust more messy than the last. You could feel the tension in her tight grip on your hips, her veins popping up on her neck and her arms as she neared her climax. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that you were driving her to such heights of pleasure.

"Cum for me, Agatha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum inside me."

This was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Agatha cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cock jerked inside you, shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into your pussy. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but so incredibly pleasurable. You wondered how many women have had Agatha cumming inside them like this, the thought made you feel a wave of jealousy right through your chest.

As Agatha's orgasm subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you with a soft pop. You felt a warm, wet sensation between your legs as her cock slipped from you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Her eyes flicked down to her slick, cum-covered cock before returning to you with a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She scoffed, flipping your body effortlessly onto your back. Your eyes followed her movements, now lying on your back as you watched Agatha try to catch her breath.

"Tired already, detective?" you challenged playfully. Your feet shifted towards her thigh, feeling her up through the rough fabrics of her cargo pants before pressing your feet on her sensitive cock, teasingly giving her a foot job that caused Agatha to buck her hips and whimper in sudden pleasure. You were certain that you could make her cum again, or even drive her to overstimulation if she’d let you.

She stopped your movements with one firm grasp.

"Not enough, huh?" she asked, gazing at her own cum running down between your legs and looking back at you like she couldn’t believe you still wanted more. “Are you trying to get yourself knocked up or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased, giggling softly before grabbing her collar and pulling her into a kiss. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, your fingers slipping into her hair. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Agatha’s smirk widened as she cocked her head, her southern charm slipping effortlessly into her tone. “Well, sugar, ’course you haven’t,” she drawled, her voice dripping with a honeyed confidence that made your cheeks burn. “I’m exceptional.”

[myharkness]

sweet daisy and the violet witch (agatha harkness x fem!reader)

tip jar / masterlist

summary: you are a baby witch in a tough situation. when a mysterious, brooding woman offers to teach you how to control your powers, you can't refuse. but what does she want with you? and... what do you want with her?

warnings: smut (18+), captivity and bondage but reader isn't exactly unwilling, mind-reading, sexy magic, humiliation, praise kink, dirty talk, enchanted strap, squirting, agatha is dark ofc, reader has a shitty sexist ex-boyfriend but he's only there to set up the story

notes: MY FIRST AGATHA FIC! this is set pre-westview and it is just pages upon pages of detailed, heretical, homosexual filth. it's been a long time coming, and i'm really proud of it. hope you guys enjoy 💜

tears streamed down your face as you stormed out of your now ex-boyfriend's house. the relationship had run its course, you knew that. but you never expected the breakup to be so ugly. he called you a "crazy bitch" and threatened to call the cops on you for destroying his living room.

and you didn't even do anything! at least, not on purpose.

the fight lasted an hour. you told him you wanted to break up, and he didn't take the rejection well. he started cursing you out, following you around the house as you frantically gathered your belongings.

now, you could handle the insults to your appearance and the comments about all the other women who supposedly wanted him. but when he started making sexual remarks—talking about how "frigid" you were and lamenting that he never fucked you hard enough to put you in your place—you lost it.

"shut up!" you cried, and the house shook with the impact. a wave of daisy yellow light burst from your chest and wreaked havoc on the living room. every lightbulb in every lamp shattered. the tv fell off the wall. books flew off their shelves and hurtled toward your ex's head. the carpet was singed. a few cracks appeared in the ceiling.

your ex ducked to avoid the flying books, then fell to his knees. he was uninjured despite the destruction, but his pride was wounded. you used his moment of weakness to grab your bag and rush out of the house, running down the street as fast as you could while he shouted obscenities.

you ran for a minute or so before a black car with tinted windows pulled up beside you. you froze in fear, but quickly relaxed when the driver rolled her window down. she was an older woman, and a beautiful one at that.

long, dark waves framed her face, and concern was written in her expression. her left arm extended out toward you, and you could see she was wearing a deep purple blazer.

"hey, hon. i heard some commotion from down the street and then saw you running. are you alright?" the woman's low voice was soothing, and you felt much safer already.

"i'm okay, thank you. i just broke up with my boyfriend and it didn't go over well," you admitted, your shaky voice betraying your anxiety about the whole situation.

"well, i can't let you walk all the way home, sweetheart. how about i give you a ride?"

you considered her offer. it was cold and rainy outside, and your apartment was a good distance away. this woman was a stranger, but she put you at ease for some reason. besides, much worse people than her could be out at this time of night.

"that would be great. thank you so much. i'm y/n," you said, stepping into the passenger seat.

"agatha harkness," the good samaritan replied, offering her hand to you. you took her hand and shook it, noting the delicate veins running up her long fingers. her thumb stroked the back of your palm for a few seconds, and the skin tingled when she stopped. "lovely to meet you, dear."

you told her your address and she put it in the gps, beginning the 15-minute drive to your place. agatha was pleasant and kind as she listened to your story, how your boyfriend had treated you and how you'd reacted—omitting the magical details, naturally.

when the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you thanked agatha and gave her a hug. she smelled like violets and old books, and you hesitated to pull away. when you did reach for the door handle, it didn't budge.

it all happened in a flash: purple smoke obscured every window, your hands and feet were bound by glowing purple ties, and agatha smiled. the smoke cleared, and you were not at your apartment. instead, the car was parked in front of a small black house with gothic accents.

"wha—how—" you stuttered.

"i'm glad you asked. it was a simple illusion spell. couldn't have you getting suspicious, could i?"

"s-spell?"

"yes, darling, a spell. i'm a witch. you are, too, but i'm sure you already knew that."

you looked down at your lap and shook your head.

"oh? that's a surprise. i mean, i knew you weren't the most sophisticated witch, but i figured you'd at least have a grasp on what you are."

your mind reeled at the revelation. although she had basically kidnapped you, you felt a strange pull to the woman in the driver's seat. your gut told you to trust what she was saying: you were a witch.

"tell you what, baby witch," she offered, a mischievous glint in her eye. "if you promise not to run, i'll untie you."

what choice did you have but to obey her? you didn't know how to control your powers, and sooner or later, they were going to get you in trouble. agatha knew more than you did, and she was teasing you with the irresistible chance to understand your magic.

"i won't run," you whispered. you felt agatha lift her magical binds.

"good girl."

---

agatha did what she always did. she promised to teach you how to master your powers, lulled you into a false sense of security. and at night, when you were sleeping soundly in her bed, she would try to take your power.

it only took her a couple of days to realize that she couldn't access your magic. she tried everything, but your bright yellow power was totally incompatible with her mystic purple—a fountain of light, untouchable by other witches.

oddly, agatha accepted this. unlike any of her previous conquests, you inspired a curious fondness in the older woman. you were smart and beautiful, powerful yet unassuming. and you were hers to teach, to touch, to protect and corrupt. with some training, you would be a formidable ally.

as for you? you were neither her victim nor her partner, but something in between. you abandoned your old life and happily crawled into bed with her each night—so she could keep an eye on you, she said.

"women like us will never be safe in this world, y/n," she would whisper into your hair. "that asshole saw what you can do, and he didn't like it. you're too precious for the stake, honey. i have to keep you close."

agatha hated your ex, but she could use him to channel your rage. as you worked through the emotional toll of the breakup, you worked on your telekinesis. as you processed the extent of his manipulation, you learned the basics of mind control.

one day, agatha wanted to see if you could hold your own against her. she was anxious to know if you could protect yourself with the strategies she'd taught you.

"you ready, superstar?" agatha asked, looking you up and down hungrily. you were wearing the outfit she had picked out specifically for this occasion: a black mesh halter top with a little yellow skirt, "ideal" for mobility. "don't worry, i'll go easy on you."

"i think so," you responded, trying to settle your nerves and anticipate her first move. but it was hard to focus when she stared at you with dark eyes, hair pulled back into a ponytail and arms crossed, emphasized by her tight purple t-shirt.

"don't get distracted, now," a sultry voice whispered from behind you. agatha had teleported, and you were too focused on her arms to notice. "that's rule number one."

you shuddered at the feeling of her hot breath in your ear, but kept your guard up. purple strings began to flow from her fingertips and wrap around you. you swiftly floated up and out of her hold, yellow sparks carrying you across the room.

you landed with a flourish and agatha raised her eyebrows, impressed. she didn't let you rest for more than a second, though, as a blow of her magic struck you right in the chest.

you stumbled back, but quickly retaliated. with a snap of your fingers, agatha was knocked off balance by a burst of yellow. she smirked and waved her palm. but this time, you remembered to block, crossing your arms and projecting a white shield in front of you.

"so you have been listening to me," she cooed, flying toward you and pushing you up against the wall with her magic. "you always seem so preoccupied when i'm teaching you, like your pretty little mind is off somewhere else. tell me, do i scare you?"

the answer was complicated. yes, agatha scared you, but not in an unpleasant way. it was a thrilling kind of fear that left you breathing hard and wanting more.

"no, ma'am," you decided, using her momentary surprise to push back against the magic pinning you to the wall. agatha withdrew.

"hmmm, 'ma'am.' i like the sound of that," she drawled as you awaited her next move. "you're doing well, baby witch, but you forgot one thing."

in a split second, you were lying flat on your back, purple threads binding your hands and feet to the carpet. before you could even attempt to react with magic, agatha was on you. she hovered above your restrained form and leaned in.

"rule number two: protect your mind," her voice above you was the last thing you heard before being plunged into darkness.

---

when you came to a few minutes later, agatha was still on top of you. she wore a coy smile as she watched the purple swirls disappear from your eyes.

"welcome back, sweet daisy," agatha husked. "after reading your mind, it seems like you're not as sweet and pure as i thought."

you struggled against her restraints, but they didn't budge. you were definitely losing the fight, but with the way she was looking at you (like she wanted to ravage you), you didn't much care.

"you wanna know what i saw, pretty girl?" she taunted, and you swallowed thickly but did not respond. "i saw myself on top of you just like this, pumping my fingers inside you while you screamed out for mercy."

well, your secret was out. but agatha didn't seem displeased; on the contrary, she was basking in your humiliation like a true sadist. you felt wetness gathering in your panties at the sight.

"i saw myself bending you over," she continued, using her powers to lift you off the ground and maneuver you so you were bent over the couch. "punishing you for forgetting your spells."

she swatted your ass once, hard, and you whined pathetically.

"i saw you kneeling between my legs," she said, once again manipulating your body into that position. "listening to my directions, being my good girl."

on your knees, you nuzzled agatha's leg in embarrassment, and she stroked your hair. you stayed like that for a minute before agatha lifted you into her lap, spreading your legs wide.

"and i saw you grinding in my lap, squirming and whimpering like a needy whore," she concluded, running her hands up and down your inner thighs as you straddled her. "what do you have to say for yourself, honey?"

you were at a loss for words, now incredibly turned on and burying your face in her neck. her fingers twitched and you were pushed out of your hiding place, her magic forcing you to face her.

"your mind is so dirty. how are you feeling? excited?" before you could respond, she slipped her hand between your legs. she lifted up your skirt and traced your slit over your panties, inhaling sharply when she found them soaked. "oh, you are. you just can't control yourself around me, can you? all hot and bothered. do you need me to take care of you?"

"yes, please," you begged, wiggling impatiently in her arms. tendrils of purple magic snaked around you, tickling your skin and preventing you from moving any more.

"much better," agatha hummed as she restrained you. she laughed seeing your helpless face. "don't pout. i'm going to touch you, make you feel so nice. but you need to sit still and take it like a good girl."

you nodded, and she rewarded you by vanishing your top. she took your breasts in her hands and kneaded them, working her way to your nipples. when she rolled them between her fingers, you yelped.

"shhh, i know, you're so sensitive," she cooed as she toyed with you. "you're in for a treat, babygirl. have you ever used your powers to play with yourself?"

she knew the answer. of course you hadn't. you didn't even know how. but she reveled in the way your face scrunched up in wanton embarrassment at the mention of touching yourself.

"allow me to demonstrate," she said, removing her hands from your nipples and whispering a latin word under her breath. you gasped when a purple buzz settled on your buds, replicating agatha's touch without physical contact. "feels good, hm?"

you merely whined and tried to grind against her, frustrated when you couldn't move an inch. she seemed to know what you needed, though, as your skirt then disappeared in a flash of violet.

"as much as i love that little skirt on you, honey, it's in the way of what i really want to see," agatha drawled, and you held your breath with the anticipation. with no warning, she gently lifted your hips up toward her, leaned down, and latched onto your clit through your panties.

"oh my god!" you moaned as she suckled through the fabric, putting delicious pressure on your bundle of nerves. then she sat up again and returned you to your position on her lap, once again whispering the incantation to continue stimulating your clit.

"i'm flattered, but there's no god here. just me," she smirked, watching you writhe in tortured pleasure. "alright, superstar, you with me? watch this."

she held two of her fingers up to your eye level, and your eyes grew wide as her fingertips lit up. with a predatory grin, she thrusted her fingers upwards, and you felt them inside you. you couldn't suppress your sinful moan.

"don't you see how powerful we are? i'm not even touching you, and you can feel me in your pretty little pussy," she mused, drunk on her power over you. "and if i do this," she curled her fingers just right, and you screamed as she stroked your special spot, "i can feel you squeezing me. like a tiny piece of heaven."

while her fingers continued thrusting and curling, her power pumping in and out of you, she used her other hand to explore every inch of your body. she touched you like you were the most precious work of art, a soft and delicate masterpiece in her arms. her touch and her magic were all over you, and you felt yourself getting close to the edge.

"won't be long now. you're so easy, sweetness," she sang proudly. her free thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles on it, direct touch compounding the pleasure from her magical suction. not even a minute later, your release swept over you. "there you go."

when you came, agatha lifted the restraints so she could watch your legs shake and your core convulse. she kept pumping her fingers until she heard you whimper helplessly, squirming away from her invisible touch. she then withdrew the magical stimulation and ran her palms up and down your sides to comfort you.

"how was that, sunshine?" she smiled as she checked in with you. you gave her a breathless kiss, pouring all of your passion and admiration for the older woman into her mouth. her eyes sparkled with adoration as she looked at you, fucked out and struggling to stay upright in her lap. she inched closer to whisper against your lips. "i want to fuck you."

you weren't entirely sure what she meant, but you knew from your recent mind-blowing orgasm that anything was possible through magic. you started to get antsy in her lap again. you stood up on shaky legs and started toward the bedroom.

"don't be silly, superstar," agatha laughed as she effortlessly raised you into the air until you were hovering bridal-style in her arms.

agatha swiftly brought you up the stairs and into her bedroom. she laid you down on the bed and nudged your legs apart with her magic before retreating to the closet.

"do you know what this is, princess?" agatha asked, emerging from the closet with a large purple strap-on dildo in hand. you swallowed thickly at the sheer size of it and nodded your head.

"it's a strap-on," you replied sheepishly.

"correct, smart girl. this is a very special strap-on, though. do you know why?"

"no, ma'am."

"well, i want you to think of it as my cock. because when i put on the harness," she snapped her fingers and the strap was secured between her legs, "i can feel everything."

she gave the dildo a few rough strokes and groaned to illustrate her point. you trembled in anticipation. agatha was going to take you with the biggest cock you'd ever seen. and she would be able to feel the warmth, the wetness, the fluttering of your most intimate place with her own flesh. you unconsciously spread your legs wider.

"ready for me?" agatha crawled on top of you and dragged the tip of her cock through your messy folds, getting it lubricated. you nodded tentatively. "i'll be gentle. wouldn't want to break my delicate little flower. at least, not yet."

the second her tip breached your entrance, you inhaled sharply. it was going to be a tight fit, even though you were soaked. agatha recognized your discomfort and leaned down to kiss your lips sweetly. with another latin whisper, you felt those soft kisses all over your body, on every part of you all at once—even your clit. this relaxed you, and agatha gave you a few more inches.

"you're so tight," the older woman breathed, marveling at the sensation of feeling your wet warmth around her. "and all mine, little witch. you'd like to be mine, wouldn't you? i'd dress you every day in those mini skirts and no panties, play with this pussy all day long."

agatha's words worked exactly as she intended. you lost yourself in the hazy fantasy of being hers, and she penetrated you all the way. you both cursed as she bottomed out.

"good girl, taking my cock so well, letting me fill you up. let me just..." she trailed off and pulled out before thrusting back in at a new angle, hitting your g-spot and conjuring stars behind your eyes. "there she is."

once she knew you were okay, agatha seemed to lose the last of her restraint. she fucked you fast and rough, slamming her tip into your sweet spot on every thrust. she forced her cock even deeper by pinning your knees to your chest with her powers. then she snapped her fingers and the suction was back on your clit, only three times more powerful than before.

"come on my cock, y/n," agatha commanded, sending you flying into an orgasm. this one felt different from the first one, like a spark in your core spreading into an uncontrollable fire throughout your body. your legs jerked and your face twisted up, and the sight of you sent agatha over the edge too. you felt her hot release coat your walls, satiating you.

agatha pulled out of you and coaxed you to sit up, at which point you noticed the mess. a glowing purple liquid seeped out from between your legs, and agatha's midsection was dripping with clear liquid... wait, was that glowing too? the yellow aura looked unnatural, almost neon.

"rule number three," agatha chuckled, sensing your confusion. "don't be alarmed when things start glowing. comes with the territory, dear."

"how did that...?" you wondered aloud.

"well, for me it was an artistic choice. some women really enjoy the idea of me coming inside them, so i added a special enchantment to make their dreams come true," she explained. then her face broke into a smug grin. "and you, my darling, you squirted. it's not a magical experience on its own, but apparently it was for you."

your eyes followed her hands as she gestured to the glimmering evidence of your climax.

"have you ever done that before?" she asked while waving her hands in the air. before she finished the sentence, you were both suddenly clean and wearing fresh pajamas, warm like they'd just been in the dryer.

"no," you admitted, still a bit shy after losing control so dramatically. agatha hummed and pulled you close, and you grew drowsy while she cuddled you.

"oh, sweet daisy girl. i still have so much to show you."

[myharkness]

ᡣ𐭩 emily prentiss just wants to breed you so bad that she forks over a large sum of money to get one of those cumming strap-ons.

ᡣ𐭩 she does so much research into them, looking up reviews when you're laying together in bed, and when you ask what she's looking at, she just smiles and says it's a gift for you. she finds a cute pink one because she's never been the person to buy those hyper realistic ones. she makes sure that the "cum" is safe and won't hurt you in any way. she's giddy when she goes and gets her card from her wallet.

ᡣ𐭩 when it arrives, she immediately has to leave for a case. she makes you promise not to open the box and despite your ever growing curiosity, especially spurred on by the label on the box from a sex store, you listen.

ᡣ𐭩 she comes back late at night and even though she's trying to urge you to go back to bed, you immediately beg her to open up the box because you're dying to know what's in it.

ᡣ𐭩 she takes the box and leads you over to your couch. "hear me out, baby," she says, a nervous smile on her face. she pulls everything out one by one, starting with the new, sparkly, pink dildo and the harness attached. you're not shocked yet until you see the liquid and the control for the dildo.

ᡣ𐭩 your mouth is dry, but it's no indication of your arousal and excitement. if anything, the moment you put two and two together, you feel desire bubbling in your lower stomach and core. "em..." you manage to whisper. she smiles and whispers in her low, silky voice, "yeah, baby?"

ᡣ𐭩 the next few minutes are a rush to get into the bedroom. emily's body is sore from the jet and admittedly, you're half asleep, but she's been dreaming about coming back and pumping you full of her cum like she's always wanted to.

ᡣ𐭩 she doesn't want to jump straight into things, though. she wants you to feel good first. besides, pregnancies take better when the partner has an orgasm, right?

ᡣ𐭩 her hands are all over your body, groping and gripping and kissing and squeezing endlessly. it's like she can't get enough of your body. she's exploring every inch of your body and her mouth has already drawn one leg-shaking orgasm out of you.

ᡣ𐭩 finally, when she thinks you're ready, she kisses your forehead and slips away to put on her harness and get everything prepared. she's so sweet when she comes back, asking if you're ready for her. when you nod enthusiastically, she's lining herself up between your legs and starts gently pushing in.

ᡣ𐭩 the strap-on itself is normal, something you're used to, but the anticipation of knowing what's coming (pun intended) makes it feel that much more intense. she's pushing deep into you and her body is practically laid on top of yours.

ᡣ𐭩 and her words are so filthy. "wanna fill this pretty pussy so bad baby," "gonna cum so deep in you pretty girl," "wan' breed you and show everyone you're mine," "everyone's gonna know you belong to me baby."

ᡣ𐭩 you have to cum at least twice around her before she thinks about using the little button that fills you up. she's so desperate for it to be realistic, for you to feel good. it makes the whole fantasy that much more satisfying for her.

ᡣ𐭩 with the way she's talking and moaning and pumping into you, you would think she is genuinely deriving pleasure from fucking you. she's starting to get the urge to fill you up and it's clear with the way her thrusts are getting more urgent and rough. she's right next to your ear, groaning about needing to cum in you. at your first whimper and plead for it, she uses the little control and pushes the strap-on deep in your core.

ᡣ𐭩 the feeling of the cum shooting into you has you writhing underneath her body, whimpering and begging her to keep it in. she's groaning and you're positive that she came untouched underneath the harness.

ᡣ𐭩 eventually, though, she has to pull out and she moves so quickly to see her cum drip out of you and onto the bedsheets. it's sinful and makes her want to fuck you again. she's tired though and knows it's late and knows that you can go again in the morning so she settles for using her slender fingers to fuck just one more orgasm out of you.

ᡣ𐭩 when she cleans the two of you up and puts the strap-on away, she's giddy and positively dazed. her arms wrap around your figure and she's making sure you liked it. when you give her nothing but enthusiastic praise, she feels warm inside.

ᡣ𐭩 it's definitely become her new favorite strap.

[myharkness]

Hugs and Body Heat

Agatha All Along Week - Day 4 - Hurt/Comfort

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You come home after a grueling day at work and need comfort. Agatha is happy to provide. Honorable mentions to Rio who cooks dinner.

Tags: fluff, mentions of choking, pet names for reader, a lot of cuddling, they/them pronouns used for reader (once)

Words: 2k

First time posting on tumblr. Agatha and Rio might be my new favorite MCU characters! AAA week had perfect timing as I wrote this during election night but only posted it to AO3 a few days ago

Key in lock. Key in lock. It wasn’t that difficult.

You finally managed to jam your key into the door. The door pushed open, and you almost fell through it. Getting the key out should have been easier than getting it in, but nothing about this day had been easy.

You closed the door behind you. Your bag slipped off your arms to the ground and your keys should’ve landed on the little side table by the door but fell to the floor. Shoes came off on your way through the hall to the living room. You pulled off your jacket when you stepped through the door. The last bits of energy left you the instant being home sank into your consciousness. Agatha sitting on the couch registered in the back of your brain on the way down to the floor.

You sank onto the hardwood floors and let out a deep, deep sigh.

You weren’t necessarily looking for a reaction, you were waiting for the stress to leave your body. There should be a scientific correlation between stress reduction and lying on the ground.

It took you a few minutes to figure that today lying face down on the ground wasn’t going to cut it. Another deep sigh and you pressed yourself up from the floor. You used the last vestiges of your energy supply to crawl over to the couch. Your body felt heavier than usual, pulling you down to the floor, making every inch gain a battle against gravity.

You finally made it to the edge of the couch. Getting up on the couch seemed impossible. Getting Agatha away from her book even more so.

You pulled yourself along a bit further and then half fell over to sink against the couch, or more importantly, against Agatha’s legs. Your head settled against her knees, making sure that you wouldn’t fall over when all the tension left your body.

Breathing. You could do that easily. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe o–

Your breath faltered for a moment, feeling Agatha’s fingers slowly carding through your hair.

Breathe out. Breathe in. Repeat.

You could do this. Agatha was softly stroking your hair. A soft tingling spread over your head down to your shoulders and slowly helped settle the exhausted roar in your body.

Work had been a bitch today. Everyone expected you to help with their problems, not caring about the work you had to finish today. Working Saturdays was not worth the little extra pay it offered.

But you were home now. No more work. Only breathing. Feeling Agatha’s body heat warming your side and breathing. You tried to sync your breathing to Agatha’s hand. Stroking up from your neck and carding through your hair then softly caressing the edge of your forehead. The hand pulled back to your neck. Always moving slowly, stroking softly. Bit by bit lulling you to sleep without you even noticing it.

Suddenly you jerked awake. You couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds. Groaning you let your head fall back against the couch. No rest for the terminally exhausted apparently.

Agatha’s hand had wandered to the side of your face, coming around your throat to pull up your chin.

“Up, pet.”

The words found you, loud and clear, even though you felt they were said to her book rather than in your direction. Agatha’s hand left your throat, expecting you to follow her order without lending a heavy hand.

You turned your head to look up at her. She was still engrossed in her book.

The few minutes of calm had recharged you enough to push off the ground and pull yourself up onto the couch.

Her arms opened as soon as you were level with her, one hand still holding onto her book. Agatha’s concentration never broke but her invitation was clear.

Heat spread onto your cheeks, but you didn’t keep her waiting, knowing the invitation to be temporary when she was busy reading. You swung your leg over her lap and planted yourself down, feeling her arms come around you immediately.

This was definitely better than lying on the ground. Your legs encased Agatha’s, stomach and chest meeting their warm opposites, arms rounding her neck while your head came to rest on her shoulder.

You breathed in deeply, finding comfort in Agatha’s scent, letting your lips briefly wander over her neck, seeking intimacy without starting something you didn’t have the energy to finish.

You settled down when Agatha’s hand returned to your head and the calm returned.

Soft strokes of her fingertips, the sound of pages being turned and the rhythmic rise and fall of her warm body underneath you soothed you enough to fall asleep.

A door closed somewhere far away, and your ears picked up the sound without awakening you completely. Agatha’s hand had wandered down to your back at some point and was brushing up and down your spine at odd intervals, soothing you back into unconsciousness.

Unbeknownst to you, the person coming through the door into the living room was fixed with a glare from your human body pillow.

Rio was known for her silent existence, though her footsteps fell heavy, announcing her imminent arrival. A glare from Agatha made her stop in her tracks.

"That kind of day?" She asked and Agatha nodded while stroking your back. Her eyes moved back to her book, not interested in diverting her attention even more.

Rio walked over to the back of the couch, taking care to soften her walk. She bent down, pausing to listen for your steady breaths and pressed a kiss to the back of your head, before grasping her wife’s chin to pull her away from her book.

The kiss is soft but forceful at the same time, a very persistent quality for Rio’s kisses.

"You know we should do something about their shitty boss. What's the use of a pet if they’re always tired?"

Agatha, wanting to return to her book merely grunted her agreement and continued to stroke your back. She might seem cold and uninterested at times, but Rio knew better.

Agatha wasn’t the type of person to ask you what you needed. That didn’t mean she didn’t care. Agatha spent hours and hours watching the people around her, learning their habits, and figuring out how they ticked. Calculating and implementing what she could provide, comparing your reactions, and choosing the most effective outcome. Depending on your mood, the most effective outcome wasn’t always what you thought you needed, but you had learned to trust Agatha and her methods of calming you down. Or riling you up. Depending on her mood.

But she knew when you came home exhausted, barely getting past the door, you didn’t need words or big gestures. You needed calm, preferably paired with body heat. Agatha had sat down on the couch with her book only a few minutes before you had come home, awaiting your arrival.

It wasn’t the first time you had come home only to crash to the floor. Agatha had learned to let you go through your progress. The phases didn’t always take the same time. Once you had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor, only crawling over to her after more than an hour.

But you would always end up cuddled into Agatha. Your head in her lap, sitting next to her with your head on her chest, or her favorite, sitting in her lap, breathing syncing with hers.

Rio knew all that, trusted Agatha’s instinct, and felt ecstatic when you crawled into her lap if she sat down next to Agatha when she came home.

Another kiss was pressed to your hair. Then Rio went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

A while later Rio patted back into the living room, kneeling next to your still sleeping form. Her hand brushed her wife’s at the bottom of your spine and stroked up your back to card through the little hairs on your neck. You let out a deep sigh, not waking up fully but your body noticed the added touch.

Her hand ghosted down your neck to find purchase on your shoulder, kneading into the still-tensed muscles. A sigh turned into a deep groan, pulling you out of your dreamless nap.

"Hungry, mi amor?"

You unconsciously leaned into the pressure from Rio’s hands, your body immediately recognizing her touch.

"Mhmmm?" Your eyes still closed, your lips still in contact with Agatha’s neck, you slowly come to.

There was a hand softly stroking your lower back, right where your shirt had ridden up, and a different set of hands digging into your sore shoulder muscles. A great way to wake from a nap after a day in hell.

The only reaction the two women got from you was a drawn-out groan and an apparent lack of further movement.

"Hungry?"

This time the question was posed to both occupants of the couch, and Agatha nodded for the both of you, knowing food always improved your mood if only you were awake enough not to choke on it. Choking you was her job.

A kiss was pressed to your head and the hands on your shoulders left you.

"Want to get up, sweetheart?"

The words went against everything your brain was currently demanding, and you reacted in the most petulant way, strengthening your grip around Agatha and quietly whining into her skin.

"Rio cooked for us, pet, the least we could do is join her at the table."

"Can't we eat on the couch?" The first words you had spoken since you came home tickled Agatha’s neck.

Something in your voice made Agatha give in and she called out to Rio to bring the food to the living room.

There was still the problem of extracting yourself from the warm embrace you had burrowed yourself in, which seemed entirely too much for your still hazy brain.

Agatha’s hands went to your sides, trying to push you back a little, but your arms tightened their grip around her torso exponentially.

A chuckle could be heard. Rio was watching the drama unfold in real time and formed a plan to get your energy back enough to pull you out of your burrow.

She bent down, setting her hands on the back of the couch, purposely brushing your arm on the way there, and found her wife’s lips. A kiss that was definitely for your benefit, though also a way to get close to Agatha after having been apart the whole day.

It quickly progressed from a simple press of lips to something more intense. Agatha’s arm pulled up to grasp her wife’s neck, boxing you in in the progress.

Being pressed between Agatha and Rio was soothing on the worst day, overstimulating on the best.

You quickly grew uninterested in staying immobile and turned your head out of Agatha’s neck to watch your mistresses kiss. You managed to pull your arm out of your now more forced embrace and brushed Rio’s cheek.

They pulled apart and Rio turned her head to brush a kiss against your hand and gave you her signature smirk.

"You awake now, mi vida?"

Your eyes sparkling in her direction were answer enough and she leaned in again to press a kiss on your lips, peaking out her tongue to brush your lower lip, starting a spark in you that helped you wake up the rest of the way.

It had always been your problem, that if you had a taste of something intoxicating, you couldn't stop. You deepened the kiss, turning towards Rio and gaining some distance from the warm body below you.

"Our pet is definitely awake now. Save some of that hunger for dinner, little one." Agatha spoke, feeling life had finally returned to you.

Rio chuckled and ended the kiss, leaving you slightly breathless.

"Dinner on the couch means dessert in bed?"

That damned smirk had you hooked from the first time you saw it.

[myharkness]

marilynreader

[myharkness]

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.

[myharkness]

I spoke no spell, I said no incantation, you - you were made from scratch.

[myharkness]

Speak To Me,

summary: emily, as it turns out, has been having a bit of a rough day. usually, you'd try to help her with soft whispers between work breaks, but today, she's being unkind to everyone — which is highly unusual. when she snaps at you, however, you take matters into your own hands, even if she doesn't want you to. tags: smut, mean!emily, menstruation, menstrual cramps, menstrual pain, hormones, sensitive!emily, sad girl times, fem!reader, bottom!emily, vibrators, toys, crying, comfort, dub-con?, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, choking, praising, toy sucking, gagging, brief mommy kink, reader does not have mercy on emmy's clit.

inspired by @illdowhatiwantthanks 's work: "Touchy"

word count: 2.7k

Being a profiler, you were naturally observant of your surroundings and the people at your side. Your elbow rested on the small table of the jet, cheek pressed against your first. Emily, the Chief, your girlfriend, sat on the far left, next to Luke, who had fallen asleep listening to music. You tapped your finger rhythmically as you watched her curiously as her eyes remained glued to the book in her hands, turning a page occasionally. Now, you were no Spencer Reid, but you were fairly certain that Emily was reading slower than usual. 

She had been off the entire day. Not just with you, but with the team, as well. She had snapped more than once, enough times to earn questioning glances from her teammates. She had dismissed everyone's questions with an irritated wave of her hand, and had walked past you without so much as sparing you a glance. When her shoulder had bumped against yours, and she moved away and left, you realized that she would not be speaking to you anytime soon.

And you'd have to find out all on your own. You watched the way she turned a page, the occasional twitch of her brow, which happened only during moments of intense stress, and the way she occasionally shifted on her seat, leaning forward, or crossing her legs. You weren't certain about what was wrong with her, but with the way she gripped the book, knuckles turning white, you were fairly confident to say that she was in pain, at the very least. 

When Tara sat across from her, tilting her head to the side, you tried not to seem too interested in their interaction, turning your eyes elsewhere. You heard the book close firmly, an irritated sigh following close after. 

"Are you okay, Emily?" Tara asked, raising a brow. You turned your head briefly, catching the way Emily's jaw flexed, eyes moving to the window at her side. Her hands clenched into fists over the chair's armrests, relaxing before her fingers twitched.

"Headache," She replied sharply. She was stiff now, tense. Tara didn't push, but her eyes remained studying her behavior. She nodded and looked out the window as well. You knew it wasn't just a headache — otherwise she wouldn't have been so cruel to the people she was working with back at the station. 

The jet arrived and everyone disembarked as usual. You, however, watched the way Emily faltered as she stood, shaky hands tightening as her lips pursed. Her cheeks were rosy now, and her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat. You walked to the parking lot as usual, sitting on the driver's seat and waiting for Emily, as you had driven her to work earlier that morning. 

When she reached your car and sat on the passenger side with a huff, she closed the door a little harder than she normally would, before gripping her knees and looking ahead. You, however, only looked at her, leaving the car parked after you turned it on. Emily looked at you, brows still furrowed, jaw tight. 

"You driving or are we just hanging out in the parking lot?” She scoffed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. You ignore the snappy tone, though it mildly irritates you, before sighing softly.

"Em, do you wanna tell me what's going on?" You watched her jaw tick, eyes flashing briefly. You couldn't tell if it was another bout of anger, or something that resembled sadness. It was gone too soon for you to study.

"I'm fine, and I wish people would stop fucking asking," She replied, then looked forward with a huff. "Can you just drive me home? I want to get to bed already."

You purse your lips and sigh, shifting the gear before driving again. You held the wheel with one hand, gripping tightly — you could faintly see your knuckles turn white, even in the darkness. She was irritating you, really. She wouldn't open up to you, and that would normally be okay. You always let her come to you in her own time.

But the way she had been so bitchy to everyone — including you, was a clear, tell-tale sign that she did need something, only she refused to ask for help. As per usual. When you arrived to her home, the car had barely stopped before she swung the door open and left without a final word.

That alone had been the cherry on top.

Nights after a case, you usually stayed over at her place. If not, however, she'd whisper soft goodbyes and kiss your head. Today, you'd hardly seen the color of her eyes. You park properly and kill the engine, shoving the keys in the pocket of your pants before following behind her, slipping your foot between the door and the frame before she managed to close it.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed, opening the door to glare. Your hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her inside with ease, kicking the door shut behind you before absentmindedly locking it with your free hand. She yelped as you dragged her to the living room, pushing her onto the couch and standing above her.

You're calm — as calm as you can be when she had been disrespecting you the entire day, of course. You're not angry enough to hurt her in a fit of mindless rage, and you feel comfortable, under enough control so that you may express your thoughts clearly.

"I don't know what's going on with you," You breathe slowly, and your jaw flexes. "I can't understand if you don't speak to me, my love. I want nothing more than to help you — but you are being stubborn."

"I don't care," She spat, and her fingers clench around her shirt. "Just leave already. I don't need your help, alright?"

Before you open your mouth, your eyes rake over the coffee table close to the couch. A small bottle of pain medicine, a heating pad, and an empty bowl full of chocolate wrappers. Your lips part as realization settled in your mind — it had been a month already.

"Emily," You sigh. "You're on your period?"

She doesn't answer, eyes lowering. Her expression is still guarded, lips pursed until the color disappeared, and you watched her thighs press together until they shook slightly. Oh.

"You're on your period and you're needy," Her cheeks flushed, tinged with a soft pink hue. She squirmed below your gaze, and she ran her fingers through her hair, sighing shakily.

"I...I don't usually get like this on...on my period," She speaks hesitantly. "But this morning I was so...it was too much and I couldn't take care of it and I didn't want to as you for help...it wouldn't be fair of me."

"It wouldn't be fair of you to ask your girlfriend to take care of you?" You ask, quirking a brow. You understand her situation now, but you can't say that you're any less bothered than you were before.

Her cheeks burned, "It's messy, okay? I don't want to...I just can't."

"There are toys, my love," You sigh. "You have toys. I will always want to help you — even if you're on your period. There are ways to go about it, sweetheart."

"Still..." She snaps, embarrassed. "I don't want that..."

Again, you find yourself battling the slow anger bubbling inside you. You can handle her in pain, and you can take the occasional off-hand comment, but snapping the entire day had drained you of your patience.

"Get to the bed," You say, beginning your walk to her bedroom. You hope you don't have to repeat yourself, otherwise you may have to take a walk to cool down and think logically. You grab the brown towel hanging on the edge of her bed and lay it over the bed, opening the nightstand and rummaging through the toys.

You faintly hear Emily's footsteps come behind you, and the way her breath hitches doesn't go unnoticed by you. You don't spare her a glance as you lay some toys on the edge of the bed, folding your sleeves up to your elbows.

"W-wait, no, I—"

"Get on the bed," You repeat, then look at her. "I'd recommend that you listen, I'm not in a particularly forgiving mood — it's been a bit of a rough day for me too, baby."

Emily's eyes widen, and they gloss over as she looks down guiltily. When she sits on the edge of the bed, you cup her jaw and press a kiss to her forehead, stroking her cheek faintly.

"Do you have a pad or a tampon?" You ask, brushing her hair away from her face. You'd missed her eyes today, so you'll be making sure to stare at them the entire night.

"Tampon," She mumbles.

"Alright," You reply. "Go to the bathroom and take it off. Don't put any clothes on your lower body."

Her cheeks burn, and she swallows, but you see her thighs press together as she nods, standing shakily to enter the bathroom connected to her bedroom. You grab a rubber band from the table and tie your hair back loosely, glancing at the toys and slowly forming a plan in your head.

You feel a little more refreshed, but the irritable feeling lingers.

When Emily returns, she's wearing her favorite black robe, and her lower body is bare. She sits on the towel, thighs closed as she shifts uncomfortably. Again, your hand cups her jaw, but your lips meet her mouth this time, pressing firmly together. Your lips part, and hers follow, allowing your tongue to brush lightly against her.

She whimpers, and you slide your tongue inside, cupping her cheek and pulling her closer to your kiss. Her eyes are closed, lashes brushing against her cheeks as your fingers dug into her jaw, leaving light red marks.

"All this time," You huff, meeting her lips again. "You were just fucking horny. I can't believe you."

"M'sorry," She breathes out, flushed. "It's just..."

"No, I know," You sigh, then kiss her jaw, slowing making way down to her neck. When your mouth meets her throat, and your teeth graze lightly before sinking, you watch her shoulders slump as a shaky moan leaves her lips. Your hands move to her sides, but you pull your touch away in an instant.

"Wait..."

"Be patient," You sigh, moving to sit behind her. Your back rests on the bed frame, and her back rests against your chest. Your lips make home on the side of her neck, leaving the occasional mark on her shoulder as you slowly worked her up. Not that she needed it — she had been squirming the second you entered her home uninvited. Your hand kneads at her breast, but your touch is gentle there, kissing her cheek as her sore body makes her whimper.

When you tweak her nipple and she melts into you, your hand grasps the large, black wand vibrator. Her eyes are closed, but they snap open when she hears the vibrations flick on. Before she can speak, you press it firmly against her clit, hooking your legs over hers to hold them open.

"Oh, fuck," She whined. "Wait, please, I..."

Her legs began to shake immediately, and it made you realize just how neglected her arousal had been. You hum softly, still kneading her breast as the vibrations worked on her clit. Her head fell back with a shaky gasp, laying on your shoulder as you drew slow circles with the toy.

"So — fuck, so good," She pants, rolling her hips. "Wait, it's — it's sensitive. P-pull away, m'gonna cum already. D-don't wanna cum yet..!"

"You can take it," You hum, drawing faster circles. You watched her eyes widen, nails digging into your thighs as she groaned loudly, mouth falling open as she tried to grind against the wand, seeking her release with the delicious pleasure she was being given. You added more pressure on her clit, and it seemed to throw her over the edge.

Your name fell from her lips, a quick, breathy chant that had her rolling her hips against nothing. Her eyes nearly rolled back, but you pull the toy away before you can allow her to ride the high of her climax. She goes to complain, but your hands bring another toy.

A dildo, this time. A little smaller than the one she usually uses, but you don't want to make her uncomfortable, so you choose the safer option. You hold it up to her lips, and she parts them obediently. The toy disappears in her mouth, making her eyes sting as she gags lightly. When you pull it out, its thoroughly soaked.

"Good girl," You hum, and kiss her shoulder. "So good."

Her cheeks flush, and you line the toy up with her entrance. You dip in slowly, pushing past her sensitive walls. You flip on the vibrator on a lower setting, pressing it against her clit once again.

"Hold it," You murmur. "And don't pull it away until I say so.."

Emily swallows thickly, but nods, using both of her trembling hands to hold the toy onto her clit. She slumps back onto you with a gasp as you start a steady pace with the dildo, still pinning her legs open with your own. Her hips writhe and twitch occasionally, until her orgasm is building up again.

Her hips roll as you fuck her steadily, clenching around the toy. She doesn't feel any pain as she finally reaches her climax, her abdomen relieved of any cramps.

"W-wait, I..." She gasps. "Fuck, m'gonna pass out.."

You chuckle, "You're fine, sweetheart. Just hold it steady like I said."

She does as you say, even after she finished riding her orgasm. Her legs tremble and shake, pulling long whines and broken whimpers from her throat, her head falling back onto your shoulder once again. Her moans turn into broken sobs as she reaches another climax, making you pull the dildo out, leaving it on the towel.

You hold the wand to her clit, above her hand, to ensure that she doesn't pull it away as she rolls her hips. Her hands leave the toy and return to your thighs, sinking her nails into you once again, mouth falling open with a loud, stretched-out moan.

She's pulsing now, and her pussy is drooling prettily onto the towel beneath her. She gasps and chokes, eyes rolling back. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, a guttural moan ripping from the depths of her throat.

"S'too much!" She pleads, gasping. "Please, m-mommy, can't take anymore!"

"I don't know, baby," You murmur softly, wrapping a hand around her throat and squeezing lightly. "I think you can take one more."

There's another sob that breaks through her throat. It makes you falter, moving your eyes up to her face, searching for anything. You see, however, that she'd closed her eyes and nodded desperately, tears dripping onto her chest.

"Atta girl," You hum. "One more for mommy."

You press the vibrator firmly against her clit, drawing quick, tight circles as you flip it on the highest setting. Her mouth drops open and no sound comes out. Your nose nudges against her jaw and you let go of her neck, whispering softly, "Breathe, baby."

She gasps as her hips spasm and write, a loud sob echoing in the room. You don't flip off the toy just yet, leaving it for a few more seconds. She pleads and cries, and you listen eventually, pulling it away and turning it off. Her clit is throbbing, utterly swollen and abused as it pulses, leaving her breathing heavily.

"Em?" I murmur softly. "You with me?"

"Yeah," She says shakily, then swallows. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Yeah?" You whisper, then stretch your neck to look at her. "You did so good, baby. Good job."

Her cheeks flush, nuzzling her nose in the crook of your neck, "Thank you...I'm sorry I was so snappy today."

"It's okay," You assure, then chuckle. "I wasn't very patient. I might also be getting my period soon, unfortunately."

Emily giggles, and you feel her lashes flutter against your skin.

"Shower first, baby," You remind, and she nods. "I'll clean you up, and then I'll clean up in here so we're ready for bed, yeah?"

"Yeah," She yawns. "Thank you."

[myharkness]

Okay but hear me out…

Agatha and Reader meet at a BDSM club? Kink level as far as you’re comfortable writing (though it would me amazing if there was a strap-on and maybe a fucking machine but only if you’re comfortable with it)

Hope I did it justice!

There's something in here for everyone

What's your fantasy?

Word count: 4600

Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, fingering, strap on, sex toys, degradation, praise, gagging, spanking, blindfolds, restraints, fucking machine, mommy kink (hope this is all)

This is a bad idea. 

That is the only thing going through your mind as you walk up to the doors of “The Velvet Hex.” 

Westview’s only BDSM club can be found in an unassuming part of town, in a relatively plain building. 

Definitely not what you were expecting. 

You aren’t even sure what you’re doing here, but your best friend Wanda had told you that you desperately needed to get laid and to go out and have some fun. 

But her idea of “fun” had come when she had plopped down in the chair of the library next to you and told you to take the BDSM test, gleefully holding up her phone with her results.   

So you had taken the test right there, turning more and more red as the questions went on, and when you finally finished, Wanda had looked over and let out a low whistle. 

“Damn, girl, you are kinky,” she had said as you compared yours to hers and you felt your cheeks burn even more. 

And then she had whispered, in the Westview University campus library, that her girlfriend’s roommate knew a woman who owned her own club like that, and they were having an exclusive invite-only night where anything was on the table. 

You had looked at her with questioning eyes, wondering where she was going with that, and Wanda had smacked your knee for being oblivious. 

“Nat’s roommate told us she could get us in if we wanted. We said no, but I’m sure Rio could get you an invite. You should go and explore,” she explained, a smirk plastered to her face while she wiggled her eyebrows at you. You weren’t surprised that Natasha and Wanda hadn’t wanted to get involved in that world, but you couldn’t ignore how the offer piqued your interest. 

You hummed casually. “Oh yeah?” 

And Wanda had grinned, seeing the wheels turning in your head. You were curious, that’s all. Obviously you weren’t looking for anything.

The next day, she gave you a letter on purple cardstock with a date, time, location, and password. 

At the moment, it seemed like a good idea. 

But standing here now, outside alone the club with the paper clutched in your hand, your heart is racing. 

You should turn back now and go back to your dorm. You could lie to Wanda, tell her that it was just okay, and no one would ever have to know. 

But a small part of your brain nags at you and tells you to go inside. You’re not sure why, but it feels like something from the club is calling to you, drawing you in. 

So you take a deep breath and knock on the door. 

A slot slides open and you can see a man’s brown eyes. 

“Password?” He asks. 

You clear your throat and hold up the cardstock. “Katoptronophilia.” You’re not even sure if you’ve sounded it out correctly, but the slot closes and the door swings open. 

You step inside hesitantly and take in your surroundings. 

The room is dimly lit with different colored LED lights glowing in different corners over doors that lead to different rooms. There’s a good amount of people in here, just mingling at the moment. There’s people dressed in leather outfits, or tight, short dresses, or nothing at all. 

Anything is on the table, you remember Wanda saying. You had done some research, just to see what you were getting yourself into, and the website had said that it was a tame environment, normally no sex allowed. But the exclusive, invite-only event tonight must be cause for an exception. 

You move a bit further into the main room, eyes darting all over the place. A woman yanks on a leash that’s connected to a younger man’s neck, forcing him down on all fours and making him crawl after her. A waitress bends over in a man’s lap to pick up a napkin she dropped, exposing her naked ass to him and his friends. Two women 69 on a couch while a third woman watches, slowly fingering herself to the sight. 

Feeling a little overwhelmed, you head to the bar. You’re really not sure what you’re doing here. 

And of course, the bartender ignores you. You try several times to get their attention, but people come up next to you, order something, and they get their drink immediately. 

You’re about to give up, maybe even just call it a night, when an older woman saunters in next to you. You don’t even look at her, rolling your eyes at how she will inevitably get a drink before you do. 

“Your usual?” The bartender asks her, and that makes you glance over. She’s a bit taller than you, long dark hair, bright blue eyes. She’s wearing a black blazer and pants, but under the blazer is a see-through bra. 

Your mouth runs dry. This is the first person you’ve seen here tonight that you actually find attractive. 

“Yes, please,” the woman next to you says, and then she turns her head to look at you and it almost stops your heart. “And what do you want?” 

You’ve been ignored so many times you’ve almost forgotten. “Oh, um, a Dirty Shirley, please.” The woman nods at the bartender, who starts working. “Thanks,” you say. “Do you come here often?”

The moment you say it, you cringe. Is it weird to ask someone if they’re a regular at a BDSM club? But the woman just laughs and shakes her head. 

“I’m the owner, darling,” she says and your mouth drops open. “Agatha Harkness.” 

“Oh,” you reply, completely dumbfounded. You introduce yourself and she reaches out her hand. You take it, feeling a spark at the contact. 

“So,” she drawls, eyes raking over your body, taking in your short dress and the amount of skin on display appreciatively. Your body burns under the intensity. “What brings you here for the first time?”

You frown. “How did you know it was my first time?” You don’t know why you’re even asking, it’s got to be obvious based on your tense composure and general awkwardness at being in this environment.

But she just smirks. “I would’ve remembered seeing you around here.” Surely the owner of this club is not flirting with you. “So?” 

Your brows furrow. “So?” 

“What brings you here?” She reminds you of her earlier question and you inwardly smack yourself. 

What exactly should you say? Your best friend thinks you should get laid and that you’re kinky? “Just wanted to try something new,” is what you settle on. “Get out of my comfort zone.”

Her grin widens and you see a slight resemblance to a shark about to get its prey. “And now that you’re here, how do you feel? Are you good with sitting here, or–” She leans in closer until you can feel her warm breath on your lips. You shudder at the proximity. “–do you want more?” 

“What are you suggesting?” You whisper back, a playful lilt in your voice, and you see her eyes light up before dropping to your lips. You close the gap before you can think too hard about it, brushing your mouth against hers. Your boldness surprises both of you and she chuckles darkly. 

“Whatever you want. Surely you have some things you want to explore, or else you wouldn’t be here,” she says, thumb coming up to tug at your bottom lip. You flick your tongue out against it and her eyebrow raises, urging you on. 

You shrug noncommittally, suddenly feeling much more confident. “Just wanted to spice things up a bit. See if there was any trouble I could get in tonight.” 

Agatha rests her head on her hand, dark eyes drinking you in. “Do you really want trouble though? Or do you want to be a good girl?” A tiny gasp slips out at the praise. 

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” you answer honestly and she draws you back in for a real kiss this time, all tongue and teeth and lips, and you can taste a hint of cinnamon in her mouth. She devours you like she can’t get enough until you have to stop to breathe. 

Agatha steps back and tugs you away by the hand, leaving the drinks the bartender had just put down in front of you. 

Figures that when you finally get your drink, you don’t even get to have it. 

But you can’t complain, because Agatha is weaving you through the crowd of people on the main floor, giving you the grand tour of the place. You see groups experimenting with ropes and someone teaching how to tie safe knots, you see spanking and flogging, the list goes on. 

Your head is spinning. 

Agatha stops outside a door in the back and looks back at you. “You don’t have to do anything that you won’t want to do, okay? You can say no at any point.” 

You gulp at the serious tone in her voice and nod. She pushes the door open and turns on the lights so you can see. 

Stepping into the room, your breath catches. Three out of four walls, including the one that the door is on, is covered from ceiling to floor in mirrors. The fourth wall, the one to the right of the door, is glass, looking into an adjoining room with couches facing you. 

In the middle of the room, there’s something akin to a hospital cot, although more comfortable-looking, a machine of sorts with a dildo attached to it, and then a table in the corner with more sex toys than you've ever seen in your entire life combined. There’s a chest under it and you can only imagine what’s in there.

“Jesus,” you rasp, taking it all in. You know you should be terrified, but with Agatha standing next to you just carefully watching, you feel eerily calm. “Do you – uh, what do you want me to do?” 

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and cups your chin. “What do you want, sweetheart? I can give you anything.” 

Your mind goes a hundred miles a minute to try and figure out what you want, eyes darting back and forth between all the things in the room. “What are my options?” 

“Well,” she says slowly. “The second I hit this button –” She motions to a circle on the wall. “The light above the door to the other room will turn green and unlock and people can come in. I can hit it or not, completely up to you. Or it could just be the two of us in here, and I could make you feel so good, baby. Fingers, mouth, strap-ons, the machine, any toy you’d like. Whatever you want to explore or try, we could do it.” 

Her clinical words have you dripping. Hearing her say all the things she could do to you only makes you want all of it more. 

One thing gives you pause though. “People…would watch?” You say, trying out the words. You’ve never thought about having an audience for sex before. 

Agatha’s eyes darken. “A pretty young thing like you? Honey, people would do more than just watch.” 

You let out a small gasp. You know you should feel dirty, but the way she says it, like people would be so turned on watching you and Agatha that they’d have to do something about it, makes you feel like you’re floating. 

“But the door can stay locked,” she reassures, taking your silence as a bad thing. Little does she know, heat is coursing through you at the thought. 

“No,” you peep. “It’s okay.” 

Before doing anything, she grasps onto your cheeks and pulls you in for a long kiss. You swoon, knees almost buckling when her tongue slides into your mouth, and she moans at your taste. 

You didn’t know having this affect on an older woman would be this addicting. 

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth and making you whimper. “I think you’re the most delicious thing we’ve ever had in here.” 

“Agatha,” you pant and you don’t miss her sharp inhale at the way you say her name. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want you,” you tell her, kissing her earnestly again, and you did not imagine this was how your night was going to go in your wildest dreams. 

She finally breaks the kiss for air, resting her forehead against yours. “Get on the bed,” she orders, and you see a hardened glint in her eye, like something has shifted inside her. 

There’s no way to ignore how much that turns you on. A small noise escapes from your lips and you scramble to obey, sitting upright on the cot. 

She starts to make her way over to you slowly, but you stop her. “Can you hit the button?” You ask, voice small and timid, but sure of yourself. 

You see desire flit over her face as she smirks knowingly. The moment her hand presses it, you let out a quiet groan and clench around nothing. 

There’s a clicking sound and the door to the other room opens. Five people file in and take a seat on the couches and your breathing becomes heavy. There’s a slight murmur from the other side of the glass, but it’s all incoherent. 

But by the way they’re all looking at you, you don’t have to try that hard to figure out what they’re talking about.

“First things first,” Agatha says, now walking over to you. She’s whispering so your audience can’t hear. “Do you know what a safeword is?” 

You nod. 

“What do you want yours to be?” 

Your heartbeat picks up. “Will I need one?” 

Agatha shrugs. “Better to be safe than sorry. I promise I’m not going to go hard on you. At least not for your first time.” She winks and you feel a visceral ache inside of you. 

“Purple,” you say after thinking about it for a minute. She smirks at your choice and runs a hand through her hair. 

She looks you up and down again, just to make sure there’s no sign of hesitation. “Do you want to take your dress off?” She asks and you feel a pang of longing inside you for her. 

You stand up, nodding, and turn around so she can help you with the zipper. You can hear her chuckle from behind you and you watch in the mirror on the wall as her eyes drop lower as she unzips you. 

She peels the dress down your body and you step out of it, the entire thing feeling a bit surreal. Watching the scene through your reflection makes you feel like an outsider, like it’s not actually you in the mirror. 

Same hair, same face, same body, same lacy lingerie you put on earlier, but not the same person.

But when you watch Agatha plant kisses on the person’s neck and you feel them, you’re reminded that it is you. 

Your head drops back as her teeth scrape against your taunt veins and she sucks harder, pulling more sounds from your mouth. 

It’s a sight to see, the marks on your neck, the darkness of Agatha’s eyes, the way it looks like when her teeth sink into your skin.

Your breathing is ragged now and you can feel your slick on your inner thighs. 

“Please,” you beg, although you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. Just more. 

Her grin in the mirror shows you that she understands completely. “Get on the bed.” This time, her voice is sharp, all traces of the softness from earlier gone. 

The scene has started. 

You clamber onto the cot, hoping it looks more sexy than you feel, and lay down on your back. Agatha comes to the side of you and pries open your legs, baring your covered, dripping pussy to the audience. You notice that more people have come in, and they’re hanging onto every movement. 

“God, you’re soaked,” she remarks, hand roughly cupping you and your hips buck. “Really getting off on this, huh? What a slut.” Her tone is scathing, but her eyes are watching your face carefully, just to make sure she’s not crossing a line. 

She’s not. 

It only makes you wetter and she can feel it. She chuckles condescendingly and you squirm. 

“You want me to touch you?” She asks and you nod your head so hard that it hurts. “Want me to show all these people what a good whore you are for me?” 

“Yes, please,” you gasp out, trying to ride her hand to feel just a little more. The hard pressure against your clit already has you feeling the tension building up in your stomach. 

She smirks and slides your underwear down your legs and holds them to her nose, breathing in your scent. 

“How would you feel about using these as a gag?” She questions conversationally, like she just asked you about the weather instead of something that sears your stomach and turns your world upside down. 

“Yes,” you breathe, desire raw in your voice. You feel like you’re drunk off her and she’s barely done anything to you. 

She grins and nods approvingly. “If you need to stop at any time and you can’t speak, tap me twice. Got it?” 

“Yes,” you say again and open your mouth wide so she can ball up your underwear and shove them inside. You moan at the musky flavor and you had no idea it would be so hot to taste yourself like this. 

Her fingers clasp your throat and you look at her with wide eyes, chest heaving with anticipation of what she’s going to do next. She trails her hand down and pinches your nipples through your bra. You stutter out a curse as she bends down and nips at your skin, tearing the fabric off without removing her mouth. 

And then her tongue swirls at your nipple and you keen, back arching off the bed. You can see the dazed looks on all the voyeurs’ faces, how they shift their weight watching, and it makes you want to show off more so they know just how good Agatha is making you feel. 

You garble around your panties incoherently, fingers twitching against the bed to stop yourself from showing her exactly what you need. 

She chuckles against your skin. “What do you want, baby? What do you need from Mommy?” 

At the pet name for herself, you let out an embarrassing whimper and a flush spreads throughout your body. 

“I thought you’d like that one,” she says smugly and before you can react, she sucks hard on your nipple and shoves two fingers into your waiting and wet cunt. A noise rips its way out of your throat and you throw your head back, hips frantically meeting every thrust. 

She lazily fucks you like she’s barely even trying to make you feel good, but it’s enough for you to get closer to the edge. 

You can’t do anything except take it, matching her thrusts, and your sounds get louder and louder, her fingers twisting and hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, and you’re about to cum –

– and she yanks her fingers out of you, leaving your hips faltering against nothing. 

She sucks them into her mouth, eyes closing at the taste. “Sorry, baby. But you’re not allowed to cum yet.” She slaps your cunt with her open hand and laughs at the reverberating sound of your wetness.

You whine pathetically around the as she walks around to the table and picks up a dildo and harness. 

“Do you want me to fuck you with this?” She asks, showing it to you and then to the audience. You glance at them to find several bobbing their heads with even more enthusiasm than you have. “Sweetheart?” She says to get your attention. 

You jolt out of the stupor you were in watching them watch you with bated breath and nod breathlessly, babbling senselessly again around the gag.

She smirks and puts the harness on over her clothes. You’re not sure why, but being completely naked while she is still fully clothed only makes it feel dirtier, hotter.  

Agatha attaches the dildo, pours some lube onto her hand and strokes it, and then grabs two silk cloths back over to you. She fishes the underwear out of your mouth and trails of saliva connect it back to your mouth. 

“Get up,” she says roughly and you scramble out of the bed immediately. She turns the cot like it’s nothing, angling it so it’s parallel to the glass instead of perpendicular. 

So the audience will be able to see everything with Agatha fucking you with her strap. The realization makes you squeeze your thighs together, feeling the waterfall between them. 

She beckons you back over and each step you take puts pressure on your aching clit. It’s agonizing and yet, the most alive you’ve ever felt. 

You get back on the bed and she maneuvers you into a position where you’re on your knees near the edge, resting your ass on your heels. You watch yourself in the mirror as she takes both your arms and ties them behind your back with one of the silk cloths. And then she puts the other one around your eyes, so you can’t see anything. 

The change in your body is almost instantaneous. Goosebumps spread all down your skin, you can hear the rustling of Agatha’s clothes behind you, you can feel just how wet you are, you can even smell yourself; every sense has become so much more heightened. 

Her hand gently presses on your back and guides you down, positioning your face against the bed so your ass is up in the air with your hands behind your back. She rubs your cunt, smearing your wetness everywhere. 

“You like being watched don’t you?” She taunts, and while yes, you apparently do, you think it’s more because of her. “Dripping all over my club like a slut, just needing to be fucked.” 

You whimper and sway your hips because it’s all that you can do. And then there’s nothing. She removes her hand and you strain your ears to see if you can hear anything. 

And then without warning, there’s a loud smack on your ass and your body jolts forward, a surprised grunt coming out of your mouth. She soothes the pain with her hand and then the tip of her strap is sliding against your folds and you whine. She presses it against your clit which makes you shudder.

“Beg for it,” Agatha demands and you don’t hesitate. 

“Mommy, please, please I need it so bad, please fuck me,” you chant and are rewarded when she slowly enters you. 

Your mouth falls open but no sounds come out as she begins to thrust, gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll have bruises. 

You want them.

“God, look at my baby girl taking my cock so well for me,” she coos but you can hear the exertion in her voice as she starts to pound harder. “Such a good slut, such a good pet.” You whine involuntarily and you can practically hear her smirking. You wish to god more than anything that she would take the blindfold off you so you could look in the mirror and see what you looked like. 

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, after already being denied earlier, and you’re about to cum when she pulls out. 

“No,” you sob, convulsing uncontrollably, the feelings of your orgasm tamping down. 

She spanks you again. “What did I say earlier? You’re not allowed to cum yet. And stop pouting before I make you.” With another swat to your ass, she pushes back inside of you and sets the same bruising pace as before. 

It takes you even less time for your lower stomach to tighten, and she pulls out again right as you’re on the precipice. 

“Please, please, Mommy, let me cum,” you cry, your entire body shaking. 

She laughs cynically and starts fucking you again. You’re fully unable to move, just being rocked back and forth with her thrusts, nothing more than a glorified toy for her to use. 

And she does use you. She brings you to the edge and then stops at least five more times, and you’ve completely lost the ability to think. Words spill out of your mouth like you’re drunk on Agatha, which you think you might be. 

You’ve never felt this thoroughly ruined before. 

But this time, when she pulls out, she doesn’t push back in. You feel her hands untying the restraint on your wrist and then on your hips, flipping your pliable body over so you’re on your back. She bends your legs up on the edge and rips the blindfold off and the light, even though dim, hurts your eyes. 

“How are you doing?” She murmurs, scanning your blissed out face for any sense of discomfort. 

You babble something along the lines of “I’m good” or at least you try to. You’re not actually sure what she hears. 

But she smiles genuinely nonetheless and leans down to peck your forehead. “You’ve done so well for me, pet. I think it’s time for a reward.” 

“I get to cum?” You ask weakly and she chuckles. 

“Oh yes, baby. You’ll get to cum as many times as you want.” Your heart leaps at the promise and she drags over the machine with the dildo. Your breathing quickens and she angles it up so it’s positioned right at your stretched-out cunt. 

Before you can even breathe, she smiles wickedly and turns it on. Your head falls back and your back arches up violently when it begins fucking into you. The pace never falters and you cum almost instantly. 

Agatha leaves your side but comes back seconds later, holding a vibrator. You moan pornographically loud when she turns it on and positions it against your clit. 

You cum again shortly after. 

The machine keeps thrusting inside you, faster than you’ve ever been fucked, and the direct stimulation against the most sensitive part of your body has you practically sobbing at the pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming again, and then another one weakly rolls over your body. 

But it’s too much now, all the edging and now the overstimulation is hurting so you start to squirm away from it. 

She instantly catches on and drops the vibrator before rushing to turn off the machine. 

You pant heavily on the bed, completely spent, and she lets you calm down, gently stroking your hair. 

Even though you know you have an entire audience, all you can see is her. 

“How was that?” She asks. “Too much?” 

You shake your head, feeling the slight sheen of sweat everywhere and all you can think about is needing to shake a shower. 

And when you can see Agatha again. 

“No, it was perfect,” you say truthfully, your voice hoarse. She smiles and kisses your lips. 

“We’re open Thursdays through Sundays,” she says and you laugh. “Come back anytime, baby. Although, keep coming back and putting on a performance like that, I might have to keep you all for myself.” 

Nothing has ever sounded so good. 

[myharkness]

Extra Credit (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You’re Billy’s favourite teacher, but it seems his mom, Agatha Harkness, has taken quite the liking to you too. What starts as innocent parent-teacher meeting quickly spirals into teasing glances, stolen moments, and Agatha making it very clear she always gets what she wants.

-OR-

She fucks you on her kitchen island and you've got to keep quiet while she takes a call

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Agatha being a MILF again, reader's got a praise kink, oral (R recv), fingering (R recv), orgasm denial if you close your eyes, could be more but idk

Words: 4.4k

A/N: Agatha All Along Week Day 1: Single Mom/Teacher AU

AO3 | Masterlist

The clatter of a pen dropping onto your desk jolts you back to the present. You blink, realising you’ve been staring at the clock for longer than you care to admit. Another parent-teacher conference night, another gruelling line-up of exhausted faces and polite nods. You adjust the stack of papers in front of you, trying to muster some energy for the last meeting on your schedule. Billy Maximoff. His name is scribbled neatly on the appointment sheet, but it’s the blank column under “Parent/Guardian Name” that catches your attention.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of boots hitting the tiled floor in the hallway. You glance up just as a woman steps into the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. She has an easy confidence about her—a casual yet put-together look that suggests she doesn’t overthink her appearance but still manages to look effortlessly striking. Her long brown hair falls in soft, slightly wild waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing a striped blazer over a slinky olive-green blouse, paired with a camel-coloured suede skirt that hugs her figure in all the right ways. Her rugged, well-loved boots and the faint smudge of dirt near the hem of her skirt add a touch of groundedness to her otherwise polished vibe.

She leans casually against the doorframe, her hand brushing through her hair as she surveys the room with a faint smile. Her striking features—sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes—are softened by the glint of curiosity in her gaze.

“Good evening,” she says, her voice smooth and low, with the faintest trace of amusement. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.”

You scramble to respond, fumbling with the pen you just retrieved. “Not at all, Ms.—?”

“Harkness,” she supplies, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Agatha Harkness. Billy’s guardian.”

The name suits her. You nod, gesturing for her to take a seat, but instead of sitting, she crosses the room leisurely, her boots making soft, deliberate sounds against the tile. She pauses to examine the bulletin board, running her fingers lightly over a thumbtacked notice about an upcoming bake sale.

“Charming,” she remarks dryly before finally settling into the chair opposite you. Her gaze flicks to the papers on your desk, then back to your face, and suddenly the air feels heavy. You clear your throat, diving into the usual spiel about Billy’s performance.

But Agatha isn’t interested in small talk. She listens with one eyebrow arched, occasionally interrupting with a cutting observation that’s somehow both insulting and charming. When you nervously adjust your glasses and shuffle your papers, she tilts her head, her smirk widening.

“You seem... distracted,” she murmurs, leaning forward. Her voice drops an octave. “Do I make you nervous?”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “No, I—um—”

She chuckles, the sound low and indulgent. “Relax. I’m just teasing.” Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary before she reclines in her chair, her smirk firmly in place. “Now, about Billy…”

—

After that first meeting, Agatha becomes a constant presence. At first, it’s subtle—a chance encounter at the grocery store, a polite wave during drop-off. But then the notes start. Brief, cryptic messages scrawled on elegant stationery, left on your desk between classes. The first one reads, “How about some extra credit? – A.”

You keep them, of course. It feels impossible to throw them away, even as you berate yourself for the ridiculous flutter in your chest every time you see her looping signature.

At a school fundraiser, she catches you off guard again. The room is crowded, the noise a blend of clinking glasses and polite chatter. You’re busy sorting auction sheets when you feel her presence behind you. Her voice is warm against your ear.

“Lovely event,” she purrs. "Though I think we both know it could use... a bit more spice.”

You turn, startled, and find her standing impossibly close. Her honey-brown waves frame her face, and her eyes glint with amusement as she surveys your reaction. “You’ve done well, though,” she adds, her tone softening. “Admirably, even.”

Before you can respond, she’s gone, blending seamlessly back into the crowd. Your heart races as you realise how much you want her to stay.

—

It happens after school one Friday afternoon. You’re tidying up your classroom; the muffled sound of students filtering out of the building serves as a backdrop to your thoughts. You’re so focused on organising the papers in front of you that you don’t notice the soft creak of the door opening.

When you finally look up, Agatha is leaning against the doorframe, her hair catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. She’s still in her usual style—casual yet disarmingly striking. Today, her blazer is swapped for a simple, fitted cardigan over a loose blouse that dips just enough to draw attention, paired with high-waisted trousers that hug her hips. Her boots are the same ones you’ve seen her in before, scuffed and charmingly imperfect.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she says lightly, though the look in her eyes suggests otherwise.

“Not at all,” you stammer, clutching the stack of papers a little too tightly.

She steps into the room, closing the door behind her with a deliberate click. “I wanted to discuss Billy’s progress,” she begins, but her tone is far too casual for this to be strictly about academics.

Her boots thud softly against the floor as she saunters towards your desk. “He’s a bright kid,” she continues, her voice smooth and measured. “Though, I must say, I think you’ve had quite the influence on him. He’s been glowing about his ‘amazing teacher’ for weeks.”

Her compliment catches you off guard, and before you can thank her, her eyes drop slightly as though assessing you.

“I can see why,” she adds, her voice dropping to a low, velvety purr. “I imagine the hot teacher fantasy must be quite the hit around here.”

Your face flushes instantly. “Excuse me?” You manage, but the words come out far more flustered than indignant. Heat blooms in your cheeks, betraying you completely.

Agatha laughs—a low, indulgent sound—and steps closer, her presence both suffocating and electric. She watches you squirm with an almost predatory amusement. “Relax,” she murmurs, tilting her head. “It’s a compliment. You wear it well.”

“You’re fun to watch, you know,” she continues, her lips curling into a smirk. “Like a rabbit caught in a trap.”

Your breath catches. Her words feel like a challenge, a test of your composure. Mustering your courage, you blurt, “Why do you keep teasing me?”

Her smirk fades, replaced by something darker. She steps closer until you can feel the heat radiating from her body.

“And what if I wasn’t just teasing?” She whispers, her voice low and intimate. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against your wrist in a touch so light it sends shivers up your spine.

Before you can respond, she closes the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that is slow and deliberate yet utterly consuming. Her hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss as she presses you back against your desk. 

The room spins, your papers scattering to the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Agatha’s kiss becomes more demanding, her hands sliding to your hips and pulling you closer. Her body presses against yours, a perfect combination of softness and strength.

Without breaking contact, she lifts you onto the desk, her hands firm on your thighs as she pushes between them. The new angle allows her to deepen the kiss further, her teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp.

Her smirk curves against your mouth at the sound, as though she’s cataloguing every reaction for later. Her hands slide boldly up your thighs, fingers pressing into the fabric just enough to make you squirm. She’s deliberate, taking her time as her lips trail to your jawline, then down to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Sensitive here, aren’t you?” She murmurs, her voice low and teasing, as she presses a lingering kiss that sends a tremor through you.

You can only manage a shaky exhale, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as though it might ground you. Agatha notices and hums with amusement. She kisses her way back to your lips, this time taking control with an intensity that makes your head spin again.

Her hands roam further, sliding beneath your shirt, her palms burning a path along your skin as she pushes it up inch by inch. Your breath hitches as cool air meets flushed skin, only for the sensation to be overtaken by Agatha’s touch as she explores, slow and deliberate.

She pulls back just enough to take you in, her darkened gaze locking onto yours. Her thumb brushes over the skin of your waist in a slow, deliberate circle. “Look at you,” she murmurs softly. “So pliant already.”

You shudder visibly, her words as much of a caress as her touch. Before you can gather a coherent thought, her mouth is on yours again, her kiss deep and consuming. One hand slips up to cradle the back of your neck, tilting your head just the way she wants, while the other grips your thigh to pull you closer against her.

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time—your heart racing, your body responding to her every move as though it’s instinct. Agatha pulls back again, just enough to let you catch your breath, her lips brushing against your jaw as she chuckles softly.

“Billy’s at his boyfriend’s this evening,” she whispers, her voice low and deliberate, laced with wicked promise. “I think we should continue this at my place. Don’t you?”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, the weight of them making your pulse quicken. When you manage to nod, she grins—slow, sharp, and triumphant.

“Good,” she says, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “Come on, then. I’m not done with you yet.”

—

By the time you arrive at her home, the tension between you has reached a fever pitch. Her house is a perfect reflection of her: elegant but unpretentious, with bookshelves stacked haphazardly and a hint of sandalwood in the air.

Agatha shrugs off her cardigan, draping it over the back of a chair before turning to you with a gaze that pins you in place. “Relax,” she murmurs, a smirk playing on her lips as she steps closer. “I don’t bite… much.”

She reaches out, her hands settling on your hips as she guides you backward, your lower back hitting the edge of the kitchen island. Her touch is confident yet tender, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt as she pulls you closer. She lifts you effortlessly onto the cool surface, and your legs instinctively wrap around her waist.

She leans in for another kiss, this one slower, more exploratory, as if she’s savouring every second. The heat between you both intensifies, your breaths mingling as her hands roam over your body, claiming you in a way that leaves you breathless.

“You’re so responsive,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice thick with satisfaction. “I like that.”

Her hands trail up your sides, her nails scraping lightly against your skin, sending sparks of sensation coursing through you. When she pulls back, her hair is slightly tousled, and her eyes are dark with intent.

“Now,” she whispers, her voice dipping into a commanding tone that makes your stomach flip, “let’s get one thing straight.” She tilts your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I’m in charge tonight. Understood?”

You nod, too breathless to speak, and her lips curve into a wicked smile.

“Use your words for me, sweetheart,” she purrs.

Your hesitation earns you a raised eyebrow, her smirk widening in amusement. “Oh, don’t be shy,” she coaxes, her tone softening into something almost soothing. Her fingers trail up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your flushed skin. “Say it.”

“I understand,” you finally manage, making her control snap. Her hands tighten on your hips as she pulls you closer, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that is anything but gentle, her movements firm but unhurried, her touch alternating between rough and tender in a way that leaves you utterly breathless.

Her hands trail up your sides, tugging your shirt over your head before letting it fall to the floor. The air feels cool against your flushed skin, but her touch quickly distracts you as her lips trail down your jawline to your neck.

When you hesitantly reach for the buttons on her blouse, she lets you help, watching you with sharp amusement as your fingers fumble. “Careful,” she teases, her voice low and wicked. “Don’t tear it.”

Once her blouse falls open, you can’t stop yourself from staring. The soft, teasing dip of her lace bra is enough to make your mouth run dry, and Agatha doesn’t miss it. She arches an eyebrow, her smirk turning fond as she cups your face, fingers brushing along your jawline before she pulls you into another searing kiss.

The kiss is all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs as her body presses against yours. Her movements are intoxicatingly slow, as though she’s savouring every sound you make. When she pulls back just enough, her lips curve against your skin in satisfaction.

“You’re adorable when you’re overwhelmed,” she murmurs, her voice rich and indulgent, like honey warmed over fire.

Her hands, still impossibly steady, slide down your torso, pausing only to stroke the skin she’s uncovered. Her touch is deliberate, methodical—she wants you to feel everything. Agatha presses her lips to the hollow of your throat, leaving a trail of kisses that make you squirm under her control.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before her mouth finds yours again.

The kiss is slower this time—deeper, almost reverent—like she’s intent on memorising the way you taste. Her hands move with purpose, one gripping your hip while the other trails up your spine, leaving sparks in its wake. When you let out a soft, involuntary sound, Agatha groans softly into your mouth, her control threatening to slip.

Your hands wander up to push her blouse the rest of the way off her shoulders. Agatha hums in approval, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor.

She kisses you until you’re dizzy, her hands continuing their exploration of every inch of you. She’s relentless but not hurried, building the tension inch by inch until you’re left breathless beneath her. At some point, her fingers slide down to unfasten the button of your jeans, but she pauses, her lips hovering over yours.

“Are you still with me, darling?” She murmurs, her voice soft, grounding you just enough to remember to breathe.

You nod, your cheeks flush, and your heart races. “Yes,” you whisper, and her smirk softens into something impossibly fond.

“Good,” she says, pressing a kiss to your mouth. “That’s my good girl.”

Your body responds to her praise before your mind even catches up, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Agatha’s grin widens, dark and satisfied, as she watches your reaction. “Oh, I am going to have fun with you,” she murmurs, her voice dipping into something deeper, more possessive.

She steps back slightly, her gaze flicking over you as she considers her next move. There’s a moment of deliberation as her fingers trace lightly over your thighs, her eyes narrowing in thought.

“Let’s see,” she muses aloud, her voice low and steady. “How to get these off...”

You remain still, heart racing, the heat between your legs palpable as her fingers trail up your body. Her eyes lock onto yours for a brief second, and then she decides. With a swift motion, she places her hands on your shoulders, pushing you back gently so that your back is now flat against the cool surface of the kitchen island. You gasp, your breath hitching at the sudden change in position, but you don’t protest.

Agatha steps between your legs, her fingers moving slowly up your body, and she starts to tug at the waistband of your jeans and underwear. Her hands are skilled and deliberate as she traces the outline of your hips and thighs, pulling at the fabric with a teasing slowness that leaves you aching for more.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Agatha lowers herself, pressing a series of soft, heated kisses down your torso. Each kiss is carefully placed, her lips lingering just a little longer than necessary, as if she’s savouring every inch of your skin. You can feel the heat of her breath against your body, sending shivers through you as her hands trail along your sides, lightly grazing your skin.

Her lips travel lower, brushing over your hips, before she begins to kiss up your thighs, her touch slow and teasing. Her hands are still steady on your skin, caressing the soft curve of your body as her lips draw closer to where you need her most. The anticipation builds with each lingering kiss that inches closer to where you want her most.

You let out a breath, and your body instinctively shifts, eager for the contact you’ve been waiting for. But Agatha is in control, her smirk darkening as she watches your reactions, enjoying the way your body responds to her slow pace.

Her lips hover just inches from where you crave her touch, teasing you as she takes her time. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable now; your body is restless and aching, but Agatha remains patient. She lifts her head briefly, eyes locking onto yours with a glint of satisfaction.

"You’re so eager," she whispers, her voice rich with amusement, before returning her attention to your thighs. Her hands slide further up, brushing against your skin as she kisses the sensitive area just above your inner thighs, sending waves of anticipation coursing through your body. The slight pressure of her lips on your skin makes your breath hitch, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter beneath you. You can barely hold back a moan as the moment stretches longer than you'd imagined possible, but you know—she knows—that you won’t be able to last very long.

Agatha’s mouth moves even closer now, teasing your skin with the lightest touches before finally, slowly, moving to your sensitive clit. A gasp escapes your lips as her mouth finally connects, and you can’t help the desperate sound that falls from you. Her lips work with slow, purposeful pressure, her tongue tracing the lines of your body in expert strokes that make your hips involuntarily push towards her.

Her hands are firm on your waist, holding you steady as she brings you closer to the edge, her eyes never leaving yours, watching every reaction. "That's it," she murmurs, her voice low and approving. "So responsive... so perfect."

Every flick of her tongue sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you tremble beneath her. The anticipation that had been building for so long finally reaches a breaking point, your body trembling with need as she continues her relentless pace. You’re caught between wanting to beg her for more and wanting to savour every moment of this slow, delicious torture.

But Agatha, always in control, draws back just before you can lose yourself completely. She lingers above you, her breath heavy against your skin, and her smirk widens. “Not yet,” she whispers, the words making your chest ache with desire. "We’re just getting started."

The sudden buzz of her phone on the counter makes Agatha pause, her lips just inches away. She huffs softly, almost annoyed, before pulling back. You whimper involuntarily, only for her sharp gaze to snap to yours.

Without saying a word, she picks up her phone and swipes to answer, pressing it to her ear. “Hi Billy,” she says smoothly, her voice a picture of calm.

Her free hand drags lazily over her mouth, wiping away your arousal, before her fingers immediately return to you. She trails them up your thighs, her touch featherlight but devastating, making your hips buck of their own accord, a soft moan escaping before you can stop it.

Her gaze darkens instantly, and her eyes narrow in a silent warning. The message is crystal clear—keep quiet, or I’ll stop. The slow, deliberate circles her fingertips trace up your thigh make it nearly impossible to obey, but the threat in her glare keeps you still.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” She asks Billy, the tenderness in her voice at odds with what’s happening between you two. She waits for his reply, her lips curling into an almost amused expression. She drags her fingers through your folds, deliberately stopping to hover over your entrance, sending shivers up your spine.

Agatha’s expression doesn’t falter as she pushes two fingers inside you, pressing her thumb against your clit with devastating precision, the movement so slow and calculated that it feels like torture. Her smirk widens when she feels you clench around her fingers, but her attention shifts back to talk with Billy, utterly composed as she continues the conversation.

“Of course, sweetie,” she says smoothly, her tone saccharine and calm, as though she isn’t currently unravelling you one touch at a time. “Eddie’s for the night? That’s fine, just don’t forget to let his parents know, alright?”

She drags her fingers out slowly before thrusting them back in harshly, knowing it’ll leave you gasping. You grip the counter beneath you, trying to ground yourself, but your body betrays you—hips jutting towards her, a loud whimper slipping out.

Agatha pins the phone to her ear with her shoulder, bringing her hand to press firmly against your lower stomach, pinning you in place with a deliberate calm. She pauses, her fingers stilling for just a moment as her dark, warning eyes flick up to meet yours. The silent message is clear: be good.

You nod frantically, biting down on your lower lip to stifle any more sounds. Pleased with your response, she smiles softly and resumes, her fingers curling in a way that makes you dizzy.

“Mhm,” she hums distractedly into the phone as Billy continues to chatter, utterly oblivious to what’s happening on the other end. “Did you need anything else, love? I was just in the middle of something.”

The double meaning in her words doesn’t escape you, but you can barely process it as her movements quicken, a cruel flick of her wrist turning the slow tease into something far more demanding. Your breathing comes in shallow bursts, your legs trembling as she drags you closer and closer to the edge with ease.

Agatha’s expression remains perfectly composed, though the corner of her mouth twitches into a smirk when she feels you start to unravel. “Alright, sweetie,” she finally says, her voice gentle yet clipped as though she’s eager to end the call. “Be good, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

She ends the call with a soft click, tossing the phone onto the counter without a care. The moment it leaves her hand, her focus snaps back to you entirely.

“You couldn’t even follow one simple instruction,” she tuts, though her voice is far too pleased to sound scolding. Her fingers press deeper as she leans closer, her breath warm against your ear. “But I suppose I’ll forgive you. This time.”

The promise in her tone is enough to send you spiralling, a taut thread snapping deep within you as waves of overwhelming pleasure crash through your body. It starts slow—a tremor that blooms and builds, spreading through every nerve until it consumes you entirely. Your thighs quiver beneath her unrelenting touch, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

She doesn’t let up, her fingers maintaining their pace, drawing you through every moment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. The tension that had been winding you so tight finally unravels, your body shuddering under her relentless focus. It’s as if she’s pulling apart every layer of you, and you give yourself over to it completely.

Your head falls back, a broken cry escaping your lips—her name, raw and breathless, slipping free like a prayer you couldn’t hold back if you tried. The sound seems to fuel her further, her gaze locked onto you as though committing every detail to memory: the arch of your back, the way your fingers clutch desperately at her arms, the tremors that ripple through your form as you fight to anchor yourself to reality.

She leans closer, her breath ghosting over your skin as her movements begin to slow, guiding you gently through the dizzying aftershocks. Her free hand, firm yet gentle, settles at your hip to steady you, grounding you when you feel as though you might simply come undone entirely. The intensity of it all leaves you gasping—every nerve in your body oversensitive, your limbs weak as though she’s stolen every last bit of strength you had.

Agatha watches you with satisfaction, her smirk softening ever so slightly as she finally lets her hand still, her fingers brushing idly against your thigh. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice a rich, honeyed drawl that seems to soothe and ignite you all at once. “Breathe, sweetheart. You did so well for me.”

Her words seep into your skin like balm, even as you try to come back down from the overwhelming high she’s driven you to. She presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips gentle against your trembling skin, before finally straightening to look at you.

The smug satisfaction in her expression is unmistakable, but beneath it, there’s something more—something almost reverent as her eyes rake over you, flushed and wrecked, exactly how she wanted you. Her thumb brushes softly along your cheek as she tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze despite the haze still clouding your mind.

“There you are,” she murmurs, brushing a hand down your thigh, her thumb lingering against your skin. “Such a mess, but so good for me.”

Her lips curve wickedly as she tilts your chin up, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “Now, let’s take this to the bedroom. I’m not quite done with you yet.”

-----

Parent/Teacher conference is just a game of smash or pass if you're brave enough. If ANY (billy excluded) of the coven was there I'd choose smash every time

-----

Like and reblog if you enjoyed. this is a threat 🔫

[myharkness]

Mommy Dearest (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Parent/teacher evening isn't meant to make you want to get to know your student's mother better, but Mrs Harkness is force of nature and you're weak under the force of her flirting.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme

You glanced up from your class list, a smile painted on your face, the fatigue you were feeling pressing against the back of your eyes. One more interview and then you were done for the night. You just had to make it through and then you could go home and curl up in bed, sleeping until well into the morning of your Saturday.

Mrs Scratch was not a parent you’d had much to do with. Nicky was, for the most part, a delight. You hadn’t had to call home or chase down a parent to share concerns. Hell, you hadn’t ever had to send the kid home sick. He was your easiest student, and as such, you’d had no reason to meet with his parents.

Unlike plenty of the other kids in your class.

So when the knock sounded on your door, your final meeting for the night, you looked up with interest. Your smile was brittle, hiding how tired you were, but still, the curiosity curled like a purring cat in your chest.

Mrs Scratch didn’t bother waiting for you to call for her to enter, strutting through your door and immediately making your mouth grow dry. Shooting to your feet, your hand knocked the water bottle from your desk. The loud clatter rang in your ears and you felt your cheeks heat, eyes widening. Ducking down, you scrabbled for it, doing your best to take a deep breath in and calm your racing heart.

Popping back up, red lips were pulled into an amused smirk, blue eyes twinkling as she watched you stand up straight. You let your eyes sweep over her, that same sense of breathlessness removing all thoughts from your head. Purple dress pants highlighting long legs, a white shirt open at the collar, one hand resting in her pocket, heeled boots putting her just taller than you, it would be easy to believe Mrs Scratch was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

“Hi, sorry about that. I’m a total klutz,” you said, placing the bottle back on your desk out of reach when you sat back down.

“Don’t worry about it, hon,” she said, her voice a low register that had goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Scratch,” you said, holding a hand out to her.

“Harkness,” she said as her palm slid along yours.

“Sorry?”

You were so distracted by the feeling of her warm skin against yours you weren’t sure you’d understand what she was saying.

“My surname is Harkness, not Scratch,” she said.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” you said, your cheeks heating again.

“Don’t worry about it, hon. You’re not the first,” she said with a small laugh.

Her hand squeezed yours before she let you go. What was wrong with you? You’d never been like this around one of your student’s parents. Something had to be going wrong. It couldn’t just be that she was gorgeous. Although she was. Fuck, you were still standing and she was staring at you and you knew you were meant to be doing something but staring into her face you couldn’t figure out what it was. Her lips pulled up into a smile again.

“Should we get started?” she asked.

“Yes!” You cringed at how loud your voice came out, “unless we’re waiting for… Nicky’s other parent?”

Your eyes darted down to see if she had a wedding ring. Her left hand was still in her pocket, giving you no indication. Not that it should matter. She was a parent, not a woman you were trying to pick up at a bar.

“No, no one else. I’m afraid it’s just me and Nicky,” she laughed.

“Oh, great.” You cringed again, “uh… have a seat.”

You fell into your own seat as she much more gracefully lowered into hers. You stared across at her, cataloguing her features, wondering what she’d look like in the morning sunlight. Shaking your head, you looked down at your notes.

“Right, Nicky…” You tried to gather your thoughts, “he’s a great kid. Super engaged, always willing to help other students, doesn’t cause me any trouble. He’s a delight to have in class.”

“Oh god,” she laughed, “if I have to read that one more time on his report cards I’m going to have to wonder if he’s mine at all.”

“You weren’t?” you asked, but just from the tilt of her lips you knew she was nothing but trouble.

“I spent more time in detention than in class,” she said, those blue eyes twinkling.

“Naughty girl,” you said then immediately choked on your own spit.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks were hot enough to fry and egg on. Her lips pulled up into a smirk and she lent back in her seat.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “that was so inappropriate. It’s been a long day but that’s no excuse.”

“Don’t worry about it, hon,” she said, but her eyes were trailing over you in a way that had you shivering.

“Look, I have no concerns about Nicky. He’s tracking well and seems happy so unless you have any questions…” you trailed off with a small shrug, “you should be very proud of him.”

“Oh I am.” Her grin turned from something that had your skin aflame to one full of pride, “he’s the greatest thing I’ve done with my life.”

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Harkness,” you said, raising from your chair.

She grasped your hand again, her skin still so warm against yours. Her touch lingered, those eyes burning where they landed on you. Your lips parted and for the first time in a long time you felt out of control.

And then her hand was back at her side and she was sweeping out of the room. Standing behind your desk, you stared after her, long after the doorway emptied. You shook your head, sinking back into your chair.

Mrs Harkness was a tornado that could so easily tear your life apart.

Saturday night a couple of weeks later found you sitting at a bar, nursing a cocktail, doing your best to push the enigmatic woman from your mind. You’d been thinking about her too much since that parent teacher interview. She came to you in dreams, leaving you wanting, gasping, a throbbing between your legs.

You’d begun hanging around in the morning and afternoon, hoping to see her when she picked up Nicky. All you wanted was a glimpse, hoping that your memory was overblowing her beauty. You’d been tired, exhausted, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that you’d been in an altered mental state and she wasn’t as captivating as you’d found her. If you could just see her, you might be able to stop thinking about her so much. You just needed the proof to put your obsession to rest.

Or, perhaps, what you needed was to find someone else. Hence why you were at the bar, alone, on a Saturday night when you could have been at home doing anything else more enjoyable than putting yourself out there. It was not going well if your single nursed cocktail was anything to go by.

A warm shoulder brushed against yours as someone settled into the stool beside yours. You didn’t bother sparing them a glance. Staring at the bottom of your glass, having had no success, you were in the middle of considering going home. You hadn’t so much as approached a woman, each one compared to Mrs Harkness and each one found wanting.

Yeah, you were so fucked.

Sighing, you pushed the glass away from you, half drunk and not worth your time. You’d get more from going home and indulging in your fantasies than sitting here, dejected and alone.

“I’m concerned about ordering a drink if the way you’re looking at yours is anything to go by. It looks like it’s personally offended you.”

You stiffened. That voice, so familiar, couldn’t have followed you to this bar. There was no chance that of all the bars you could visit, she would happened to stumble in to the very one you’d chosen. Turning your head, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Mrs Harkness had found you.

“Oh, uh.” You felt yourself begin to slip off your stool, “no, it’s fine.”

Righting yourself, you reached out to the glass again, taking a drink from it just to prove it. Lips pulled up into a smirk as blue eyes darkened, focusing on your mouth. You shivered, inhaling sharply. Your cocktail burned as it went down the wrong way and you coughed, not able to stop yourself, tears blurring your vision.

A warm hand landed on your back, rubbing a soothing circle into your back. Pressing a hand to your face, mortified, you tried to take a few deep breaths. It was typical that the first time you saw the object of your desires you ended up choking on your drink. Something about her turned your brain to mush and you stopped being able to function like a person.

“Deep breath, hon,” she murmured, close to you to be heard over the sound of the bar, “there you go.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

“No need to apologise to me. It’s not my drink you’re giving such a shocking review,” she said, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

You brushed the tears away, the mortification of the moment making you wonder if you could make the ground swallow you up with just a thought. Her hand was still between your shoulder blades, resting against your bare skin exposed by the cute top you’d thrown on in the hopes of snagging someone’s attention. You found yourself leaning into her touch, not able to stop yourself.

“It’s not as bad as I’m making it seem,” you managed to say.

“That’s a relief,” she said, “although you’ve been nursing it for a while.”

“I have?”

She hummed, drawing closer to you. You froze, surrounded by her. Long fingers plucked the glass from your grip, swirling the liquid inside. She took a slow drink from it, maintaining eye contact with you. Your lips parted, mouth growing dry, watching her with such a strong sense of yearning you felt like someone had grasped your heart and given it a sharp tug.

“So is this where I can expect to find my son’s teacher every Saturday night?” she asked, placing the glass down.

You shook your head, still not able to form words. Not when her palm was burning into your skin and her perfume was invading your nose. She was everywhere, overwhelming you so easily you weren’t sure she was even aware she was doing it. Her lips pulled up into a smirk.

“Just looking for a place to drink?” she asked.

“I guess,” you said, voice small.

“Or were you hoping to meet someone?”

She raised her eyebrow and your skin heated. You wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment, on the brink of it already. Her fingertips trailed over your spine until her hand was on the small of your back before sliding around your waist.

“The question is, were you looking for a single night of abandon or something longer term?” she asked, her voice husky, making you shiver. There was no way she wouldn’t notice with how close she was.

“I…” You didn’t have words for this exact scenario.

“You…?” she prompted.

Oh god, she was so close. You could see all the colours in her eyes. You could feel her breath against your skin. You could kiss her if you only lent forward a few inches.

“Tell me,” she hummed, “what are the ethical implications of seeing one of your students’ parents?”

Your breath stuttered in your chest. That was not something you thought she would be asking you. It was meant to be a one sided feeling, your going crazy over a parent, not reciprocated and getting your heart racing and your hope building. You found yourself leaning towards her.

“I suppose as long as it doesn’t affect the student… it shouldn’t matter,” you said.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said.

“You were?” There was that hope again.

“I must admit I left our meeting feeling rather enamoured with you. When I saw you sitting here alone, it felt like divine intervention,” she said.

“Oh,” was all you managed to come up with.

“Of course, if you’re uninterested…”

She moved back from you.

“No.” Your hand landed on hers, holding her in place.

Blue eyes turned to you and the twinkle was unmistakable. She knew what she was doing, and she was doing it well.

“I am,” you said, “interested, that is.”

She considered you a moment, gaze sweeping over you. Trembling, you let her look, almost displaying yourself for her. When the blue of her eyes darkened, a rush of heat went through you. Her eyes lingered on the cleavage you had on display. Your back arched, offering yourself to her. The low chuckle she gave only made your fingers tighten on her hand.

“Shall we find somewhere more private?” she asked, voice low and dangerous, making promises of what was to come.

“Yes,” you said, already standing.

Her hand on the small of your back guided you through the crowd, directing you to the exit. You went easily, willing to follow her anywhere if it meant you could taste her. You wanted to feel her skin against yours, to know what her weight in your lap felt like, to hear the noises she would make when you were knuckles deep in her. You’d been thinking about it so much since your meeting with her, exactly what it would be like to have her.

Her hand slid to your hip as the cold air nipped at your skin. Without the crowd you could take a deep breath in, focused on the way her warmth bled through to you. Following her around the corner, the hand on your hip guided you until your back was pressed to the rough bricks of the building. She stepped into your personal space, her other hand resting beside your waist, caging you in.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks now,” she murmured, lips brushing over the skin of your jaw as she lent forward, breath ghosting over your skin, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”

“You haven’t?” you asked in a whisper, itching to touch her.

“Is that really so surprising, hon? When everything about you makes me want to sink my teeth into you?” she asked, a low growl against your ear.

“Then go ahead and do it.”

You grasped her face, dragging her into a searing kiss. Your fingers buried themselves in the hair at the nape of her neck as her tongue licked along your lower lip. You whimpered, pressing closer to her, kissing her deeper. Her teeth sunk in, doing what she’d threatened, making you moan, muffled in her mouth.

With the hand on your hip, she pinned you against the wall, growling when you dragged her closer. Your fingers in her hair were tugging, wanting her pressed against you, wanting no amount of space between the two of you, wanting her skin against yours. She tasted like whiskey, turning your heady hazy.

When you’d spent all those hours fantasising about her, it had never been like this. This was intense, burning through you, leaving you desperate and gasping, wanting more, needing her in ways you’d never felt before. No one had made you feel so out of control. You certainly hadn’t expected to like that feeling so much.

No one had made you want to submit to them so quickly.

You gasped as her lips travelled down your throat, head tipping back against the brick wall. Her tongue on you skin was turning you dizzy.

“Mrs Harkness,” you gasped.

“Agatha,” she murmured into your skin.

“What?” Your fingers tightened in her hair.

“My name. I think we’re a bit past such formalities,” she replied before her teeth sunk into your skin.

The noise you made was embarrassing, needy and desperate and whining. But the noise she made had you pressing your thighs together, the deep throbbing stealing your breath. Your fingers scrabbled against her back, trying to pull her closer, not sure that was possible, but needing her so much you thought you’d combust if you didn’t have her.

Her lips landed back on yours, muffling your mewling. One of her legs slipped between yours. You were gasping into her mouth, hips pressing down against her thigh, seeking out the friction you so desperately wanted.

A loud ringing startled you. She nipped at your lower lip before drawing away. Her hand went to the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her phone, a look of concern flashing over her face.

“Kate, what’s wrong?” she asked the moment she accepted the call.

She listened for a moment before she sighed, eyes closing for a moment.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, “tell him I’ll be home soon.”

She hung up with a deep sigh before turning to look at you. You weren’t sure what she saw, but she reached out, thumb running along your lower lip, eyes darkening once again.

“I’m so sorry, hon, but that was my baby sitter. Nicky is sick and wants me to come home,” she said.

“Of course you’ve got to go,” you said, not even thinking about it. Her son needed her.

“I should have known you’d understand,” she said, voice soft, almost fond, “can I take you out some time? Somewhere nicer than this alley?”

“Yes,” you said, so fast there was no playing it cool.

She chuckled, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to your lips.

“I’ll call you,” she said.

You fell back against the wall, watching her walk away from you. Those jeans were doing good work, and even with the cold water of her sick son, you wanted to get your hands on her ass in them. She glanced over her shoulder, finding you still watching. The wink she shot in your direction had your heart skipping a beat.

Agatha Harkness was definitely going to tear your life apart and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

[myharkness]

can you do something like a mafia au where Agatha is a mob boss and reader is her girlfriend and Agatha is in her office working and reader comes in saying that she misses her and things slowly escalate... ?🙏🏼thank you so much if you do

I had to do so much research about the mafia lol

Taking care of business

Word count: 3000

Warnings: public sex, exhibitionism, fingering, strap-ons, degradation, praise, mentions of illegal activity and (implied?) murder, slight cockwarming, mommy kink

“Knock knock,” you say lamely, walking into the back of the pizza shop your girlfriend, Agatha, owned. 

She’s sitting at a desk, right finger between her teeth, while she scribbles down notes in her book. She glances up and raises an eyebrow delightfully when she sees it’s you. The man at the door nods and lets you in. 

“What are you doing here, hot stuff?” Agatha asks as she leans back in her chair and watches you walk over. You perch against her desk and eye the bodyguard and the two goons that work for her in the corner of the room. 

Agatha Harkness is the leader of the Harkness family mafia, inherited from her dad, Vincenzo Harkness. The pizza shop, The Dough Don, is a cover for their illegal activities and a front for money laundering. 

You had first met Agatha when you had first moved to New York City, looking for a fresh start at the ripe age of 23, and you had wandered into the first pizza restaurant you could find. 

There had been no one else in there except for the dark-haired beauty and a pack of four men. They had been huddled around a table in the back, their hushed voices barely carrying throughout the building. 

When you had walked in and the bell rang on the door, they jumped up and scrambled to put whatever they were working on away. You hadn’t thought too much about it, had been too hungry to care, but the pizza was really good so you had kept coming back. 

Each time though, there was no other customer inside, just Agatha and a few workers. 

After a while, you had worked up the courage to ask why you were the only one who ever seemed to be here. 

“This isn’t a real restaurant,” Agatha had told you conspiratorially, eyes twinkling. “I’m a mob boss and this is our cover.” 

You had laughed. “Then why is the pizza so good?” 

“Our associates just happen to be good cooks, among other things,” she had said with a shrug. 

But you had never imagined that she was serious. 

Things did start to change after that, though. You would walk in and ask how the mafia business was treating her, if they had extorted or blackmailed anyone lately. She always smirked back, winked, and made a witty comment, like she was pleased that you were playing along. It seemed like she was seeing you in a whole different light for the first time. 

But she wasn’t the only one who noticed you. 

One of the cooks started to take a liking to you. One day, you were enjoying your pizza alone as usual when he walked up and introduced himself. His name was Antonio, but you could call him Tony, and he had a thick New York accent. He had slid into the booth right next to you, one arm stretching around it behind you, his other hand drumming on the table. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all by yourself? Surely you’ve got yourself a handsome fella by now,” he had said, trying to make his voice all smooth. 

Before you could reply and tell him that you weren’t actually into ‘fellas’ at all, a knife shot down in between his fingers and into the table. You let out a little scream and Tony jumped. 

It was Agatha holding the blade. 

“Shut your tongue before I cut it out,” she hissed, a completely different tone in her voice, and you started to think that maybe she wasn’t joking about everything. Tony, white from fear, got up and quickly scampered out of sight. You swallowed hard as Agatha’s glare had turned to you and she motioned for you to come to the back with her. 

That was the first time she had fucked you, just bent you over against her desk and took what she want, with you all too willing to give it to her. 

You hadn’t seen Tony since, but you learned early on to not ask questions you didn't want the answers to, especially around Agatha, who was actually, in fact, a mafia boss. 

And now you’re seven months into a relationship with her and she would still constantly tease you about not believing her. 

“Sorry I didn’t want to believe someone as hot as you was capable of murder,” you would mutter while entangled in her body after sex and she would toss her head back and laugh. 

“Oh, hon, I’m not the one killing people. That’s what I have the Soldatos for.” She had taught you all the positions in the mafia: she was the Don, the boss, and she had her Consigliere, the advisor, the Underboss, the second-in-command, the Capos, who oversaw the Soldatos, the soldiers required to carry out the violent acts (you wonder if she had sent them after Tony), and the Associates, who weren’t necessarily part of the family yet, but still helped out. 

It was a lot to remember, and one time, she had eaten you out while she made you recite all the members of her crime family. 

You were a liability, sure, but Agatha loved you and would protect you no matter what. And you knew that, as long as you stayed on her good side, you’d be alright. 

It was tricky business to get wrapped up like this with a notorious mafia boss, but you didn’t care. 

You’re happier than you've ever been in your life.

And maybe, just maybe, not that you would ever admit it out loud, you like when she tells you about the dangerous stuff she’s up to. When she comes to your apartment after work and, with a glint in her eye, tells you about the drugs she trafficked into the city and the money laundering and how she ordered one of her Soldatos to scare a loose cannon. 

It almost always ended up with you on her lap and her fingers buried in your wet and needy cunt. 

But one of the other crime families in New York, the Vidal Family, was making major moves, and Agatha was stressed. She didn’t tell you outright, but you could see it in her clenched jaw and faraway look in her eyes. 

She didn’t get home as early as she used to, and when she was there, she spent a lot of time drinking. 

And you started to miss her. 

So you decided to pay her a visit at work, just to spend some time with her. You didn’t care if she made you sit on the floor at her feet as long as you were next to her. 

“Thought I’d come see you,” you say quietly, fingers reaching but pausing an inch away from her hand holding the pen. She spins in her chair so she’s able to get a better look at you. Her eyes rake up and down your body. You put on a short black skirt and purple crop top, hoping for this exact reaction. 

“Oh yeah?” Agatha hums. 

You nod and begin to stroke your fingertips up and down her forearm. She’s wearing a pinstripe suit but the sleeves of her blazer are rolled up to her elbows. “I’ve been missing you,” you pout, trying to make your voice sound as small as possible. 

She smirks. “So my baby girl thought she’d come visit Mommy at work so she could get what she’s been wanting, hm?” 

You blush, shrugging noncommittally, and your eyes drop to the ground, feeling a little embarrassed with the three other men in the room pretending not to hear. 

Agatha reaches a hand up to grip your chin and tilt it roughly so you’re looking at her. “Tell me what you want, hon. Use your words like a good girl.” 

One thing you had noticed about her was how much she liked the fact that you were “good.” You weren’t involved in any shady business, other than her, and you hadn’t done as much as smoke a cigarette. It seemed to turn her on, almost as much as the fact that she had her hands dirty turned you on. 

There was no denying you two made a good pair. 

Hesitantly, you glance around to the other people and she smirks. “What’s wrong, baby? Don’t want Gio, Sal, and Emilio to know how desperate you are for me?” You bite your lip, shaking your head. She leans in closer. “Don’t worry. They know better than to pay attention to us. Now, tell me, what do you want?” 

You take a shaky breath as her fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. “I want you to fuck me,” you say and she smiles like she’s a cat that got the cream. 

“Right here? In front of them?” She asks. “Are you that desperate for me that you need me right now?” 

Before you met her, you would’ve never even considered it. 

But Agatha has changed you in so many ways. So you throw caution to the wind. 

“Yes,” you say and before you can add anything else, she shoots up out of her chair, grabs the backs of your thighs, and lifts you up so you’re sitting on her desk. A thrill runs through you and you gasp. 

Her hands hike up your skirt and her fingers rub your slit over your lacy underwear and she chuckles deeply. 

“You really need this, don’t you? You’re dripping,” she taunts and you weakly move your hips against her to try and get her to touch your clit. 

“Fuck,” a man’s voice whispers from the corner and both of your heads whip to the side to see both of the Soldatos staring at you. You blanch at him ogling you and Agatha so obviously and the one on the right clamps his hand over his mouth. 

“Boys, if you don’t want this to be the last thing you ever see, I would suggest turning around,” Agatha warns cooly, the threat obvious in her voice, and they instantly obey. That only makes you ache more for her, the way she just takes control like that, the way that she is so powerful no one has a choice but to do as she says. 

Power exudes from her, and you have her wrapped around your fingers. 

Well, not yet, at least. 

Agatha turns back to you, giving you a wicked grin. “Now that that’s settled, where were we?” Her hand finds its way back to your clothed pussy before you can make a smart retort, shutting you up. Your head falls back and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, but she tugs your bottom lip out from your teeth with a thumb. “I want to hear you.” 

“But–” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about them, hon. Focus on me.” And then she finally slides your underwear to the side and collects your wetness from your leaking hole and swirls it around your clit. You whimper louder this time, and she nods, seemingly satisfied. 

You begin to get more needy, the stimulation to your clit not enough, and you start grinding when she moves her fingers down to get them inside. 

Agatha knows what you want and puts her lips right next to your ear. “Beg for it, baby girl. Let them hear how desperate you are for me.” 

“Mommy, please, I need you to fuck me,” you say immediately, aching too much to care anymore. She chuckles and slides one finger into you, your walls clenching down on it. She curls it roughly and you gasp loudly. 

“Show them how good Mommy is fucking you right now,” she demands, fitting another finger into you and you groan. You can see how stiff the guys in the corner have become, and you can’t see the bodyguard behind you at the door, but you imagine he’s in a similar position. 

You don’t know why having them in the same room as you while Agatha is pounding into you with her fingers is making you more wet, but it is. 

Her thumb comes up to swipe at your clit and you whine, needing more than that. You roll your hips to meet every thrust and you can feel yourself getting closer when Agatha starts sucking harshly on your neck. 

Noises are falling out of your mouth left and right and you’re climbing closer, feeling so good because it’s been so long since she’s touched you, when all of a sudden, someone clears their throat behind you. 

Agatha sighs against your skin and you jerk around, trying to close your legs, but your girlfriend holds them open and lazily fucks you, slowing down her pace. 

The bodyguard has moved to block the person from view, but Agatha tells Gio to step aside. You recognize the interrupter to be Wanda Maximoff, the Consigliere. 

You don’t think you could blush any more when she begins to walk over to the desk, Agatha’s fingers still inside you, every thrust making a squelching sound. 

Wanda drops three black notebooks onto the desk, about a foot from your ass. It’s like she doesn’t even see you. 

“We need to go through some things, make sure the bookkeeper has been on it,” Wanda says disinterestedly. Agatha rolls her eyes and twists her fingers particularly rough and you can’t help but moan. Both women ignore you. 

“I swear, if Marco messed something up,” Agatha grumbles and pulls out of you, making you whine. You stare at her with wide eyes, pleading to not leave you hanging like that. She gently pats your face with her wet hand. “Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t forget about you. No, Mommy’s got something else for you.” 

You hear Wanda snicker behind you and you’re too humiliated to turn around. And yet, when you stand up, you can feel how slick you are on your inner thighs. Agatha sits down in her chair, unzips her pants, and you lose the ability to breathe when she pulls out your favorite purple strap-on. 

You forget that anyone else is in the room. 

“Come sit on Mommy while she works,” Agatha says, stroking the hand that was inside you up and down the length a few times. She doesn’t have to tell you twice, you straddle her lap and sink down on her, whimpering at the stretch while you put your arms around her neck. “Good girl. Now hold still,” she whispers to you and scooches the chair back to the desk so she can grab a hold of the books. You feel so full just having her in you like this, and the urge to move is almost overpowering. 

But you’re not going to break her rule. So you hold still, like the good girl that you are. 

Wanda begins to talk about numbers and inputs and outputs, but you don’t have an ounce of focus to actually listen. Each time Agatha leans forward to see what the Consigliere is talking about or to sign something, the toy shifts inside you and you have to gasp. Eventually, you get so worked up that you begin to roll your hips ever the slightest. Your muffled moans get louder and you’re just trying to grind enough so that your clit can get the pressure it so desperately needs. 

“Give me one second, Wanda,” Agatha remarks, finally making eye contact with you. “I have a desperate little slut I need to take care of.” 

Hearing her degrade you like that, like you’re not writhing around in her lap for everyone to see, makes your walls flutter around the toy. 

Agatha’s hand comes around your throat to gently squeeze and she puts her lips against your ear. “Take whatever you need, and don’t even dream of being quiet.” 

Given permission, you slowly lift yourself up her cock and drop back down once you get to the tip. The slow drag of her against your grooves makes your head drop back with a loud moan. 

“What were you saying?” Agatha asks, having taken care of the minor inconvenience. Wanda launches back into talking about the books, but you can’t hear her over your as you begin bouncing faster in Agatha’s lap. One hand comes down to rub at your clit furiously, the tightening in your body coming back in no time. 

“You know, that’s quite a pretty girl you’ve got there,” Wanda remarks and it takes you a minute to realize that she’s talking about you. Agatha smirks, looking appreciatively at you riding her. You can’t see Wanda’s face but you imagine she’s wearing a similar expression. 

You don’t hate the image as much as you thought you would. 

In fact, it only makes you try harder to show off, rolling your hips when you get to the bottom so you force Agatha’s tip deep against the spot where you so desperately need it. Your finger circles your clit so hard that it almost hurts but it’s so good. 

“She is such a perfect whore for me, isn’t she?” Agatha agrees fondly, and you preen, the praise making you tighten up even more around her. You can tell you’re getting closer, so close you can taste it. 

“Look at her, about to cum all over your cock in front of me,” Wanda says, and for some reason, that’s what does it. 

You let out a long whine as your orgasm explodes over you and you continue shakily fucking yourself on Agatha as the two women laugh at you. 

Agatha brushes a piece of your hair off your sweaty forehead while you breathe hard from the exertion. “Did you get what you wanted?” 

You nod, too worn out to answer. 

“If you can be a good girl for real this time, and you behave for the rest of this meeting, I promise you’ll get a reward,” Agatha says, raising an eyebrow promisingly. “Sounds good?” 

“Yes, Mommy. You’re the boss,” you say, voice trembling, and she looks positively delighted to hear you call her that. She gives you a playful thrust that makes you keen. 

“Yes I am.”