myharkness

[myharkness]

empty 'til she fills (alive until she kills)

a continuation of please don't go (i'll eat you whole). recommended that you read that installment first.

ship: dark therapist agatha harkness x reader

summary/request: after agatha gives you an assignment to help pinpoint your needs, she's forced to face her own feelings about you.

word count: 5653

general & dark content warnings: agatha pov, reader referred to with gender neutral pronouns (but is called "good girl" a few times), agatha angst, lowkey a bit of an agatha character study, allusions to child abuse, discussions of divorce and child loss, mention of car accidents, unbalanced power dynamics (therapist/patient relationship), agatha is a bad therapist, manipulation, codependency, obsessive/possessive behaviors

smut warnings: dom!agatha, sub!reader, dubcon, no kink negotiation orgasm control, allusions to subspace/subdrop, praise kink, cunnilingus, fingering (reader receiving)

masterlist | ao3 link

The condensation on Agatha’s cup of iced coffee drips down as she swirls it thoughtfully. It cools her skin, and she brings her hand to her mouth to lick the moisture away. She doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to her mouth as she does this. Agatha doesn’t miss anything.

“Continue what you were saying, dear,” Agatha says.

“Sorry, I lost my train of thought.”

“No apologies,” Agatha smiles. “You were saying that you’ve been worried about habits developing into unhealthy compulsions.”

“Oh, right.”

The fidget toy that you’re playing with clicks softly as you mindlessly, anxiously move your fingers along it. You hesitate, trying to piece together your thoughts. The furrow in your brow and the way you can’t meet her eyes gives you away easily.

It’s Agatha’s favorite type of confession she gets to pull from you. The ones that you’re embarrassed to admit, the ones that make you fluster with shame.

“I don’t really know when I noticed that it had gotten out of hand,” you finally start explaining. “But when I have a lot of work on my plate, I tend to…masturbate a lot to get some stress out.”

Oh, this is going to be good.

Agatha sets her drink down on her desk and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Fate isn’t something that Agatha regards much, but sometimes she does truly believe that you were destined to fall into her hands. Destined to be molded by her, like clay awaiting its true purpose.

“It’s become a coping mechanism for like, every stressful thing now though. I don’t know if it’s healthy.”

“Well, as with most things, it depends on if it's affecting your daily life. Do you feel the urge when you’re just going about your day?”

“Sometimes,” you admit. “I guess it’s not always the full urge though. A lot of times it's just my mind wandering. Fantasizing.”

“You said you don’t know when you noticed it had gotten out of hand. Do you remember what kickstarted you into even turning to touching yourself in reaction to stress?” Agatha asks. She’s pretty sure she already knows the answer, though.

The memory sits in the back of her mind. The way you first gave yourself over to her, having been so desperate to shut off the racing thoughts in your mind that you allowed Agatha to take control. Kneeling for her in this very office, letting her bring you to a state of hazy bliss.

After that day, Agatha had shifted back to a more professional state, curious to see your reaction. To see if you would beg for more. But you never brought it up yourself. It was clear to her that you thought that she was trying to pretend it didn’t happen. Perhaps trying to regain some semblance of morality.

But Agatha was too far gone for that. She just wanted to see how long it would take you to break. And if she got to torture you along the way? Even better.

“I started after…after you touched me. During that session a couple of months ago. I thought maybe it would help quiet the noise in my head like it did that day. It kind of works for a bit, but it’s…”

“Fleeting?”

“Yeah.”

Sometimes you were so predictable it was almost boring. But Agatha thrived on the vindication of seeing straight through you time and time again. Part of it was just a simple ego boost, confirmation that she was dangerously good at what she did. The other part was less easy for her to grasp. She felt a deep, magnetic pull to you that she couldn’t fully comprehend.

You weren’t the only one she had blurred boundaries with. Dear Wanda had come before you, and after Agatha had grown bored with her, she told herself that nothing like that would happen again.

Until Wanda unknowingly dropped you right into the palm of her hand.

Back then, with her, it had been about power. The rush of knowing that she could. But with you? There was more. Layers and layers that Agatha kept peeling back.

Guidance. Dependency. Possession.

“Do you think there’s something else to this?” Agatha asks, resting her chin on her hand thoughtfully. You don’t respond, waiting for Agatha to explain her suspicions. “Maybe it’s not just about distracting from the noise. Maybe you’re trying to fill a void.”

“Is the void a euphemism?”

“Clever,” Agatha smiles, amused both at your joke and the way you’re not denying what she said. She waits, watching your face shift almost imperceptibly as you process her suggestion.

“Maybe,” you shrug.

“Do the fantasies you latch onto have similar themes, or are they different every time?”

You swallow the trepidation, the fear that Agatha knows exactly what you fantasize about.

It’s her.

It’s always her.

“Similar.”

Agatha sits back in her chair, the worn leather material creaking as she shifts. Her eyes narrow slightly as she regards you. You take her expression as negative, and your eyes drop to the floor, unable to hold her scrutinizing eye contact.

Really, she’s just planning how she wants to strike, watching you like a predator hidden in the tall grass. Will she attack now? Or wait until your defenses have fallen?

“Are you comfortable sharing more about them?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright,” Agatha smiles at you softly. Your body relaxes slightly. She folds her hands in her lap, pursing her lips as she chooses her next words carefully. “There’s something you’re lacking. Something you’re reaching for. That’s the void that you’re filling. Whatever your mind is attached to might give some indication of what exactly your subconscious is trying to tell you that you need.”

“Maybe it’s just telling me I need to get laid.”

Agatha’s fingers twitch in her lap, resisting clenching into a fist to hide her reaction to your flippant idea. She knows you’re not ready to ask for her again. But if you foolishly think that this is just about your body’s needs, you might go running to someone else for temporary relief. The thought makes her blood boil.

“Maybe. But there’s more, isn’t there? It’s not just about the sexual release. The desire goes deeper.” Agatha glances at the clock. Only a few minutes left with you. She has to make this convincing. The chair creaks again as she stands, tucking her hands in the pockets of her slacks as she paces a bit. Her fingers toy with stray threads in the lining. “I want you to try something. Until our next session, I want you to resist touching yourself.”

“What?” Your face scrunches up in confusion. It’s adorable. She wants to ruin that adorable face.

“If you’re worried it’s become a compulsion, let’s see how you manage without it. It might give you time to actually sit with the feelings you’re trying to push away. And you can concentrate on trying to pinpoint what it is that you actually need,” Agatha says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The alarm goes off. Your time with Agatha is over for now, leaving you no room to disapprove of her instructions. You stand, grabbing your tote bag. Agatha opens the door for you, her hand resting on the small of your back as she leads you out.

“Try your best for me. Next week, we’ll see how you feel.”

“Okay. Thank you, Agatha.”

To Agatha’s surprise, she doesn’t hear from you through the week. She checks her phone more often than usual, expecting that you’d come to her with some sort of revelation. Or just to complain about your frustrations.

She hates it. She’s not supposed to be the one waiting around for you to talk to her. What if you had ignored her? What if you were off kissing someone else, trying to extinguish the wildfire that Agatha had started?

It would be foolish if you did. She’d make sure everyone involved burned until nothing remained. You were hers.

But what if she hadn’t made that clear enough?

The glow of embers illuminates softly in the dusk as Agatha takes a drag from her cigarette. She’s sitting on her porch, hoping the night air will help her recenter.

The smell of the smoke brings her back to when she was young. The stale scent hovering in her childhood home like a fog threatening to choke her. She would’ve much rather have taken the fog over her mother.

Evanora Harkness. Even just the thought of her name makes Agatha want to drive to Salem just to spit on her grave. Her mother probably would’ve just told Agatha she could’ve thought of a better ‘fuck you.’ Nothing ever good enough for her.

Agatha’s mind wanders to you again, thinking about all the times she’d lured you in with praise. The walls you had put up around you crumbling at the notion of being good for her. Maybe this was part of the reason Agatha felt such a draw to you. Parts of you reflected her own psyche like a broken mirror.

So much for distracting herself from thinking about you.

Agatha lets the cigarette dangle loosely between her lips as she goes back inside, her hands stuffed in her pockets as she walks upstairs. She walks past her bedroom door and stops at the end of the hallway in front of a closed door.

The name that was etched lovingly into the wood still remains, but she can’t bring herself to read it. She freezes, hand hovered over the knob. She doesn’t quite understand why she’s doing this, why now is the time for staring at her shattered past.

It’s either this or being forced to sit with the fact that you could be in some dive bar with your soft lips pressed against someone. Someone that wasn’t her.

The door groans as Agatha pushes it open. Even though her stomach turns as she enters the room, she refuses to let that stop her.

The small bed has collected dust. So have all the toys, untouched for years. Agatha shakes her head. She stubs the last of her cigarette out on her skin, not even flinching as it burns her wrist, making sure it’s faded completely before tossing it in the small trash can in the corner. There’s still balled up receipts and an empty bag of fruit gummies resting at the bottom.

She picks up a stuffed rabbit and runs her thumbs over the seams. As she’s putting it back on the bed, she accidentally kicks a box under the duster. She reaches down and opens it, a sad smile spreading across her face.

A collection of photographs fill the box. She sifts through them. Every one that she looks at makes that empty feeling in the pit of her stomach lurch. Rio, her ex-wife, had taken a lot of them, so many were Agatha’s own smiling face staring back up at her. There were a bunch of the couple together, blissfully unaware that they wouldn’t make it.

The photos of their son hurt the most. Agatha should’ve walked out of the room, gone and rinsed away her pain in a scalding hot shower. But she needs to feel something other than the longing for you that has settled in her chest.

There’s a photo for each of Nicky’s birthday parties. Six total. No more.

There’s one framed photo in the box. A picture of Agatha and Rio on their wedding day. The frame is dusty and there’s a crack running through the glass. The day that Agatha broke this still rings fresh in her mind.

It was a week after Nicky died, the day that Agatha told Rio that she didn’t want to see her again. She knew that the car accident wasn’t Rio’s fault. But the constant reminder that Rio somehow survived when their son didn’t was too much for her to bear. They screamed and fought for what felt like hours. It was honestly a miracle that the frame only suffered a small fracture.

It wasn’t fair to Rio, Agatha knew this. But her life had already taken such a massive blow, what was one more? It was selfish and self-destructive, but Agatha needed to feel in control of something. Anything.

All of this, the life she’d built, the life she’d fought so hard for, was just a brief blip at this point. It broke her. She had to rebuild herself from the pieces.

Agatha runs her finger over the crack and nicks her skin. She flinches and brings her finger to her lips, licking the small bead of blood away.

The hollow feeling in her threatens to swallow her. Agatha checks her phone. Nothing. Momentarily, she shows a hint of the desperation for you that she’s been trying to keep under wraps. She pulls up her conversation with you, and her fingers fly over the keyboard, like her body is trying to get the words out before her mind can stop her.

[Agatha Harkness 11:27 P.M.]: Just checking in on your progress. Be good for me.

[Agatha Harkness 11:27 P.M.]: Good girls get rewarded.

“Delivered” stares back up at her mockingly. Maybe you were already asleep. Or maybe you were under some slut who could never make you feel even half as good as she could.

Agatha slams the box of photographs closed and shoves it into the back of her closet. She stomps down the hallway into her bathroom. She loses her grip on her phone, and it clatters into the sink. With an aggravated sigh, she picks it up and throws it into her bedroom like it's offended her.

Water splashes up against the mirror as she turns the sink on full blast. Agatha cups her hands under the flow, the temperature almost too cold to bear. She splashes her face with it, rubs it into her skin roughly, until her cheeks are tinged red.

The reflection that stares back at her when she looks in the mirror startles her briefly. Her face is flushed, and the tension in her body is visible. The look in her eyes borders on manic. She grips the edges of the sink, pressing her forehead against the cool glass as she tries to steady her breathing.

Agatha leaves the bathroom, before having to double back when she realizes she left the sink running. She paces her bedroom, debating lighting another cigarette when she registers that she’s biting one of her nails.

How dare you make her feel this way? How fucking dare you make her feel this…out of control?

Control.

So much of her life was spent under the iron grip of someone else or at the cruel mercy of fate. She’d clawed her way free and rebuilt the walls around her.

Agatha deserved something good. She deserved to be able to have one fucking thing in her life that she could hold onto, where she could have the power to dictate what happened.

If she had to force it, so be it.

You were supposed to be that. You were supposed to be easy. Just a pliant creature that Agatha could toy with and move on from when she got bored. From her position, she was supposed to have total control.

To you, it probably did seem that way still. Agatha always knew exactly what it was that you needed, because she was the one who planted those needs in your mind. You preened under her influence, any hesitation always washed away with gentle words and warm smiles, just happy that someone cared enough to steer you in the right direction.

But you were blissfully unaware of the way you were unraveling Agatha. She had to make sure it stayed that way.

Agatha doesn’t sleep that night, so she’s awake when she finally sees that you’ve read her texts and receives a response from you.

[7:02 A.M.]: i’m being good, agatha

She lets the message sit for a moment, deciding if she wants to ask the question that’s been clawing at her for hours. Would you assume that she was just keeping you honest? Or would it give her own feelings away?

The need to know outweighs her fear.

[Agatha Harkness 7:10 A.M.]: No touching? With your own hands or someone else's?

[7:11 A.M.]: none

No hesitation in your answer. She lets out a relieved sigh.

[Agatha Harkness 7:12 A.M.]: That’s my good girl.

The day before your next session, Agatha reschedules.

She tells herself that it’s meant to punish you. A punishment for sending her spiraling. You haven’t lost control yet, haven’t come running to her saying that it’s too hard to resist your desires.

Agatha desperately wants to see you break. She needs to.

“I’m so sorry to have to do this, honey.” Agatha switches her phone to her other hand while she stirs her coffee. “There was a mix up with appointments, so I’m going to move our next session to this Friday. Does that work for you?”

“Oh, okay,” you sound disappointed. Agatha smiles to herself. “Friday works. Should I…keep doing what you said? Or, not doing, rather.”

“That depends,” Agatha hums. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.”

“Just ‘alright’?” Agatha pauses and gives you a chance to elaborate, but you don’t. No matter, she was going to prolong your needs anyway. “Well, since you’re handling it well, a few more days shouldn’t be any trouble, right?”

“Right. Yeah. I can do it.”

“Good. You can call me if you need me, darling. Behave.”

Agatha hangs up the call, satisfied. The ball is back in her court. Not that you even knew that you had it.

Thankfully, she’s too busy to keep her mind on you for long. She buries herself in whatever work she can find in between appointments. When the next day rolls through and the usual time slot for your session rolls around, Agatha imagines how you must be doing. Not only thrown off your routine, but left desperate and needy from being denied.

She’s not a bit surprised when you call her that night.

“Fancy hearing from you,” Agatha says as she picks up your call on the fourth ring. “You okay, hon?”

“Sorry to call you so late,” your voice sounds meek.

“It’s only eight.”

“Three hours after your office hours.”

“I suppose so. Did you need help with something, sweetheart?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to help,” you explain.

Agatha closes the book she was reading and sets it aside. She leans back against the headboard of her bed. “Well, you have to tell me what the problem is first.”

You hesitate. Agatha waits patiently, drumming her fingers against her thigh.

“I don’t know if I can make it ‘til our session to touch myself,” you finally admit, voice so soft that Agatha almost misses it. She’s grateful that you can’t see her, so she doesn’t have to hide the grin that crosses her face. “I’m so pent up, Agatha.”

“Poor thing,” Agatha coos. She hears your breath hitch at her honeyed tone. “But you’ve been so good, showed such self-control. You can hold off just a couple more days, can’t you?”

“Agatha-”

“I’d be so proud of you if you did, honey.”

“I don’t even feel like I’m solving anything,” you groan. “I haven’t figured out what the void or whatever I’m filling is. I just feel needy.”

“I see,” Agatha hums. “Have you tried focusing on the feelings, or are you trying to distract yourself from it?”

“Distract, mainly.”

Agatha could work with that.

“How about we try something?”

“Like what?”

“A sort of meditative exercise. Maybe if we get you focused fully on that feeling of desire, it will help you open your mind to all the feelings under it.”

“But what if there isn’t anything?”

“There is,” Agatha says, leaving no room for argument. She puts on her professional voice. “Trust me, I’ve seen this before. There’s always something more. Now, are you somewhere comfortable?”

“I’m on my couch.”

“Good. Lay back and close your eyes. Put your phone on speaker and set it next to your head, if that’s easier.” Agatha hears you shifting, the rustling of fabric and pillows clear as you set your phone down.

“Okay.”

“Remember, keep your eyes closed. I want you to be able to focus fully on the sound of my voice.” A soft sigh slips through your lips as you try to force your body to relax. Agatha imagines you laying on your couch, fingers twitching as they rest against your stomach like they always do when you’re anxious. She lowers her voice to a soothing, almost hypnotic tone. “Take a deep breath in for me.”

You obey, inhaling deep.

“Now, exhale.”

You do.

“Good. Again. In through your nose…and out through your mouth. You’re doing so well, honey. Now, tell me. How did you feel when you called me? Did you feel that needy pull, deep in your core?”

“Yes.” Your voice is quiet again, as if you weren’t the one who called Agatha because you were desperate.

“And you wanted to touch yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Agatha.”

“But you didn’t. Because you’re such a good girl, following my instructions. Deep breath again. In…and out. Focus on that feeling. The one you were trying to avoid. Tell me about it. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels,” you pause, your voice sounding breathy. Dreamy. “Like an ache.”

“Does the ache hurt?”

“No…but it feels like it's almost always there. Sometimes it's just lingering in the background.”

“Where do you feel it? The ache?”

“You know.”

“Is that the only place?”

Agatha can hear you shift a little. No doubt squirming under her scrutiny. It makes her own body yearn for your skin against hers. She wants to feel your body tremble under her hands, needs to feel every single reaction that she pulls from you.

“It’s not the exact same, but sometimes when I fantasize, I can feel it through my body. In my stomach. In my chest.”

“You mentioned the fantasies before. You said you’re drawn to them when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Are you ready to tell me about them?”

“I…can’t.”

Agatha shakes her head. She’s so close. A confession is right within her reach.

“Why can’t you? What are you running from?” Agatha asks, her voice gentle, as if she’s trying to tempt a wounded animal.

“What aren’t I running from?”

“Non-answer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is the ache still there?” You tell her it is. “Let’s refocus on it. Put your hand over where you feel it. Right between your thighs. Stay still. Just feel the weight of your hand against your arousal. Do you feel the heat?”

“Yes, Agatha,” your voice wavers.

Agatha licks her lips. Her own hand dips down under the waistband of her lounge shorts. The fabric of her underwear is slightly damp just from teasing you. It clings to her folds, and she presses her fingers against the wetness, biting her lip to stifle a groan.

“Good girl,” Agatha breathes out. “Think about those fantasies. I want you to let yourself be immersed in it. Take in the way that your body reacts to them.”

“Agatha--”

“Tell me,” Agatha commands. “Tell me about them. Tell me how they make you feel. I need - I want to help you, baby. Let me in.”

“They make me feel warm. All over. Through my whole body.” Agatha knows you’re not touching yourself, that you’re obeying her. But your breath is coming out uneven. Your voice is unsteady. Agatha wants to move her fingers, but there’s something that feels right about making herself wait. Forcing herself to linger with the same feelings you are. “My head feels fuzzy when I think about them.”

“Yeah? And when you get that fuzzy feeling, I bet it feels so good when you touch yourself.”

“Please, Agatha. Can’t I just touch?”

“Shh, honey. It’s good for you. Now, answer my question.”

“It feels good. Everything goes away. It’s just me and my body, like my brain is able to take a break and I can just feel.” Agatha hums softly, encouraging you to continue. “It feels right. And then when I’m done, it all goes away. It’s like I get yanked back to reality. It feels cold. Empty.”

“Don’t think about that right now. Don’t think about the emptiness. Think about the good parts. The floaty feeling. Do you feel that now?”

“Yes, Agatha. Really floaty,” you say. Agatha closes her eyes, sighing softly.

“Good. Good girl. I want you to try to hold onto that feeling, okay? Hold onto it nice and tight. If you’re sleepy, go get in bed and try to stay in that fuzzy space until you fall asleep. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

Agatha listens as you slowly get up from your spot on the couch, slipping her hand out of her shorts since you’re now up and moving. She stays on the call with you as you go through your nightly routine. It feels almost domestic, being present for such a mundane thing even over the phone.

The rustling of sheets signals that you’re getting tucked in. Agatha starts to say her goodbye, but your voice interrupts her.

“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep? You don’t have to talk.”

Agatha smiles wide. Finally, you’re asking for what you need.

Her.

“Of course, honey. I’ll stay with you. Just close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”

Friday can’t come soon enough.

Agatha’s thoughts are consumed with you. The way you submitted to her without even realizing that’s what you were doing has her mind racing constantly until she can see you again. Once a day, she sends you a text reminding you to be good. You always say you will. For her.

The clock in her office ticks rhythmically as Agatha drums her fingers impatiently against her desk. Her door is open, so she hears your voice talking to the receptionist and perks up. You’re ten minutes early.

“I’m not sure Dr. Harkness is ready for you yet.” Agatha hears the receptionist tell you. She steps out of her office and calls out.

“They can come in, I’m ready.”

It’s only been a week and a half since she saw you face to face, but the tension that’s been simmering has made it feel far too long. Your face lights up when you see her. Agatha stands outside her door and watches you walk into her office, two coffees in hand.

“Always thinking of me,” Agatha says as she closes the door behind her.

“Of course.” You hand her the coffee and sit down on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” Agatha asks. She sets the cup down and leans back against her desk, analyzing your expression, your body language. You chew on your bottom lip. Your fingers fidget in your lap. Despite your nervousness though, you meet her heavy gaze.

“I feel good.”

“Is that so?” Agatha hums. “Did someone break before today?”

“No, Agatha,” your eyes are shiny as you stare up at her expectantly. “I did what you said. I didn’t touch myself.”

“Then why ‘good’? The other day you were complaining that you were pent up.” Agatha tilts her head. She steps forward, bringing her hand to your jaw and tilting your head up. “What changed, darling?”

“When I called you the other day, and you helped me focus on the floaty feeling…I don’t know. Something clicked.” Agatha rubs her thumb lightly over your cheek. “You said you’d be proud of me if I followed your instructions. I wanted to be good for you.”

The words have barely finished leaving your mouth before Agatha’s lips are crashing into yours. She can’t hold back anymore, pushing you down against the couch. You squeak at the sudden contact, but immediately melt into her embrace, wrapping your arms around her and tugging her down on top of you.

“You were so good for me,” Agatha pants out against your lips. “So fucking good, baby.”

Agatha’s movements are frenzied and desperate, but she can’t bring herself to care anymore. All that matters in this moment is that she has you, and she’s not going to let you get away from her. Her hands glide under your shirt, and a groan leaves her as she feels your skin against hers.

“Perfect,” Agatha hums as she tugs your shirt up and kisses down your stomach. She hooks her fingers in the waistband of your pants and starts tugging them down. The smell of your arousal hits her immediately, and she practically rips your pants the rest of the way off.

She did this to you. She brought you to this state. The feeling of control she has over you to be able to guide your needs exactly how she wants to is intoxicating.

It’s exactly what she needed.

“Agatha,” you moan. When Agatha looks up at you, she sees the glazed over look in your eyes. Pupils blown out, lips parted, panting softly.

“Do you feel it? Does your pretty little head feel all fuzzy, baby?”

“Yes.”

Agatha settles between your legs, breathing you in. Her fingers part your folds, and she moans as she sees just how soaked you are. Your clit is so swollen, begging for her attention.

“You really are pent up, huh?” Agatha smirks, rubbing through your folds slowly but with purpose.

“Agatha, please fuck me.”

“Not yet.” Agatha watches as you squirm. “Now, tell me. What were you running from? All those fantasies you refused to tell me, what were they, honey?”

You hesitate still, but Agatha knows she’s winning this battle. She pulls away from your cunt, and you whine, “Wait.”

You turn your head so you’re not looking at her before you answer. “They were you, Agatha. I was running from my feelings for you. I didn’t think you wanted me. I thought that one time between us was just a heat of the moment thing because you never made another move.”

Agatha pushes her fingers inside of you, and both of you moan as your wet heat surrounds her.

“I kept you waiting for so long, didn’t I? That was so mean of me,” Agatha gives you a condescending pout. “So, so cruel of me.”

Your walls clench around her at the tone of her teasing. She chuckles and presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Keep talking, honey.”

“The fantasies I wouldn’t talk about,” you start, hips bucking as Agatha curls her fingers. You’re not going to last long, but Agatha’s determined to get as much out of you as she can. “They were always you. You haven’t left my mind since…since I started seeing you.”

“Even before I fucked you?”

“Yes. I wanted you from the moment I met you, but I thought it was stupid. Just a hopeless crush.”

“What did you imagine me doing to you?” Agatha asks, eyes blazing with an intensity that almost scares you.

“I imagined you taking full control of me. Making me your perfect girl. I would fuck myself with my toys and imagine it was you. I’d imagine your hand around my throat while you called me yours.”

It’s almost too much for Agatha to handle. The hours she’s spent obsessing over you, trying to get you out of her fucking head, they weren’t in vain. You’re hers. There’s no denying that. She could tell you to jump and you would. The rush that hits makes her entire body tremble with almost manic desire.

Agatha leans in and drags her tongue through your folds, sucking your aching clit between her lips. Your body arches off the bed, you have to cover your mouth with your hand to keep quiet as your orgasm hits you with no warning. Your thighs tremble as Agatha wraps her arms around them, gripping you hard like she’s afraid you’ll disappear at any moment. The wet noises of her mouth on your dripping pussy fill the office. If you were more present you’d be a little embarrassed.

Agatha’s movements slow. She presses a gentle kiss to your mound and works her way up your torso, leaving wet kisses in her wake.

“Do you still feel it?” Agatha whispers against your cheek. “Floaty?”

“Yes, Agatha. Feels good.”

“Mmm, I think I’ve solved it. You just needed someone to hold on to you so you wouldn’t drift away, didn’t you, sweet thing?” Agatha smiles down at you.

You give her a dopey smile, brain muddled by the intense climax you just experienced. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right. You should be like, a therapist or something.”

“You think so?” Agatha laughs, cupping your face and kissing you gently. “I’ll have to consider that.”

The room falls silent for a few moments as Agatha just admires you in your post-orgasm glow. You bring your hands to her face and trace the lines of her skin with reverence that makes her heart ache.

Agatha didn’t even realize how much she’d been resisting. She hadn’t just been denying you, she was denying herself. The way you looked at her like she hung the stars makes her so sure that this is right. No matter what anyone else thinks, you were meant to be hers. She wasn’t going to give you up. She’d do everything in her power to keep you safe in her arms.

“What does this mean for us?” You whisper. “One time was already crossing the line, but this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Agatha assures you, thumb brushing over your lower lip. Her eyes darken as you kiss the pad of her finger. “Just know that now that I have you, I’m never letting you go.”

[myharkness]

I feel like in Evolution, Paget Brewster has become to Criminal Minds what Mariska Hargitay is to Law & Order: SVU.

THEN…

2006/ 1999

NOW…

2024…

[myharkness]

dating emily prentiss: the beginning | headcanons

summary: a few rambling headcanons about the beginning of yours and Emily’s relationship

warnings: none

a/n: how have I reached 70 followers (I’ve dragged loads through different fandoms oops) that’s crazy ily all <3 also all my fics etc are written from a wlw perspective!!!

‪♡ after all her heartbreak, instead of shutting herself off and playing hard to get, she throws everything she has at you. She feels like she didn’t do enough in her past relationships so now she’s got you, she feels like she has to do so much to keep you. It’s something you admire deeply about her; how she can still be so open and loving despite everything.

‪♡ you constantly reassure her that she is more than enough as she is. She doesn’t need to attempt to impress you, not that you don’t love being spoilt by her, but you love her for her; not what she can do for you.

‪♡ the first time she has a nightmare around you; you panic. Not knowing what to do, not knowing what she likes or doesn’t like. So when she shoots up, clutching her chest next to you, you cautiously sit up next to her, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. At first she stiffens and turns around to look at you and you heart shatters; her usual brown eyes sparkle with tears instead of mischief and love, her lips tremble ever so slightly, the look of sadness looks so foreign on her face.

“What do you need?” you ask her with a soft, low voice as if you’re talking to a scared animal.

Her big brown eyes meet yours as she responds in such a quiet tone that if you weren’t right next to her you would’ve have heard “You.”

‪♡ when you first learn that she can speak 7 languages you’re amazed. You excitedly ask her to teach you some words; mainly so you can call her sweet nicknames in different languages. And she does. She’s happy that you asked; you’ll never forget the way her face lights up when you first ask, her eyes shining with love and excitement.

‪♡ when she has to go away on cases she’ll leave you little reminders of how much she loves you. Texts, voice messages, handwritten notes hidden around your apartment, voicemails. She always feels guilty despite you both knowing it comes with the territory and all your reassurances.

‪♡ you’re well aware that she absolutely rocks and owns wearing a suit but the first time you see her in a dress; it’s jaw dropping. More than you could ever imagine and dream about. The soft, velvet fabric hugs her figure perfectly, sculpting out every curve to perfection. You have to take a minute to reboot your brain as her signature smirk forms on her face.

‪♡ she says I love you first. It’s a quiet sunday evening, you’re both stood in the kitchen washing up the dishes. You splash some of the bubbles at her, laughing as they stick her lashes and one lands perfectly on her nose, after that’s it’s game on. It’s all laughter and giggles as you both playfully throw bubbles at each other for a while before she gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you in. She smiles softly down at you as she wipes the bubbles off your face, kissing you gently before pulling away and glancing at you; her warm eyes glowing in the soft light as she says ‘I love you’. And for the first time in forever; she feels it. This is what she has been waiting for.

You.

[myharkness]

Art by fckzome – 🥀🖤

[myharkness]

know that it isn't right (but you could be my one and only) | e.p

Tags: oblivious!reader, bau!reader, pining longing yearning, emily is the majorest loser in love, a date that precariously toes the line between platonic and romantic, reader is insecure for unmentioned reasons, bar scene but it's not mentioned whether or not reader drinks, tipsy emily, miscommunication?, though emily tries reallyyy hard to get her point across, alas, to (nearly) no avail, unrequited love—or is it, gunshot wound (no detailed scene or injury), reader has a surgery and is mildly high after, use of petnames (yes, before they get together because....simp emily), the slow has burned it’s just taking a while to sink in for a certain someone

Summary: Emily is tired of being your friend. It takes more than a few attempts, endless flirting, and a minor surgery before you fully get what she means. Or, 5 times Emily tries to tell you she wants something more and the one time you finally get it.

Word count: 8.2k

1.

Emily has a problem.

It’s by no means the biggest of her problems—she’s had worse, certainly, and compared to them this is child’s play—but these past months, especially, it has been the most pressing one. It eats at her, chews on her insides and chips away bits of her composure, crumbling her metal wall that keeps her and the outside world firmly separate. 

She’s deteriorating, for lack of a better word. And you don’t seem to notice. 

It’s not willful ignorance, it’s just…actually, she doesn’t know what the hell it is. You’re not this oblivious in other aspects of your life—certainly not in your job—but when it comes to this, she could kiss you flat on the mouth and you’d somehow think she meant it platonically.

She’d been less and less subtle by the day. Showering you in honey-sweet, superfluous compliments, skimming your exposed skin with unnecessary gestures, pressing unsolicited mugs of coffee and tea into your palms, sometimes with half of a treat she’d bought for herself. 

She flirts outright. Presses too close and gushes about the durability of your perfume, the sheen of your hair and did you curl it today? Looks pretty. But heavy handed as she is, none of it seems to register through your skull. It doesn’t matter much whether her words are stumbling, starstruck or assured and smooth with confidence; you brush both off as if they were pollen dusting your skin.

The latest recurrence is still fresh in her mind: two days ago, when you walked into the bullpen in a distinctly new shirt. Emily still remembers the way her mouth had gone dry, eyes practically glued to you as you joined her in the kitchenette, buttons popped, skin gleaming, shirt teasingly skimming your collarbones—a hair’s breadth shy of sinful, toeing the line between professional and scandalous. 

Your chirp of good morning went unanswered.

“Nice shirt,” she’d rasped, hands clenched deep in her pockets to stop herself from doing something stupid. Her eyes were free to roam, though—and Christ, did they roam.

“You think?” You beamed, smoothing a hand down the material where it lay at your waist. Emily hummed thickly. “It was on sale. I wasn’t too sure about the cut but I loved the color.”

The color was nothing short of glorious. It complimented your skin, brightening the vivid hues in your eyes. As for the cut…

Emily chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“It’s beautiful.” She said honestly, magnetized. Immediately, the next part slipped out—“You are”—and Emily wasn’t even ashamed that it did.

Your laugh bent the air. “Thanks. Woke up on the right side of the bed today, huh?” You playfully patted her cheek, your hand warm. “You’re not too—oh, this is gorgeous.” You cut yourself off, and she was briefly too dizzy to notice it’s because you were thumbing at her earring. It dangled, pulling gently when you probed at it with a careful fingernail.

Have it, she almost told you. Never mind that it’s 21 carat gold, dotted with milky pearls and worth half a month’s paycheck. Each. 

“Doesn’t compare to you.” She murmured instead. Her voice dipped lower, lined with a rasp that practically gave her away.

“Tease,” you rolled your eyes, swatting at her even though she meant it. It didn’t escape her attention how both compliments rolled off your back like water. Emily choked on your perfume as she breathed out a forced, half hearted laugh, already reaching for your usual mug of choice.

“Coffee?” 

“Yes, please.”

Her memory is brimming with similar encounters. Sifting through them is what gives her the push, she thinks. JJ and Garcia are all too aware of her ever-growing crush—she’s willing to bet everyone is, except for you—and while they had both pushed and prodded for her to make a damn move, claiming that you like her back just as much, she’d refrained. 

Now her composure is crumbling.

It could also be because of your head currently cushioned on her shoulder, numbing her arm and doing strange things to her pulse. You’re not asleep, just tired of holding your head up; a game plays on your phone, lights occasionally flashing in the corner of her eye. 

When we land, Emily decides. Dinner, somewhere warm, with good hearty food. God knows you all need it.

She mulls it over as she watches the sun cast its last rays across the clouds, its warmth long gone but replaced by the weight on her shoulder. She makes a speech and promptly discards it, and by the time she stands at the junction of your desk and hers, watching you pocket something from your drawer, her head is buzzing loudly.

You throw your coat over your arm and slide your drawer shut. Her time is running out. 

Emily steps around her desk, leaning over to bump your shoulder with hers.

“Hey.” She bites her tongue before she can call you something sweet. It’s baffling—she’s never been one for pet names or anything of the like, but when it comes to you, she wants to drown you in them. 

You look up with a hum, eyes expectant.

Heaven help her.

“Do you want to go out to dinner?”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, she has to chew down on the urge to cringe. It’s all so clinical, she realizes, so wildly unromantic, but you’re chained to this place. Life hardly exists outside the BAU—at least, life with you—so she has to make do with this shitty bullpen bearing witness.

Emily braces herself for the impact.

But, miraculously, you nod, smiling like she’s offered you the world on a platter. “Oh, sure! I’ve been starving since we left the precinct. Morgan and Reid were complaining earlier, let’s tell them too.”

Emily frowns.

“What? No—”

“I’m starving,” Reid agrees. He pops up out of nowhere and sits himself on the corner of your desk, lanky figure cutting between you and her. “Morgan’s been talking about this new Mexican place nonstop—”

“Ooh, are we talking Mexican?” Morgan creeps in behind her, suddenly doubling the size of their party.

No, Emily glares at him. She knocks his shoulder with hers when he gets too close, widening her eyes to say stay the fuck away.

He raises his hands, brows furrowing.

“Butt out.” She hisses, but it all goes down the drain.

Garcia—sweet, traitorous Garcia—gambols over to them, helplessly out of the loop and always looking to fit herself in it. “Are we going to dinner?” She asks, unaware of the curdling acid in Emily’s gut.

It all slips from her hands then. You fill Garcia in, Morgan side eyes her then shrugs and launches into high praise of the restaurant, and before she knows it you’re being swept away, nestled in the midst of nosy, ironically clueless profilers.

Emily could kill them all just then.

She hangs a little behind as everyone heads to the elevator. Surely this could have been prevented, she thinks; maybe she should’ve dragged you aside somewhere, waited until it was just the both of you in the elevator. Could she have been more discreet? There was no one in the bullpen but her incessant, prying team. Maybe she should’ve been quieter.

Frustration balls up into a knot in her throat. Emily knows you need a heavy hand, a clear and unmistakable intonation of her meaning, and yet she still fumbled. The words slipped from her mouth like water, a stupid, casual, do you want to go out to dinner rather than something unmistakably amorous.

JJ pops up next to her as she wallows, grinning something more amused than she’d like. “You’ll get there one day.” She sympathetically pats her shoulder.

Emily flips her off.

2.

She’s still pissed at Reid. 

Naturally, the invitation had snowballed to include the entire team. Emily had had to spend dinner keeping her scowl to herself, seated across from you, right in the middle of Rossi and JJ as Reid rambled in your ear. You always listen to him, more interested than the rest of the team usually is, and while Emily usually loves you for it all she could think of was grabbing him by his scrawny neck and hauling him from his seat.

Any attempts at asking you again are thrown out the window; Garcia called with a case the next day, and now here she is, four days later, cross legged on a stiff motel bed with you across her knee. You left the precinct about an hour ago at Hotch’s order, the unsub in cuffs and case files boxed neatly away. The jet won’t leave until tomorrow morning—meaning, you’re stuck in nowhere city, Kansas. 

Takeout has been ordered and the money laid out; nothing occupies Emily’s thoughts other than the damp curl of your hair after your shower, the slightly jutted curve of your lips as you flip through the channels on the TV. She can smell every single one of the products you used in a heady concoction: light coconut from your shampoo; something faintly clinical from the antibacterial soap bar in the bathroom; the silky warmth of your cocoa butter lotion. It makes her relax, oddly enough, her tired muscles slumping onto the headboard next to your own.

The fact that you’re on her bed isn’t unusual. Emily draws from the comfort of your touching knees, hers bare and yours encased in cotton sweatpants.

“I’m pretty sure you’re looping back to where you started,” she drawls, though her eyes are more fixed on you than they are on the flashing TV.

You ignore her comment. It wasn’t particularly helpful, so she lets it slide, but it’s not long before her head works again. She’s desperate to talk to you; it’s an itch that can’t be scratched by your mere presence next to her. 

“Hey, how long did the restaurant say it’d take?”

Your hum is lazy, eyes narrowing at a cartoon channel. Skip. “…Twenty minutes?” You murmur. “Twenty five, maybe. Shouldn’t be long now.”

“Hm.”

You lapse into silence again, flipping through more channels. News, sitcom reruns, cooking tutorials. Her brain goes into overdrive.

The bell rings. Saved.

Food naturally opens up conversation. She lays it all out, and you find When Harry met Sally.

“Good choice. I saw it in the theater just before I left for Yale.”

A spark lights up your eyes. “Oh, so you’re old old.” You tease.

Emily bats her lashes, tongue honey-sweet. “It doesn’t show, does it, baby?”

“Now you’re just fishing.” You shove her shoulder, your laugh gracing her ears, light and easy. A smile of her own pulls at her mouth as she opens up boxes and distributes the food between you. Some part of her feels guilty for not involving JJ, but she doesn’t feel particularly forgiving after last time’s debacle.

She’s going to ask you out tonight, with no one to butt themselves in and extend the invitation.

“So,” Emily starts when you’ve both shoveled some food in your mouths, quieting the hunger in your bellies, “what’s your idea of a perfect date?”

You turn away from the movie, brows lifting slowly.

Emily rolls her eyes. “Indulge me.” She toys with her food and takes the opportunity to slide her gaze away for a moment. While used to openly flirting with you, she’s scared of you seeing the longing in her eyes—in the bow of her lips wanting to meet yours, the spaces between her fingers entirely empty without your own filling the gaps, unadulterated and all consuming.

She collects herself then looks up, a smile tugging at her mouth. Watching the thoughts race in your head delights her far more than it should. You hum through your mouthful of food, jaw sharpening as you chew, eyes darting from one spot to the other as if this shabby motel room holds the answer.

“Ice skating.” You say after a while.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been.” You shrug. Your eyes meet, and you smile sheepishly. “Bit childish, I know.”

“No, not at all.” Emily very nearly trips over her tongue and professes her love right then, her chest warm at the uncertain tilt of your lips. But she refrains. “Would you like to go with me?” She asks instead, head on and blunt and forward and nothing you could misunderstand. Nothing you should misunderstand.

A beam lights up your face. “I’d love to!” You grin, your voice rising several octaves.

Tentative hope curls in her stomach. Emily doesn’t return your smile just yet, not joining in on your laughing at her. “No Reid or Morgan or anyone.” She stresses, almost desperately. “Just us.”

“Duh,” you roll your eyes. “It’ll be fun!”

Emily can’t explain why her heart starts to sink.

“No, listen—” She can feel you slipping through her hands. She swallows, remembers last time’s mistake, reaffirms. “A date, me and you. Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling. A relieved sigh climbs up Emily’s throat, drowned out by the sound of your voice when you speak again, “We’ve never been on a gals date before, have we?”

Emily blinks. “A gals date?” She echoes back, the words clumsy in her mouth.

Maybe this one’s on her lack of experience. She’d never exactly had friends enough to go on…gals dates. 

But that’s exactly what supposed friends do, isn’t it? It was never named as such when she went out with JJ and Garcia, but that’s no doubt what it was.

She can’t seem to shake off the sticky title of friends.

The press of your gaze is still on her, heavy and shimmering, even as Emily avoids it. Static rushes in her head, desolate black and white; she doesn’t even remember what your question was.

“Y-Yeah,” she says dumbly, a faint throbbing at her temples. Should she push it, drive her point home? Maybe you’re not looking to date right now. Maybe you’re just trying to let her down easy. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Gals date, huh?

Somehow she doubts it’d end the way she expects.

3.

You go on the “gals date”.

It takes a while, with work stealing away the weekends, but it happens, and Emily is entirely helpless when it does. Her hand twitches at her side when she picks you up, empty of romances she wanted to shower you with. But she can’t very well buy you flowers without risking looking like a sorry idiot. She can’t take your hand and hold it in her own, slowly filling the spaces between your fingers with hers. 

But she can open the car door for you. She can sing praises about your outfit and the way your hair frames your face. However this goes, she tells herself, she’ll be spending time with you, and that’s enough no matter her unrequited, carnal desires.

It has to be.

It is and it isn’t, she eventually finds out, when your cheeks are numb with the cold and your feet have gone sore from the tightly done laces on your skates. It’s enough for you to hang on to the back of her coat with a squeak, the sound nearly drowned out by metal cutting across ice as she slowly circles the rink. It’s not enough to feel the contour of your hand in hers, your fingers tightly clenched around her knuckles as she gently glides the both of you around. Not enough to feel your hand without warming it. Enough to see the delight spark in your eyes, brighter than the winter lights strung above the rink.

She’s at war with herself, and you’re entirely the reason.

“See, you’re a natural!” The stupid grin hasn’t left her voice since she met you at your door. “Sure you’ve never been before? You’re lucky there aren’t any talent scouts watching.”

For once, her silver tongue seems to hit the mark. Your skates, gliding smoothly on the ice, twist and screech beneath your wobbly legs.

“Shut up, Emily.” You yelp, crashing into her ready arms.

“No need to be shy, beautiful.” She laughs softly, turning the tumble into a graceful spin, your clenched fists loosening in her coat. It takes all of her self control not to tilt her head and kiss your sigh from your lips.

The rink entertains you for a good while. By the time you’re taking your skates off, you no longer need to hold Emily’s hand or the railing, your smile joyful as you speed atop the ice. But both your stomachs have started rumbling. Emily has to hold herself back from grabbing your hand as you walk through the surrounding market, stalls brimmed with food, vendors moving fast to battle the long queues lined in front of them.

When you’re cold, she wraps her scarf around your neck and splits half her hot chocolate with you. Cream smears on your nose, she laughs as she wipes it off, and the sickening realization that she’s practically living a Hallmark movie date doesn’t even bother her. You loop your arm through hers and muffle a laugh into her coat; Emily knows she’s too far gone.

It’s so wonderful her chest aches. Her heart physically hurts, throbbing under her sweater, and she knows the remedy is bumping shoulders with her, right here and yet completely out of reach. 

But she lives with it. She pushes it down and pretends this is just another outing, another dinner as you sit down across from her and press your knees into hers. You could be JJ. You could be Garcia.

But Emily doesn’t feel physically sick with holding herself back from them.

Giddy and intoxicated and tortured all at once, she feels like a fumbling teenager. As you’re walking back to the car, arm in arm, Emily is cleaved with the reluctance to let go. Of your arm, of the night. Of the fleeting hope that yes, you could agree if she asked—again, properly. 

After all, surely that all wasn’t nothing. She’d seen your eyes dip down to her mouth when she talked, your own tongue dragging across your lip as you nodded in agreement. She’d seen the way you flustered the first few times she caught you on the ice, inches between your noses, the white cloud of your breath staggering as she caught on to your waist. You’d mouthed a sticky-sweet kiss to her cheek after she wiped whipped cream from the tip of your nose—surely unnecessary and not entirely meaningless, right?

Maybe one more push wouldn’t hurt.

“I love you,” Emily tries, her heart in her throat.

But you don’t even blink. “Aw, Em.” You beam star-bright, looping an arm around her shoulder and dropping yet another devastatingly careless kiss on her cheek. “I love you too. I had the best time tonight.” You murmur, heat soaking into her skin where your voice touches. “Let’s do it again, yeah?” 

Emily swallows a sigh. Her cheek burns.

“Yeah, sure.”

She can’t delude herself anymore. Emily Prentiss has been friendzoned. Brutally, undeniably friendzoned. If that’s not a hint for her to take her love and go fuck herself, she doesn’t know what is.

It’s safe to say she begins to spiral after that. All of your interactions are run under a magnifying lens, all the clues she thought you were giving her balling up into a wad of delusion. She sourly ignores any more of JJ’s advice and Garcia’s prodding. She backs off, cuts down entirely on the flirting, firmly fits herself back into the box of coworker and nothing more. Her stomach turns to acid when she hears you talking about a date the next week, your voice lazy in her ear as you ponder what to wear.

Cashmere or wool, do you think? We’ll be indoors, so maybe not something too warm.

Emily stays silent. Garcia chimes in with an outfit choice, though she’s less enthusiastic about it than she usually is about things like these, her nose scrunching the slightest bit when she hears you go on about your date. Even JJ seems confused about it, but she smiles nonetheless and wishes you a good time.

Emily can’t say she does the same. No, she’s very much wallowing the night of your dinner, sulking at home and cuddling a moodier-than-usual Sergio as she waits for her takeout. The bath she’d taken doesn’t ease you from her thoughts; every so often her eyes would dart to the clock, spinning baseless assumptions as the hands move and drag her further into the night.

7:22; you must be getting ready now. Curling your hair maybe, sorting between wool and cashmere.

7:47; has your date picked you up yet?

8:14; surely you’re at your restaurant by now. Nights like these get busy.

8:36; appetizers? Drinks? God, she needs to get a life.

8:43—

Her ringing phone shatters the silence. Emily starts, she and Sergio both jumping at the noise. But her surprise doubles when she picks up her phone, her eyes tracing the letters of your name before her brain catches up.

Trouble, she thinks immediately. No other reason you’d be calling her on your date.

She picks up before the first ring dies out.

“Y/N?” She all but demands. “What’s up?”

Your sigh may as well be a whisper. “Hey, Emily.” The wilt is obvious in your voice, drooping like warm taffy. “Listen, I’m sorry to do this, but—can you…can you come get me? My date is a no show and my phone’s about to die, I don’t wanna grab a cab in case it—”

“Text me the location.” She’s already moving, Sergio meowing low when she stands and he tumbles from her lap, her muscles already wired to action. “Stay put, alright? I’m coming.” 

“Thanks.” You mumble. The silence hardly registers when you hang up with a quiet beep, the phone pinging seconds later with a link to an Italian restaurant. Emily scrolls through the map as she absently throws her coat on, her fingers grabbing for keys, switching off lights and opening doors. She forgets being your coworker then, forgets all the distance that struggles to take up space between you.

Emily does what she always does when you need her. 

She shows up.

____

It’s easy to spot you. You sit on a bench in front of the restaurant, backlit by the glow of lights, your spine wilting into something dejected. You look beautiful, dressed to the nines, clothes neatly pressed and face drawn in self-pity. 

Emily smiles lamentingly as she approaches, though a hidden fury boils in her blood. Your lips stretch into a flat line, just pulling up at the corners.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Don’t be stupid.” She murmurs, taking a seat next to you.

You wrinkle your nose. “Yeah, I already did that once tonight, didn’t I?” A half groan leaves your lips, drawn out with self-deprecation as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “God, I don’t even know why I agreed to it.”

Because you deserve something good. Something better than her.

Emily shoves it all down—her own wretched heart, the bitter taste of anger at the asshole that left you hanging. She pushes it all away and focuses on the one thing that matters. 

She takes your arm and tugs gently. “You haven’t had dinner.” She says. “C’mon, you must be starving.”

You’re not usually the type to sulk, but your frown is firmly planted as you shake your head.

“I don’t think I have much of an appetite left, Em.”

The anger flares again. She swallows the thick heat of it in her throat, feeling it curl in her belly as you look at her dejectedly. The streetlights reflect particularly well in your eyes; her heart clenches, fury and torment waging war against each other.

Her hand slides down to yours. She chooses you. She always chooses you.

“Hey, c’mon. You can’t let an asshole like that do this to you. Look at you! You’re gorgeous. You’re smart. You’re—you’re a total catch.” Her voice goes traitorously soft. Your brows lift, a sardonic curl dragging your mouth, as if to say, really? Emily aches all over. “Don’t give me that look.” She says quietly. “I mean it. And you deserve more than that.” 

And she can give it to you. God, can she give it to you. She’d never let you sit out in the cold. She wouldn’t stand you up if the sky was collapsing in on itself. 

But you’ve made your stance clear. Romance isn’t welcome from her, so she keeps her mouth shut, love trapped sticky between her teeth, and tries to keep it spilling from everywhere else.

“You deserve more than that.” Emily says again. “That asshole doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” Gravel seeps into the words, turning them jagged. 

Her eyes drag back up to yours again, traveling over every curve and every line, cataloguing the shadows where blues pool. In the depths of your iris, the corner of your mouth and the wrinkles between your brows. Her chest constricts, ribs pressing tight against her heart. Emily almost swears bone pierces muscle; the blood pools out and smears on her sternum, protector turned aggressor.

You smile, lovelorn and entirely unconvinced with what she’s saying. Emily’s mouth opens, but the words dissolve on her tongue when your fingers thread through hers. You squeeze and her mouth snaps shut. “Thanks, Emily.” You murmur, your chilled fingertips on her knuckles. “You’re a good friend.”

God, this could just kill her. 

But Emily just swallows and stands, your arms stretching as she tugs. “Come on, I know a place.” She forces a smile.

“As long as it’s not Italian.” You say dryly, glancing back at the glowing restaurant behind you.

“Definitely not.” Emily theatrically scrunches her nose. “What would Dave say if he knew we were eating Italian out and not at la villa di Rossi?” She lays on the accent thick and grins when it hits the mark, your chest collapsing in a laugh. It’s small and real and music to her ears, a pocket of warmth enveloping her more effectively than her coat ever could.

This time when she tugs, you follow. The tension loosens in your arms as you stand and lean in closer to her side, fingers slotting out of place and letting the frigid air take their place. Emily tries not to wallow, because your smile is more genuine now, softer at the edges. You loop your arm through hers and let her lead you back to her car.

Emily’s glad you called her, she is. But the thought lingers in the back of her head: why you called her of all people.

4.

Emily’s in a sour mood. She perched herself on a bar stool half an hour ago to block out the sight of you in yet another stranger’s arms, dancing and catching the light like a shimmering diamond in a pool of rocks. Her knuckles had almost split through her skin when you got approached by the smiling, pearly-toothed brunette with a willowy figure, all lean lines and charming one-liners. Now she sits with her back to the dance floor, glaring down at her drink as the ice in it melts and waters it down. 

She can’t make head or tail of you. It’s a weird feeling, one she decides she doesn’t like. 

She doesn’t stumble around when it comes to things like this. Well, usually there’s never anyone to chase for longer than a night. But ever since she started pulling back, you’ve been lessening the distance she’s actively trying to keep—kissing her cheeks goodbye every day, pairing up with her before anyone else gets the chance to, sweeping touches and borderline flirtations in the space between your lashes. The whole length of your thigh had been pressed to hers at the booth, warmth pooling between you before the brunette came and swept you away. 

Emily knows she’s too far gone to make any sound decisions, but all of it feels intentional. Whether you’re laughing at her or trying to tell her what she’s stopped believing a few weeks ago, she doesn’t know.

Maybe she should just go home.

“Em.” Your voice in her ear briefly makes her tense. Your warm hands find her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “You haven’t danced with me. C’mon, we always dance.”

She turns as you step next to her shoulder, her eyes dipping to the undone buttons of your shirt. Hungry, lecherous, her pupils eat away at the skin bared to her, faintly glimmering with sweat and the lights above. Electricity crackles along her spine, wild, untamable.

Emily doesn’t want to dance. She wants to get things straight with you.

“Do you like me?”

“What kind of a question is that?” You laugh.

Emily doesn’t find it funny. “Do you like me?” She presses.

“Yes.” You say, easy albeit confused.

The answer doesn’t appease her. God, this is so high school, she thinks. This floundering and flustering isn’t her, but you’re scrambling her brain. Making her lose her footing.

Emily shifts on the stool until she fully faces you, chest to chest. The bar lights kiss your skin, illuminating it with warmth. Her heart picks up its pace. 

“If I were to kiss you,” she murmurs slowly, loud enough to be heard above the music, “would you kiss me back?”

Your eyes widen.

Now you’re on the same page, she thinks grimly.

Your lovely mouth hangs open. You close it only to let your jaw drop again, a wordless stammer working the bob of your throat. In probably the nicest way, you’re a fish out of water. If Emily weren’t so nauseatingly in love with you, she’d have laughed.

“Emily.” You finally stammer out, the tone of your voice faintly chiding. “You’re drunk.”

“I want to kiss you,” she mumbles. Longing is threaded into every syllable.

You give a small shake of your head, brows furrowing above your eyes. “I don’t think you do.” Your lips press into something like a smile; the corners are tilted downward. They sink like hooks into her flesh.

“Why?” Emily breathes. “Why’s it so hard to believe?” 

Your eyes flit away from her. 

She immediately misses them. Emily stands, the space between your bodies kissed away by hers. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Tell me.” She tilts her head, voice velvet soft. “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?”

“Stop it, Emily. You’re—” you shake your head, a heaving breath inflating your chest as you press back against the bar, “you won’t want to tomorrow.”

“I will.” She insists. “Tomorrow and every tomorrow after that.”

She should back off. Instead she cradles your soft cheek in her palm, inhaling a rush of sticky air when your lashes flutter. That’s not nothing. She knows it’s not.

Emily just needs a reason. To back off, to lean in.

“Would you kiss me back?” Her voice is frayed now, desperate. It cracks with the weight of her longing—too much to bear, too heavy to keep on carrying for much longer.

She can’t read the look on your face. Your eyes are dark, your hand veering into too hot as you place it on top of hers. For a moment her breath catches, but it quickly releases in a huff as you take both hands down from your cheek and let them drop listlessly to your sides.

“How about you call it a night?” You smile, tight and strange and everything you’re usually not. 

Emily backs away. Her body flushes hot and cold all at once, wanting for your heat yet crawling at your dismissal. 

The sound that escapes the back of her throat is bitter as she reaches into an oft forgotten pocket—muscle memory—pulling out a pack of Marlboros and sticking one between her lips. It’s funny, she hadn’t carried a pack in ages; her subconscious must’ve known. Her teeth close around the dry, papery cigarette, relief just on the tip of her tongue. Emily rolls it to the side of her cheek.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, sweetheart. Your date’s waiting.” She neatly steps past you, without even a brush of your elbows, and makes her way to the door, already reaching for her lighter. It’s in the same pocket, warmed from sitting so close to her body, a familiar weight in her hand. Not even the flicker of the flame loosens her spine.

The cigarette smoke is acrid, the chill biting and vengeful when she presses her shoulders against the wall and inhales a deep, damning lungful. The nicotine doesn’t come close to warming her up the way you had. 

Emily supposes both are wearing her down similarly enough.

5. 

Emily walks into the break room and immediately pivots when she sees you, grimacing as her heels sound on the floor. As if she’s got two eyes glued to the back of her head, she can feel it when you turn, the sticky heat of your gaze latching onto her back.

“There’s coffee for two.” You say after a too-long pause, your voice quiet and a little uncertain. She tilts her head just enough to see your forced smile. “And enough Splenda to make your teeth rot.”

Emily hates this. She hates herself and, if she’s being honest with herself, she kind of hates you, too.

She still remembers the night at the bar; she wasn’t totally wasted. It’s almost worse that she wasn’t.

The sting of embarrassment, of rejection, of her own stupidity—it all stacked up to form one giant bruise, tender and spread over the entirety of her skin. Anywhere you touched hurt. The briefest thought of you is a prick through her flesh, blood pooling steadily out of her veins until she drained. She’d apologized to you the next day, stiff with formality—and, miraculously, you accepted it—but she can’t get herself to close the distance, completely swerving past any room that might hold you in it. You’re not trying to maintain it, almost forcibly undeterred as you, for some reason unbeknownst to her, bridge the gap with your usual jokes and closeness, going on as if nothing had happened.

But it had, and she can’t get over it. Last time was more bearable, an internal shame that was entirely hidden from you, but now? Now it’s written in the air between you, weaved into every stiff exchange where her eyes struggle to meet yours—Emily Prentiss wants you and made a fool of herself trying to convince herself that you’d want her back.

Your endless olive branches hurt more than reciprocal silence. Emily would just prefer it if you didn’t. She embarrassed herself, she embarrassed you, put you on the spot and ruined both your nights. But you’re still here, offering her coffee and Splenda, the edges of your smile dragging down the longer her silence stretches out.

She can never have anything without ruining it, can she? 

“Thanks,” she says crisply, her words stilted. “But I already had my cup. I shouldn’t be—”

“Prentiss, L/N.” Hotch materializes next to her. Emily has to hold herself tight against wilting in relief. “Garcia got him.”

Routine stiffens her bones. Emily is already stepping in his shadow as he turns, her forefoot to his heel, her ear cocked to the clink of your mug down on the counter. She doesn’t turn—not as you follow behind, a distinct presence at her back, and not as she trades her blazer for a bomber jacket and grabs the vest JJ is holding out for her. Emily fastens it walking, dragging velcro to velcro as she bursts through the door Hotch flings open and out into the parking lot.

Your footsteps get lost behind her. Emily climbs into the passenger seat. Reid clambers in the back, and the door shuts behind him with a distinct finality. She exhales a rickety breath, her focus narrowing down to the words Hotch is barking.

This is easy. Focusing on the unsub is easy. You’re hardly anywhere in her head as Hotch races between cars like a maniac, adrenaline pressing ruthlessly on her heart rather than your presence. When she gets out of the car, gun already sliding into her hand, impractical heels making no sound on the floor, Emily hardly thinks to look for you.

Then a shot rings, and your voice is unmistakable as you cry out.

____

Emily crumples up the cheap plastic cup in her hand. 

The worst is over now, she supposes, but the aftershocks still linger. Her hands don’t smell like your blood anymore. But her eyes are tricking her into seeing red between her fingers, slotted and cracked around her knuckles. 

It had gushed at first—a warm, metallic, dark red geyser, soaking your sleeve and her palms and dripping fast enough for you to stumble into her. The color drained from your face as she clamped pressure on your arm, shouldering your weight with Morgan and absently murmuring reassurances while everyone else apprehended the unsub. She’d been reluctant to let go when the paramedics came; Emily had sat next to you on the back of the rig, hands sticky with blood, lightheaded as if it were her own, all but holding you upright as the EMT worked on stopping the bleeding. 

Your head was heavy on her shoulder. Warm breaths fanned over her jaw, uneven with exertion. “Don’t go,” you’d murmured, your hand flexing around hers as the EMT pulled the bandage tighter. “Please.” 

Emily had swallowed. “I won’t.”

And she didn’t. When the bleeding had slowed and everyone had been checked over, she’d shared half your weight with the EMT and eased you into the ambulance, each of your ragged breaths white-hot in her chest. She was warm all over with the adrenaline, the hair escaping her ponytail curled with sweat, jacket pushed up her forearms as you sunk into her side with a grimace.

“Is it cold?” You panted, slurry and dazed. 

No, she was burning. Sweat dampened her skin and it beaded on yours. She shoved her jacket off and draped it over your own, tucking the sleeves into your sides and rubbing her palms over your back because it did jack shit. 

“A little.” Emily murmured. “Better now?”

“Mm. Y’smell good.” You mumbled, the words fading out in a hiss as the ambulance jolted. You cursed, your voice cracking, and Emily muffled frantic shushes into your hair.

Her hands are scrubbed clean now. Knuckles, nail beds—she got most of it, exempting the thin red crescents lodged too deep beneath her nails. 

There was plenty of time while she waited for you to get out of surgery; her skin reeks of cheap lemon scented soap.

She breathes in. Grabs another cup. Fills it, for you this time, alternating between cold and hot water to turn it tepid. The moment she steps into your room, the weight of your gaze settles familiarly on her shoulders.

There you are.

For the first time in weeks, Emily relishes it. 

“Hey,” she sits on the chair next to your bed, feels the sticky trail of your eyes down her face. “How are you feeling?”

She tracks the bob of your throat with your swallow. Your gaze drags up, your eyes meeting hers. Emily doesn’t shy away from them now, keenly observing the wet shine of your irises. She recognizes your sluggish haze, molasses-thick, everything sticky with morphine and anesthesia.

“I got shot.” You say slowly.

She gnaws on her lip, nodding. “Yeah. They had to take the bullet out. Are you in any pain?” You think about it for a beat then shake your head. “Want some water?” She suggests.

An owlish, faraway blink. Then you nod. Emily stands and adjusts your bed so you’re sitting up. She brings the cup to your lips, her hand settling on the nape of your neck. 

A small frown creases your forehead. Even half drugged, you recognize her hot and cold. 

“What?”

“Did I get shot in both my arms?”

Emily’s brows furrow. “...No?”

Your blink drags. “I can drink.” You mumble. “On m’own.”

Emily knows that. She knows that. She doesn’t know why she wants do to this for you. (Or, rather, she knows but can’t make herself look further into it).

“I know you can. Just,” she licks her lips, “just let me, please.”

Her pinky rests on your shoulder, just past your hospital gown. You tilt your chin after a few blinks; Emily slots the rim of the cup between your lips with an internal sigh. Something in her quiets, dies down into still placidity. The bandage wrapped all the way to your elbow is stark, but it’s better than a freely bleeding wound, blood seeping between her fingers.

You drain the cup. Emily contemplates filling it again as you wipe your mouth, lips hydrated back to their usual color. The thought doesn’t linger in her head before you chase it away.

“You look mad.” You say, voice clearer now.

Emily shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not mad.” She says softly. “I was worried.”

“’M okay, though.”

“I know you are.” That doesn’t make it any easier. “It was just…sudden. And you’re important to me.” She cups your cheek. It’s all done unthinkingly, on autopilot. Her tongue slips, her hand moves, her fingers part on your jaw. Emily is used to loving you, and used to letting it slip.

She freezes in her place a little, spine stiffening when she remembers, belatedly, that you don’t want any of that. Her hand just about drops but is held in place by your cheek; you nuzzle into her palm, lashes fluttering under the harsh light.

“You gotta stop sayin’ stuff like that,” you sigh. A pout curves your mouth, pulls it into a sulk. “’S mean.” You mumble, lips brushing the base of her thumb.

Emily’s heart is in her throat. Her fingers twitch on the shell of your ear, too scared to move. “M-Mean? How—why is it mean?” 

“’Cause.” Your brows pinch. “You sound all…sweet and romantic when you say that. Like…like you’re sayin’ like you mean it.” You say accusingly.

Emily inhales sharply, air rushing to her lungs. Your small voice stings, but not more than the disbelief that sticks to it. “Baby, I do.” She says quietly, adamantly, her thumb pressed to your jaw. “I do mean it, all of it. I’ve been trying to tell you for so long now.”

You shake your head haltingly. “You haven’t.”

“Swear I have.” She murmurs. “I—I tried to ask you out on dates. I tried to flirt with you. Fuck, honey, I told you I wanted to kiss you. I don’t—” a shaky laugh tumbles from her lips, “I don’t think you like listening to me.” 

You’re in disbelief—eyes wide, mouth parted, brown drawn. It pinches at her insides, sharp pinpricks lining her skin. Emily wants to massage away the scrunch of your frown, smooth your confusion away until what she’s saying is unmistakably clear. 

“No, but—you were drunk.” You stammer.

“I still meant it.” Her thumb smooths over your jaw. “I wasn’t wasted. I knew what I was saying.”

She just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

You look doubly dazed. “So, you…you like me?” You reaffirm quietly, your mouth barely moving around the words.

Emily nods. “I do.” She says.

“That doesn’t make sense, though. You’re you,” you stress the word like it means something, “and I’m me. It just doesn’t…We don’t fit together like that.”

Emily’s stomach turns. She leans back to put a little distance, the weight of your jaw lifting from her hand.

“Wait, what? Says who?”

“C’mon, Emily.” You mumble. You’re not looking at her anymore. “You could…y’could never like me, not like that. Our date…I haven’t been treated like that in years. Haven’t felt like that in years. But I couldn’t start to hope. You were going to break my heart if I let you.” You fiddle with the blanket at your hips, eyes shuttered away. “I couldn’t let you.” You say quietly.

Emily can’t breathe.

“Y/N—”

“I went out with that guy to make myself face reality. I couldn’t have someone like you, there was no use just wallowing over it.” You shrug.

Her mouth is dry. All at once she’s nauseous, acid churning in her gut. Surely you don’t believe that. Surely you can see, even somewhat, the way she bends to your will, kneels at your feet—even under the guise of friendship. 

Surely you don’t think that about yourself.

“You’re wrong.”

You flash her a small, bitter smile. “I never am about things like these.”

Emily shakes her head firmly. “No, you are. And I’m gonna prove it to you—I swear I will, but—” But now’s not the time. You’re hazy around the edges, and she’s not sure which words stick. She needs you totally here for this, though Emily would repeat it again and again and again until it clung and fused with your bones, as unmistakable as your heartbeat. 

You still look doubtful. But she’s gonna fix that. She’s gonna fix it. 

Emily licks her lips, “Listen, you need to rest up now, okay? But we’ll talk about this. I promise.” She hesitates for a beat, then it slips out: “I love you.”

Your lashes droop with your blink. “You’re adamant about it.” You mumble.

Emily swallows her heart, her hand twitching at her side.

“I always have been.”

+1

Emily carries groceries into your kitchen, a Pyrex of casserole in one hand and plastic bags clenched in another, striding through your apartment like she owns it. 

To be fair, she has been here a few times.

“You really didn’t have to do this.” You say again, fiddling with your sling as you follow in after her.

Emily sets the casserole down with an eye roll. “For the last time, Y/N, I wanted to. Your dominant arm is incapacitated—I can’t have you starve on my account.”

“Whether I starve or not is not really on your account,” you argue, reaching over to take some of the bags in her hand. She doesn’t let you, moving them from your reach and settling them down on the counter. You peer behind her; Emily swats at your free hand, tilting her body to shield them from you.

“Honey, get used to it. Soon enough I’m gonna be doing a lot more than just getting you groceries and casserole.”

She doesn’t exactly mean for the words to slip, but Emily is not too torn up about it either. Ever since the hospital, the two of you have been testing the stability of the line between you—toeing it, going a little past crossing it, all too aware of the gentle rounded curves of the elephant in the midst of your every conversation. The way you get her meaning now, flushing a little with a dazed look on your face when she murmurs something undeniably flirty, is a high she can’t get over.

It happens now. You briefly get this startled, deer-in-headlights look; she half expects you to point to your own chest and mouth, me? despite there being only the two of you in your kitchen. You’re getting better at composing yourself quicker, but Emily secretly relishes the tiny moments she gets to catch you off guard.

“Oh?” You clear your throat, leaning against the counter and tilting your head to better catch her eyes. “Like what?”

Emily knows you’re not thinking about the groceries now. 

“Like taking you out on a date.” She murmurs softly, voice like velvet as she straightens, turns so you’re nearly chest to chest. “Doing some…really not platonic things with you.” Her hands settle on the cool countertop behind you.

You inhale sharply, your chest briefly touching hers. Heat blooms across her skin. 

“What kind of things?” You ask. Your back presses against the granite. A small shiver goes through you; Emily doesn’t know if it’s from her or the cool tiles against your back.

“I can show you.” She says. Your pupils go wide, and she smiles against her beating heart. “It’s a bit more effective. Uh, gets my point across more…clearly.” Her fingers absently drum against the counter, itching to get closer and smooth over the soft material of your sleeve where it lays over your arm.

“Silver tongue finally failing you, Emily?” You whisper, lips dragging, your weight tentatively leaning into hers.

“No.” Emily smiles. “I just think you might like it better somewhere else.”

There it is again. Your eyes widen, a sharp breath inflating your chest. Her palm cushions the line of your jaw, fingers hooking behind your ear and tilting your dipping chin toward hers. “Can I? Can I kiss you?” Her thumb traces over your bottom lip, your exhale fogging warm on her nail, “Can I take you out?”

Her heart pounds so loud she barely hears your whisper. “Yeah.” You swallow; her eyes spy a similar pulse in your throat. “Yeah, yes. All of it.”

“Thank you.” She says politely, careful and entirely tender even as she—finally—devours you with her kiss.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco @jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz @rustnroll @slutforabbyanderson @maximoffcarter @cns-mari @daddy-heather-dunbar @lcvessapphic @wlwoceaneyes@yoyo-w @upsidedowndanvers @chestnutninny

[myharkness]

Fake Marriage, Real Hands

Agatha Harkness x Reader x Voyeur!Wanda Maximoff

Agatha All Along Week 2025 - Day 2: Fake Marriage

Summary: Wanda wants some off-air entertainment. Her fake married neighbours are encouraged to fulfil that want.

Tags: fake marriage, dubious consent, fingering, voyeurism, telepathy, Dom Agatha, Voyeur Wanda, Sub Reader

No pronouns used to refer to Reader. Reader is wearing a skirt and refers to themself as a lesbian.

Words: 1,648

Authors note: why did no one say my masterlist was super out of order...idk how I even did it that badly

ao3 | masterlist

“Darling,” Agatha calls from the window bay.

You’re on the couch, looking over the newspaper for any inaccuracies or magical hiccups. The level of detail it has is a little scary to think about. With the way Agatha has described Wanda’s life being a television show, you had originally thought that everything was a prop. Yet the only thing off about the newspaper Agatha took from Wanda’s house is how new it looks.

“Sweetheart,” you call back in a deadpan voice.

You’re right there. She could just turn around and talk to you.

“Don’t be like that,” she says and sashays over. “I know you missed your little get together with your friends but meeting the new neighbour is more important, wouldn’t you say?”

You sit up straighter the second you hear her voice. It’s different. Higher, and softer. You paste a smile on when she mentions your friends. You’re stuck in here. Beholden first to the whims of the witch who had saved you and taken up residence in your home, and second to your witch neighbour. Who happens to be insanely powerful and has brainwashed the whole town. 

You aren’t sure how powerful Agatha is in comparison to Wanda but she has finangled her way into the main storyline without suspicion and dragged you along with her as her wife. Being single is too big of an inaccuracy for the time period but two lesbians is apparently just fine. 

Agatha hasn’t really explained the logic or magic to you. Only that Wanda can see what happens inside the house thanks to her magic but Agatha can always tell when Wanda’s paying attention. Agatha can protect her and your thoughts from being read. Which is a blessing because she had very flippantly told you where you would have been staying otherwise and your attic hasn’t been cleaned in a very long time. Being Wanda’s slave stuck motionlessly in one room hadn’t sounded any better.

She’s watching, Agatha says needlessly into your mind.

“I’m not that sad,” you say, the script Agatha gives you feels natural to follow now. “You know how the girls get when someone new moves to town.”

“Don’t I ever,” Agatha says as she plops down beside you. “You sure you aren’t upset hon? I thought of something that might cheer you up.”

“Oh?” you must be misinterpreting her tone. Her eyes drop to your lips. “Oh.” You were not. Well, the show has kept well away from anything explicitly sexual. Wanda will get bored soon. You can play along. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“We haven’t got anywhere to be.”

Agatha leans closer. You haven’t really talked about this part of the pretend relationship. With shows back in the day not daring to even air handholding, you hadn’t thought you needed to. That doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about it. Agatha is magnetic and Agnes is flirty enough to have you burning up.

She’s starting to get suspicious, Agatha says. You’re not sure what’s nerves and what’s fear but you lean in and kiss her. Your goal was to keep it light. Barely more than a brush of your lips to keep Wanda reassured. Agatha has different plans.

 She presses closer. A hand lands on your thigh and quickly climbs higher. You almost pull back but instead of diving under your skirt she uses it to pull you closer. The moment you lean into it her other hand reaches out and she drags you onto her lap, slotting a thigh between your own. You make a surprised sound but she doesn’t let your lips part for long. You indulge in the feeling for a few moments longer before pulling back, needing to breathe.

“Someone’s eager,” you say. Is she still paying attention? you ask.

Yes. Agatha drags you across her thigh. You moan into her mouth. 

“I’ve missed you,” Agatha murmurs as she trails a line of slow kisses down your neck.

“We’re barely ever apart.”

“I’ve missed this. We’ve been so busy with the new neighbour.”

You feel a wave of— of something, outside of yourself, the moment Wanda is referenced. You pull back again.

“Save it for tonight, hound dog,” that’s a nickname people used around this time, right? You have no idea. “I’ll plan something special. Right now I need to finish this.”

You push yourself up. Agatha lets you go with an exaggerated pout. You’re about to make a joke when you blink.

Agatha is above you, straddling you. Her dress is gone. Your shirt is gone. The cold leather of the couch is a shock to your warm skin. You gape up at her for the half-second you get before she’s kissing you again.

She really wants to watch this happen, she says and you can feel her amusement. Your brain hasn’t caught up with the sudden change yet. Agatha bites your lip and the slight shock of pain has you present enough to remember you need to try and follow whatever blocked directions Wanda is giving you. Agatha normally tells you what the script is but the wordless commands are absent.

You kiss her back. You hope Wanda assumes something benign about your frozen moment but that thought quickly disappears when Agatha licks into your mouth. Fuck. You moan again.

Agatha’s hands grasp your hips. They’re cold and you shiver. You can’t really think passed her lips. Her hands skim up your sides and settle to play with your tits. You tremble below her. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this it’s almost overwhelming. It’s hard to think but Wanda is watching. You need to perform.

You hesitantly raise your hands and rest them on Agatha’s shoulders. You feel her amusement.

“Don’t be shy, hon. You’ve seen it all before.”

Right. Totally. Except you haven’t and you have no idea how you’re meant to act like you are. You reach behind her and undo the clasp of her bra. Agatha pushes past your hesitation by pulling it off herself. You gape at her.

“And here I thought you were exaggerating when you said every time you see me naked it’s like the first time.”

You’d think it’s a good save if you could think at all. Agatha is above you, on you, in all her naked glory. 

“You can touch,” Agatha prompts you. Swallowing hard, you do. Agatha hums and pushes her chest forward. You get a little braver, pinching and rolling her nipples until Agatha’s face relaxes into one of pleasure. You’re wondering if you should find a way to stop or brave reaching lower when Agatha makes the decision for you. She grasps your wrists and guides your hands to her hips.

“Good job, hon,” she smiles. You try not to visibly react. Her smile growing tells you you’ve failed. “Need a hand?”

You don’t need to ask if Wanda is still watching. You can feel her, like a pressure building against your skin. Is Agatha losing control or is it only your thoughts and autonomy she protects? 

You nod mutely. Your brain isn’t quite online yet. Agatha looks almost eager as she helps you out of your bra. Is that what she’s really feeling or is she playing your wife Agnes? Her hands drop to your skirt and she runs her fingers over it.

“How do you feel about leaving this on? Make everything a bit more naughty,” she gives you a wink. Definitely Agnes.

“Okay,” you breathe. Agatha flips your skirt up and tugs off your underwear. She doesn’t give you time to feel self-conscious. Her hands slide up your thighs and her fingers slide through your wetness. Your legs open wider subconsciously. You hadn’t realised how wet you were. “Oh,” you gasp when she finds your clit. 

Her fingers start slow, her eyes intent on your expression. You try to hold still as long as possible but it’s not long until you’re squirming below her. Agatha smirks and trails her fingers lower. Your hips twitch when they nudge your entrance. She quirks a brow in question. Wanda’s presence is a pulsing pressure and it’s been a long time since you’ve felt an ache like this. You nod.

Agatha slips one finger inside of you. She gives you a few experimental pumps before slipping in a second. You moan. 

Agatha supports herself with one hand by your shoulder before she leans down to lick and suck at the sensitive spot of your neck. You tense but her hand never slows and the added electricity has you sinking into the feeling. When you’ve relaxed back into her, she scrapes her teeth over the now tender spot before biting down.

Fuck. How did she know you’d like that?

I’m in your head, dear, comes her voice, I know exactly what you like.

Shit. 

Agatha sucks and you whimper. She laves her tongue over the new mark after she releases you. Your hips move to meet her thrusting fingers. You don’t remember when they started. 

Agatha continues to nip and suck down your neck, sending sparks along your spine and to your core. Wanda’s presence gets stronger the tighter the coil winds inside of you yet you can’t reach your peak. The awareness of someone watching has given your orgasm stage fright. Can you fake it?

You feel something be pulled deep in your mind. Moments later the wave of pleasure crashes. You arch into Agatha with a loud moan. She guides you through it.

Fuck. That might’ve been the hardest you’ve ever come. Agatha’s smirk tells you she caught the thought.

“Alright hon?”

Your voice cracks in the middle of your hum. You can still feel the after effects of Wanda’s own orgasm.

“I think it’s your turn to try and tame this tiger,” Agatha says.

“I’ll try my best,” you say weakly. “I’d never want to leave my wife wanting.”

[myharkness]

The Glass Stay On | e.p.

pairing: emily prentiss x afab!reader

summary: exactly what the title says…

tags: (18+) smut (oral!sex, vaginal!fingering), a bit of dirty!talk.

word count: 2.7k

read on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: emily prentiss wearing glasses does unspeakable things to me… what happens in this fic.. i drew it all beforehand…

…

After finishing your evening shower and getting ready for bed, you step out of the bathroom and into the cool air of the bedroom.

You’ve constructed the perfect everyday routine: come home, relax until Emily inevitably returns from the office, scrounge up something for dinner, more relaxing but with Emily, shower, then ultimately—fall into bed with your lover.

Though that last step of your routine is shifted a bit off kilter as you look up and find your girlfriend missing from her side of the mattress.

Your brows furrow momentarily. Usually, she's long in bed by now, sitting up against the headboard in front of a stack of pillows, with a book in her lap and a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table.

Tossing your soiled clothes into the hamper, you reluctantly climb into bed alone.

You curl up in the center of the bed, running your hand over Emily's indent in the sheets, wrinkles left in the shape of her figure—a pillowcase that smells distinctly like her night cream and dry shampoo.

"Tired?" The familiar rasp of your girlfriend's voice breaks through the quiet room. You twitch in surprise, you hadn't even heard her come in.

"There you are, I was wondering where you went." You beamed at her, taking in her domestic appearance. The dull graphics on the tattered old band t-shirt she's wearing, the faded blue stripes on her sleep shorts, the soft wave of her silver hair as it cascades over her shoulders and down to the tops of her breasts.

She's effortlessly beautiful, especially with her face fully bare.

"Just making my tea, I forgot where I left my new glasses." She smiles, places her mug on the coaster, and slips beneath the comforter.

"New glasses?" You ask, a bit confused about when she even had time to get a new pair, but still curious.

"Yeess…” Emily drawls. “I had them delivered; my other pair had a scratch on the lens." She explains, shifting slightly before reaching into the small pocket of her shorts.

She pulls out a pair of sleek, square black frames, the gloss and rivets glinting in the lamplight.

Before you can say anything, she flicks the temples open and slides them onto her nose before leaning back and opening her book.

Instantly, your body reacts to the sight. A simmering heat pools in your lower belly at the sight of her new frames.

She's always been attractive with glasses, but these? These are particularly sexy.

"Those are..." you pause, trying to find a suitable word to describe them without coming off too desperate.

She looks up at you, her brow arching curiously. Her eyes flick over your face, and a devious smirk curls at the corner of her mouth.

"What? You like them?" Emily purrs, closing her book and setting it back on the nightstand. She turns slightly, her torso angled more towards you.

"I definitely like them..." You chew on your bottom lip as she watches you, and her fingers twitch where they rest atop the blanket. "Very sexy, dear."

"Oh, yeah?" She grins, scooting closer-invading your space.

"Oh, yeah." You grin in return as you meet her halfway in a gentle but firm kiss.

Her cold fingers land on your hip beneath the sheets and you suck in a sharp breath against her upper lip. She deepens the kiss straight away, her mouth opening, tongue sliding along your teeth, teasingly.

You hum into the kiss, returning the passion as you reach out for her, curling your hand around her waist and pulling her closer.

She slinks over you slowly, her mouth never detaching, while she settles herself on top. Emily's body is warm, the soft weight of her abdomen pressing between your spread thighs as she lies between them.

A quiet grumble slips from her throat as she feels you arch into her, your legs locking behind her ass and squeezing her closer.

"You're so..." she interrupts your sentence with a chaste kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. "fuck—sexy."

You whimper into her mouth as she rolls her hips forward into yours, the friction pleasurable, but not enough. But then again, you never can seem to get enough of the beautiful older woman above you.

Her arms bracket the sides of your head, hands smoothing over your hair. Her torso writhes sensually, and you can feel the weight of her breasts, her hardened nipples through the fabric of your shirt.

The kisses grow sloppy, a mess of spit, tongues, and desperate sounds of want.

You slip your hands beneath her shirt, gliding up her sides, then over the muscle of her back, roaming. Her skin is so soft, so warm—it’s addicting.

With a final rough suck on your bottom lip, Emily begins trailing lower. Her teeth graze the curve of your jaw as she moves, pressing wet kisses to your burning skin. Her hands tangle into your hair, tugging gently to urge your chin up, making room for herself in the crevice of your neck.

“Emily—” you pant, nails digging into the flesh of her hips.

The older woman groans against your skin, sucking a harsh mark into your collarbone. She sits up just enough to drag her hands down past your shoulders before landing atop your ribcage. Her fingers press into the sensitive skin, holding your body still and close as she continues her assault on your neck.

One of your hands slips from beneath her shirt and cards through the hair at the back of her head. 

Using her chin, she pulls the collar of your shirt down, peppering wet kisses to your flushed chest.

Your belly swells with an intense flood of arousal, and you try to focus on the feeling of everything she’s doing to you. Her groping hands in your abdomen—covering your breasts over the fabric of your top, the weight of her hips, rolling into your center as if she was teasing you with her cock. 

And God, sometimes you really do wish her strap could be permanently attached.

“Fuck, baby…” You whine as she lands a particularly sharp bite on your shoulder. Emily hums amusedly at your body’s reaction.

She sits up for a moment, her thighs resting against your ass. Her palms glide down your stomach, then beneath the hem of your shirt, smoothing over the soft plains of flesh.

She looks up at you then, a silent confirmation to move forward with what she’s planning. You nod eagerly, your spine curling.

She grins and pushes your shirt up, her nails raking along your skin as she goes. The rush of cool air hardens your nipples to solid peaks, standing proudly under Emily’s lustful gaze.

“So beautiful…” she murmurs, her hands cupping the underside of your breasts and squeezing. You moan at the sensation, the way she pinches your nipples subtly.

Your hands clutch at the sheets beneath you as she continues her exploration, fingertips toying with your most sensitive parts.

The sudden heat of her mouth on your sternum startles you, a gasp ripping from your throat as she laves her tongue over your sweat-dampened skin. She takes a sensitive nipple between her lips, teeth scraping slightly, and immediately, you feel the wetness gushing between your thighs.

You clutch desperately at the back of her head as she mouths at you, tiny whines and moans falling from your lips.

Her tongue swirls around your hardened bud before flicking at it quickly, giving it a final kiss before shifting and doing the same to the other side.

Her hands bury themselves between your back and the mattress, making sure you can’t wiggle too much.

Abandoning your breasts, Emily trails lower, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along your ribs and down the center of your stomach. She nips at your navel, seeking her tongue around the faint red mark before sucking a dark hickey into your hipbone.

Your stomach jolts at the pain, hips canting upward in attempts to find some sort of friction.

“Needy girl…” Emily growls against the skin of your belly. “Look at me.”

The gravel in her voice makes your ear perk up as you crane your neck up to meet her eyes. 

A smirk dances across her lips as she toys with the waistband of your underwear, her glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose.

You watch with a slackened jaw as she swipes her thumb over your slit through the soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Please, Em…” you pant, your hands sliding down the sheets to grip at her knees. Emily hums, running a flattened palm over your mound, then up your abdomen.

Her eyelids are heavy and half-lidded as she trails her eyes over your semi-nude form, the darkening love bites speckling your torso, your flushed face, the mess of arousal between your legs.

She moves to take her glasses off, but you stop her before she can toss them aside, gripping her wrist.

“Keep them on…” 

“Yeah?” Emily arches a brow. “You like them that much?” She slips the frames back on, leaning forward over your body.

“Yes… you look so good.” You smile up at her dazedly, your hands reaching up to cup her face.

The older woman beams at the compliment, tilting her head and pressing a wet kiss to your palm.

Emily shifts onto all fours, her shiny silver locks tickling the skin of your stomach as she dips down and kisses your pelvis.

Your hips rock against her touches, desperately seeking her mouth. Her fingers curl into your waistband and tug the thin fabric down, discarding it somewhere across the room.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” Emily purrs, her hands driving up your inner thighs and spreading them open.

You whine in response, shifting up onto your elbows to get a better view of her.

Emily presses her nose to the warm flesh of your inner thigh, her lips trailing wet kisses as she moves towards the apex.

You can feel yourself clenching around nothing, the closer she gets to where you need her the most. Using one hand, you sweep her hair to the side, holding it in a makeshift ponytail. 

Her nose sweeps over your mound, teasing, and she glances up at you.

“Please…” you whisper, hardly loud enough for her to hear. But she does.

Emily leans in with a proud smirk, her tongue flicking out and dragging up your sticky folds. 

The heat of her breath against your sex sends a fog to the back of her lenses as she delves in, her lips enclosing around your needy bud and suckling. You gasp at the sudden pressure, your back curling off the mattress, hips grinding against her mouth.

“Emily—fuck!” You pant, your hand tensing where it rests at the back of her head.

Her tongue laves languidly over your pussy, swirling around your clit and spreading the messy arousal.

She loops her arms under your thighs as she slips her tongue down to your entrance, holding them open wide and using her grip to build momentum as she fucks the pointed muscle into you.

Your head falls back, jaw slackened as quiet moans slip past your lips.

Emily groans against your sex, and the vibrations send a jolt throughout your entire body.

You lift your head to watch her again.

The older woman’s face holds a look of complete and utter concentration as she eats you. Her brows furrowed, eyes fluttering closed before flicking open and training on you. 

Her glasses have slipped so low that they threaten to fall completely off. You reach down unceremoniously and press them up her bridge with a shaky finger.

Emily’s blackened eyes are locked on your face over the frames. She smiles wolfishly, like a predator that’s just found its prey. You send her a lopsided smile back, your face burning with the flush of arousal.

She leans back, detaching her mouth from your pussy for a short moment. She slips one hand from beneath you leg and brings in up to your center, using the pad of her thumb to press at the topside of your clit.

She circles it slowly, her lips parted, her chin and cheeks covered in the mess of your arousal.

“So pretty…” She licks her lips slowly, pulling the bottom one between her teeth. “My girl tastes so good.”

You whine at the filthy compliment, canting your hips against the ministrations of her thumb.

“Hm, get these nice and wet for me, doll.” Emily reaches up from between your legs with the same hand that was on your clit and presses her fingers to your lips.

You open for her on command, taking the entire length of her middle and index fingers into your mouth. You hum around the digits, swirling your tongue and thoroughly coating them in saliva.

Emily pulls them from your mouth with an audible pop, her cheeks slightly flushed from just how eager you are for her.

“Good girl…” she grumbles, dipping down again to reattach her mouth to your clit. You gasp as she sucks on the bud harshly, the muscles in your abdomen twitching. 

Her wet fingers dance over your entrance, toying with your labia before her middle finger dips inside just to the first knuckle. She pulls out again, circling your slit against before pressing the entire finger inside, twisting as it sheaths and curling up into your g-spot. 

“Hm—more…” you cry, your head tilting to the side and resting on your shoulder.

Emily watches you as she slips out again, her teeth grazing your swollen clit before she presses both her middle and index finger inside. She bottoms out slowly, and a low groan rattles through your chest. 

Her long, thick fingers stretch you so deliciously, fucking into you at an angle so perfect—she has you writhing in mere seconds.

“Fuck, Emily—harder.” You pant, rutting against her thrusts.

The squelch of her fingers curling inside you is utterly lewd, and you know you’re making a mess on the sheets, but neither of you could care less.

Emily suckles on your clit tirelessly, switching between that and teasing circles with the tip of her tongue.

“Oh my god…” You gasp, your thighs beginning to tremble as you feel your orgasm building rapidly inside. “Don’t stop—fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop.” 

Emily hums around your clit in acknowledgment, eyes still locked on your face as she works you to the edge.

Staccato whimpers escape your throat with nearly each breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly, flushed and slick with sweat.

Your thighs tighten around her head as the pressure in your womb reaches its apex, before releasing. 

Emily stills her fingers inside as you clamp down on her, your body curling in on itself as your muscles tense and release with the shocks of your orgasm. Her tongue swirls around your sensitive bud slowly, easing you down as the final tremors work their way out.

With the palm of your free hand, you press her forehead back as the overstimulation becomes too much.

“Okay, okay…” You laugh breathily, letting your legs relax back down onto the bedding. “So fucking good.”

Emily hums and presses chaste kisses to your thighs and your belly as she rises, crawling her way back up your body.

You take in her appearance again—your mess spread across her face, the flush on her cheeks, the condensation beginning to fade behind her lenses.

Her body settles on top of you, the heat of her skin radiating through her clothing.

Emily leans up to kiss you with a dazed grin. She always looks so pleased with herself after she makes you cum. It’s slow, and open-mouthed, and you can taste yourself on her tongue easily. 

Smoothing your hands down her back, you wrap yourself around her, arms tight around her shoulders and legs, her hips.

You pull away with a satisfied moan, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Thank you, the glasses did their job.” You praise, stroking the sweaty strand of hair away from her brow. Emily chuckles.

“I’ll try not to damage these ones…” She leans in and presses a chaste peck to your cheek before whispering, “But since it seems I’ll be doing stuff like that more often…”

“No promises…”

…

taglist: @piiinco @xoxo-maryssa @prentissmultiverse @blackcatlesbo @prentisslvrsworld @teeshatequila @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @classic-fangirl-emily-prentiss @wittygutsy @wandasdollie @maximoffcarter

[myharkness]

power grab gone wrong

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: double manipulation? idk, kind of bottom!agatha?

Plot: agatha has found another source of power, playing her usual game of cruel words, but your ability makes it easy to play the game, maybe even better than Agatha herself

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

You were driven into the forest with stones and fire. You had not been burned, not yet, but the promise of it lingered in the air since the villagers banished you.

Now you lived in the dead places of the forest, where the sun touched nothing and the roots whispered of old hungers. You survived on stolen bread and berries and moss-water. Your magic was quiet, like the hush before a storm. It was not fire or wind or death, but feeling. You could pull sorrow from a bird’s wing or joy from a dying tree. You could understand others so deeply, it made your chest ache.

It was a curse, and it had saved you.

You were crouched beside a stream one twilight, half-starved, cupping you hands for water, when the forest went silent. The birds fell mute. The wind recoiled. You looked up.

A woman stood across the stream. Draped in robes the color of purple, skin pale, hair like wild and wavy. She didn’t blink.

You knew who she was, you had heard the stories of witches being attacked by one of their own. 

Agatha Harkness stepped from the shadow of the trees like she belonged to them. Her cloak flowed behind her, whispering secrets in a language older than the soil. Her pale hand rested lazily on her hip, her eyes sharp and glinting like the edge of a polished blade.

“Well,” she said, looking you up and down with open disdain. “A little scrap of meat and magic. I smelled you half a mile off. You reek of hunger and hope. Disgusting.”

You didn’t move. You stood by the stream, your bare feet half-submerged in the cold water, your tattered dress clinging to your legs like ivy. You looked at Agatha the way you observe a storm - beautiful, terrible.

“I don’t want trouble,” you murmured.

Agatha’s lip curled. “You’re in a forest older than death, little bird. Trouble is the only thing that lives here.”

She took a step closer, the ground beneath her feet darkening with each stride.

“What’s your trick, then?” she cooed mockingly. “Do you make flowers bloom from your palms? Heal injured rabbits and weep when people cry?” She leaned in. “Or maybe it’s something nasty, something hidden… are you going to explode my heart with a thought? Melt my bones with a scream?”

You said nothing. Your eyes flicked to Agatha’s fingers, where old magic hummed. Old powerful magic. 

“Come on,” Agatha drawled. “Hit me. Hex me. Try. You want to, don’t you?”

Your breath caught. The witch was obviously crazy, but she was so mesmerisingly beautiful that you started wondering whether the dead witches had simply given up their powers upon meeting this woman. 

Agatha grinned. “Don’t pretend you're a saint. You’ve got it in you. All that bitterness, all that grief. Use it. Cast your first spell with teeth.”

Still, you didn’t move. Her soul was pouring into your veins without you having to do anything. Empathy was your greatest power and your greatest curse. 

Agatha’s tone turned sweet, mocking. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll miss? Or worse, afraid I’ll laugh while I burn?”

She circled you now, slowly, dragging her nails along the air as if shaping invisible wire.

“I know what you are,” she whispered into your ear. “A soft little doe who thinks kindness will save her. You think the world will change if you cry hard enough. You think if you love someone enough, they won’t put a knife in your back. Pathetic.”

Your eyes shimmered, but not with fear.

Agatha stepped in front of you, lowering her face until you were inches apart.

“I bet you’ve never even hurt anyone,” she sneered. “Not once. Not properly. You’ve never screamed so loud your throat bled. Never snapped a bone just to feel something break. You don’t know power.”

She raised a hand, and purple fire licked her fingertips.

“I could unmake you right here,” she said with a smile. “Wipe you out like a candle. But I’d rather earn it. I want to feel your resistance. I want to taste your strength when it bleeds out of your mouth.” She leaned close, breath cold as fog. “Make me work for it. Come on. Give me an excuse.”

Silence fell again.

Then you smiled, just a little. While Agatha was talking, your power made it easy to read her like a book. 

“You’re trying so hard,” you said softly. “Is it always like this? Do you always have to beg people to fight you, just to feel something real?”

Agatha blinked. “What did you say?”

You tilted your head, your voice calm, kind, devastating. “You think if you hurt me enough, I’ll just attack you so you can steal my power? Trust me, you don’t want my power.” 

Agatha recoiled a step, confusion and intrigue flickering through her expression.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said. “I pity you.”

A flicker of raw emotion cracked across Agatha’s face, gone as quickly as it came. But you saw it. Felt it.

Agatha snarled. “Don’t pity me. Don’t you dare—”

“You’re tired,” you said gently. “And lonely. You push people until they turn to ash in your hands because you’re too scared to see who would stay. And it’s so much easier to kill someone who wants to kill you back.” 

Agatha’s magic faltered, just a fraction. Her jaw tightened.

“But deep down you just want someone to surprise you. To not lash out at your cruel words. To not attack you.” 

Agatha raised her hand again, fire boiling in her palm, but her wrist trembled. “Stop it,” she hissed. “Whatever curse you’re casting—stop it!”

“I’m not casting anything,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m just seeing you. That is my power.”

Agatha stared at you. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. No one had looked at her like that in a hundred years.

And that, more than any magic, was what broke her.

“You don’t see anything,” Agatha growled. 

You smiled softly and lifted up your hand to trace the hem of Agatha’s bodice, where satin met skin. Agatha’s breath hitched and you could feel the touch starvation pouring from her into you in deep waves. 

“You could have me, we could be a team,” you whispered. Your fingers trailed up to her neck and you pressed your thumb against her pulse. You leaned closer to Agatha’s ear and murmured softly, “I know everyone’s weaknesses.”

Agatha made a noise at the back of her throat and immediately pushed you away. “You think I want a child clinging to my skirts? Don’t flatter yourself.”

You closed the distance again, grabbing Agatha’s hips and making her step back until she was pressed up against a nearby tree. You could feel her resolve cracking, you could feel her hunger, her loneliness, her pride. 

“I’ll be good,” you said earnestly. “You can teach me. I’ll learn anything you want.”

“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do.”

Agatha sneered. “Are you trying to seduce me, little worm? You think I’ll melt because you beg prettily?”

You didn’t flinch and you smirked at her. I don’t think. I know you will. Agatha underestimated you, maybe empathy was a cruel ability to have, but it made it easier for you to manipulate. To get what you want. 

And right now, you wanted safety. Even if it meant finding it with a witch killer. 

You grabbed Agatha’s hair and pushed it over her shoulders. Agatha was watching you with caution, but also with interest, as if she wanted to see how the whole game would play out. Your lips softly attached to the soft skin of her throat. 

“You’re already melting.” You tilted your head back to look into Agatha’s eyes, your finger tracing the lines of her face. When your finger reach Agatha’s lips, your own hunger deepened when she slightly parted them. “Poor thing”, you cooed. “How long has it been since someone touched you without fear?” How long had it been since someone touched you?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, I could-“ Agatha’s words died in her throat when you suddenly leaned down and licked a long striped across her neck, humming as if tasting something delicious. Her magic was playing on your tongue. Agatha shivered. 

“You’re shaking,” you said softly. “You wanted me to be afraid. But you’re the one trembling.”

Agatha’s jaw tensed. “Don’t.”

But you continued because you knew you already had her. Agatha might be a dangerous woman, but with your gift, with your clever words, she’d want you by her side, offering you safety you so deeply longer for. “You came out here to hunt me. You thought I’d throw sparks and scream. That I’d make it easy. But I didn’t. And now you don’t know what to do with me.”

Agatha snarled, but there was no fire in it now. “I could still take everything you are.”

You smiled. Not cruelly. Not innocently. It was the smile of someone who knew. “I’m offering it freely,” you whispered.

Agatha blinked. “What?”

You pressed herself more against her. Your voice dropped, soft and intimate. “You don’t have to break me. You don’t have to hurt me. I’ll give you all of me if you just ask. I’ll follow you, serve you. I’ll belong to you.”

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. You were weaving something now, not a spell, at least, not in the usual sense. But your words dripped with power. Power drawn from emotion, from truth, from Agatha’s own fraying desires.

“In exchange for…?” 

“Safety,” you mused, dipping your hand into Agatha’s hair, pulling them softly. “Companionship.”

Agatha’s lips parted, but no answer came. One more push and you had her. 

“I could be yours,” you said. “Your shadow. Your student. Your comfort. I could be the one thing that doesn’t run from you.”

You stepped back and lowered yourself on your knees, looking up at her, fluttering your eyelashes prettily, Agatha’s power seeping into you, your power seeping into her. Your voice dropped to a murmur. “I could worship you, Agatha.”

The forest seemed to exhale around you. Agatha let out a shaky breath at the implication and your energy rushing into her veins. Her fingers curled into her dress.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, girl,” she hissed, but her voice had lost its edge.

Your grasped the hem of her skirt and sneaked your hands under, firmly grabbing her calves, her thighs, drawing lines with your fingernails. You smiled lazily. “I’m not playing,” you said, “but if I were… I think I’d be winning.”

Agatha’s eyes closed for a moment and when she opened them again, looking down on you, they were full of hunger that was desperate to get out. “I should tear your mind apart.”

“You could try,” you whispered, softly massaging her thighs now, slowly spreading them and realising with pleasure that Agatha was letting you. “But I think you like this better.”

Agatha didn’t answer with words, but she slowly pushed her feet more apart. 

You smirked and then looked up at her with a question in the tilt of your head. 

And she knew what you were asking, and she nodded. You pressed the heal of your hand against her center and watched her head fall back against the tree. 

You dipped your fingers below the fabric and moaned at how wet she was. “Aren’t you the most powerful witch in all the galaxies?” you whispered while your fingers worked. You pushed two fingers into her and her warmth accepted you as if your fingers belonged inside of her. “Spreading your legs for a nobody in the middle of a forest?” 

Agatha’s hand dropped and she gripped your hair. “Shut your mouth.” 

You chuckled and dipped under her skirt, putting your mouth to a better use. 

[myharkness]

hold me for a moment longer

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: two people that don't like being vulnerable try and communicate. it takes a lot, but they're trying. inspired by a prompt i found "You look at them like they hung the stars." A silence. "They did so much then that, and I can't ever be grateful enough, even if I wished to."

word count: 2.8k

disclamers: bit of arguing. yearning!! emotional hurt/comfort!! mention of previous abduction/torture. use of y/n. a kiss.

It’s her smile. 

You think. 

Well, actually, it’s her rich laughter that draws your attention first. It makes you pause involuntarily, caught up in the sight of her, mesmerised by her tipped back head, raven curls flowing down her shoulders, as her deep brown eyes, as dark as your coffee before milk, sparkle brightly. And then, of course, it’s her smile that your gaze lingers on, bright and all-consuming. Yeah. 

There’s something about her smile. It makes you wish you were a poet. It needs to be appreciated in a way that only art can capture. Leaving you breathless and yearning for something you should be at peace with not having by now. 

You rub your tired eyes as you take a seat on Rossi’s staircase, ready to lace up your boots and desperately trying to smother a yawn. Your stomach was full and your body warm. Tonight had been a welcome reprieve after one hell of a week. You can smell the smoke from the log burner Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch were enthusiastically setting up outside (JJ had already teased them for acting like boy scouts), and you just needed to push through another drink to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at their new toy and then you could make your escape. Your bed was calling your name and as much as you loved everyone, the case this week had been exhausting and Emily was making your head spin. You needed to go home and be alone. 

“You’ve been very quiet tonight.” JJ interrupts, pulling your attention from your boot. Her eyes alight with curiosity, and completely invalidating her attempt to appear casual. 

You look away with a sigh and retie the knot you’d been focusing on. “It’s been a long week.” 

She hums in agreement, and you hope that is where she’ll leave it as you turn your focus to your other boot and tie a tight bow. When you lift your head, she hasn’t moved but her attention has been captured by Penelope and Emily chatting in the other room. Your shoulders relax without your knowledge, a soft smile tugging on your lips, an instant reaction to having her in your eyeline. You don’t know what was wrong with you tonight, why this ache in your chest was so prominent. Maybe it was being in this environment with your family, the warmth and familiarity. Or just the fact Emily looked like she was glowing, her smile large and infectious. But fuck the feelings you had tightly packed into a neat little box were not cooperating and if you didn’t get ahold of yourself you were gonna give it all away.

You’re so entranced you fail to notice when JJ returns her gaze back to you.

Until she speaks.  

“You look at her like she hung the stars.” She observes.

Your chest seizes, emotions clawing at your throat as your eyes fall closed. You release a shaky sigh and lift your gaze to meet JJ’s before tearing your eyes away again, unable to handle the care you see reflected in them. 

Penelope pulls Emily into a hug, a squeal leaving her lips. It's been years, and still shock dusts the raven-haired womans features. Always a slight delay before she allows herself to sink into the other person. Her eyes closing, cradling their back gently, undoubtedly savouring the sensation of having her friend close.

You remember every time Emily’s arms have held you up. Every time her reassurance and kind words have reminded you that you belong in this job. Your fingers brush against the old ligature marks on your wrists, the damage has long since faded, healed flesh taking its place, but the memories remain. It was her eyes that you saw when you wanted to stop fighting, to give up, and one day hallucinations had made way for the real things. Those deep coffee brown eyes in front of you and ready to rescue you from hell. Her hands cutting you free, her hand holding you as you were loaded onto a gurney and taken to the hospital. Her, her, her. 

“She did so much more than that.” You confess, voice hoarse with emotion. “And I can’t ever be grateful enough, even if I wanted to.” 

“Y/N–” JJ shakes her head, speechless. 

You smile at her tiredly and shrug. “It’s okay.” 

JJ’s frown somehow deepens, “You should tell her.”

“Come on, we both know she’s not ready for that.”

She shrugs, “I think she might surprise you.”

You shake your head, deeply in denial even as your chest beats with something that feels dangerously close to hope. You push yourself off the stairs and grab your coat from the closet, the urge to flee overwhelming. Memories of your capture resurfacing and Emily’s kind eyes hovering in sight, all just too much to bear. “I’m going to get going. I’m tired anyway.”

“Y/N–” She protests. 

“Tell Rossi I say thank you for everything. I’ll see you at the office on Monday.” You manage a flimsy smile and quickly back away, ignoring her second call of your name as you make your way out of the mansion and firmly close the door behind you. 

The cold air hits you like a brick; filling your lungs and sending a shiver through your body. Spring was approaching, but the cold air was yet to break, and damn was it making itself known. You push through the attack on your body and continue rapidly down the steps, determined to get to your car and leave tonight behind you.

When your car was finally in sight – and you were gonna have words with past you for parking so goddamn far away. – you hear hurried footsteps and another call of your name, “Y/N!” 

You do not stop and do not turn around. Emily’s voice is immediately identifiable and you don’t want to talk to her. You don’t want to do anything but leave. 

“Y/N! Hey!” She calls again, the sound of her footsteps drawing closer. It’s no use. You can’t outrun her, you’ve never been able to. 

Your car is just in front of you. Freedom at your cold fingertips. 

Emily’s hand brushes your arm, bringing you to a halt as your shoulders sag. Eyes shutting. “Hey,” She murmurs to your back. Her voice gentle, always so kind when she’s with you. Sometimes you worry she still sees you as a victim. It’s been five months since the abduction, three months since you were given the clear to return to work, and yet, she was still so gentle with you. She must know you wouldn't break if pushed too hard, right? You’re terrified of the answer.

“What happened?” She asks softly, “You just ran out of there.”

You turn around to face her, arms wrapped against your chest to protect yourself from the biting air. You sink back against your car to give yourself some space, hoping the solidity of the car will provide you with some form of support. Emily's flushed cheeks and deep breaths make you wince. Her jacket is thrown on haphazardly, wind flowing through the unzipped leather. You’re half surprised to find her shoes on the correct feet.

You sigh and step forward, so much for space. Your fingers pull her jacket tighter against her body, so you can easily thread the zipper closure together. “You’re gonna freeze.” You grumble. 

Her eyes trace your features, probing for information. You ignore her and focus on your task, battling with the zip when it protests, your brows furrowing and your lip stuck between your teeth as you concentrate. She’s silent the entire time, not using your momentary distraction to question you, which you’re grateful for. You glance up, breath catching in your lungs when you find deep brown eyes watching you closely.

You swallow and force your gaze back to the zipper, hands shaking slightly, which you hope she’ll attribute to the cold and not because her attention is making you flustered. With one final jiggle the zip detaches from the fabric and you manage to glide it up successfully. You release a satisfied sigh, stroking the zip flat before you step back. Emily’s eyes are already on your face when you lift your head, endlessly deep and caring, and causing an insecure laugh to bubble out of your throat. “What?” You croak, hoarsely. 

“Thank you.” She responds sincerely, brows furrowing just slightly. Like you’re a puzzle she’s still trying to understand. 

You wave your hand, tilting on your feet as your gaze skates away momentarily. “It’s cold.” You say. Which is as much of an explanation as it isn’t. 

She nods, her tongue running over her lip as she tilts her head. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Em,” You groan, shaking your head. 

“You’ve barely said a word tonight.” She shakes her head, the furrow of her brows deepening. “Something is up. Are the nightmares back?”

“No–Well yes– but that’s not it.” You stare at the woman watching you with caring, gentle, non-judgemental eyes, ready to help in any way she possibly could and you feel the overwhelming urge to stomp your feet and run away. “I’m not a victim!” You choke, emotions bubbling up your throat. “Please stop, please–” You shake your hands, “I need you of all people to not see me like one.”

She rears back, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open as unshed tears block your vision and words pour from your mouth. “I will never be able to express how deeply grateful I am for you. For everything you’ve done for me. And nothing I ever do will ever be enough to repay you. I owe you everything, Emily. But I can feel the way you’re watching me. I can feel your gentle kid gloves just waiting for me to break and I need you to understand that isn’t going to happen. I’m okay. I’m healing. I don’t want you to think–” You voice cracks, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. 

You wipe away your tears with cold fingers. The only noises in the air being the low whistle of the wind and your sniffles. The silence eats at you as you keep your gaze to the ground and continuously wipe away tears, too scared to see the mess you’d made. 

“I don’t see you as a victim.” She croaks. “I just didn’t want you to go through this alone.”

You look up at her through tear-stained lashes and your heart shatters at the sight of her lowered head and tense body. 

“You’re just always so gentle with me.” You respond lost and confused. 

She lifts her head, meeting your gaze for a second before looking away and releasing a wet laugh, pained and broken. The sound is like a dagger to your chest. “If I’d known you just thought this all was some quid-pro-quo, some debt you thought you had to pay off–” She shakes her head, stepping back. Your stomach twists. “It was never supposed to be that. I thought you...” She trails off, blinking away tears that barely have the chance to appear as her downturned lips and furrowed brow become more prominent. 

Her head tilts, lips tightening inwards. “So every kind thing you’ve done for me over the last few months? What? That’s just been your attempt at alleviating your own guilt?” 

Your eyes widen in horror, “No, wait, that’s not what I meant. It was never that–” 

Emily continues on with narrowed eyes, ignoring your protest, “I was treating you how I thought you deserved to be treated. It wasn’t gentle-kid gloves. If I thought you were going to break I’d tell you, I’d tell Hotch. I wouldn’t stand-by why you put yourself and everyone else in danger.” She shakes her head, a frustrated huff leaving her mouth as her eyes fix on a point above your head. “I was gentle with you because you’re an easy person to be gentle with when you’re not making me mad.” She chokes, a wave of emotions clogging her throat, tears you wished she’d trust you with again blinked away as the fight leaves her body. 

Your eyes burn in your attempt to hold back your own emotions. Breath stuck in your chest. “Emily, I promise you it was never that. Fuck, its just…” Your internal war with yourself spills outwards; hands shaking and half gasping breaths escaping your mouth as your lungs protest, “You saved my life, Emily. Like found me in hell, rescued me from a monster, and then continued to turn up everyday to make sure I didn’t sink into the dark, kind of saved my life. I could’ve drowned. I-I wanted to. But you were always there fighting for me when I didn’t have the energy to fight for myself.” Tears fill your eyes again, emotions choking you up. “And you’re right, it’s not a debt. But how am I meant to thank you enough for that? You mean so much to me.” You look away, blinking back tears, words and emotions clogging in your throat. 

“More than I should express.” You shake your head and release a wobbly breath. “ And I’ve gone about all of this the wrong way, and I’m sorry about that. Can we just forget tonight even happened? I think I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long week.” You beg, frantic to fix the mess you’d made and get back to before. 

She sighs into the cold night air and steps forward, “Come here.” She murmurs, gently grasping your arm and pulling you towards her. You stumble forwards into warm arms that wrap around your body holding you close as a new wave of tears threaten to make themselves known. It's easy to bury your head into her neck, to fist your hands into her back, to grip onto this woman you didn’t know what you’d do without. You inhale, allowing the comforting scent of her perfume to fill your senses and calm your system. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, words muffled by her neck. 

“It was never because I saw you as a victim,” She says gently, voice vibrating through your body, and despite everything, making your lips tilt up slightly. “There were no kid gloves. I was just doing my best to treat you how you deserve.”

You pull back slowly so you can lift your head, her arms dropping so they settle on your waist. Her gaze is stuck in the distance, jaw locked. You tenderly reach up to cup her jaw and her eyes fall closed at her contact, but you push forward, even as you hold your breath, gently running your thumb over tight soft skin. When she doesn’t protest or try to push you away, you slowly guide her face back to yours, continuing to stroke the skin and smiling slightly when she sinks into the contact. 

“Emily, open your eyes.”

Hesitant brown eyes flutter open, and you smile. Hope swarming in your chest again, this time not attached to denial and dread. 

“You are incredible.” 

She blinks, vulnerable. 

“And wonderful and smart and kind.” 

She attempts a smirk, defensive and flimsy, “You’re feeding my ego, be car-“ 

You place your finger over her lip, silencing her. Her eyes widen in surprise, her hands still sitting heavily on your waist, grounding you, a needed comfort. “Don’t joke. I’m serious. I’m so sorry for hurting you, Emily.” You sigh, deeply looking into her beautiful dark eyes. “You really have no idea how astonishing you are, do you?” 

Her lip falters under your finger, her eyes welling up slightly as a frustrated sigh leaves her mouth. “Fuck.” 

You pull your finger away, tracking her expression closely. Vulnerable eyes fighting some sort of battle, heaving breath, and pink cheeks. “Emi-”

Soft pillowy lips tenderly caress yours. And your body reacts instantly. Buzzing and stumbling forward into her as if pulled by a magnet. You don’t falter, sinking into her rhythm before she can pull away. Joy bubbles up in your chest, a smile you can’t contain spreading onto your lips as you kiss her back softly and thread your fingers through her hair. 

She pulls back just enough to catch your eye, a light laughter rippling from her chest. Happy, free. 

She places a kiss against your forehead and releases a relieved sigh. You can only hum in agreement. 

You both stand there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, protecting one another from the cold night air. For a moment, you no longer feel alone. Your lips still tingling from her kiss, a smile you can’t contain all over your face, and warm arms wrapped around you, filling your soul with a true sense of safety. You didn’t need anymore words, not right now. Not while time stands still and it’s just her and you. 

You were silly to put it down to her smile. It wasn’t the smile that was all-consuming, or maybe it was, but it was also just her. Plain and simple. Her. You didn’t need to dissect the parts of her because simply being in her presence left you feeling both breathless and safe. 

It was her. She was the art. 

She was everything. 

And it was going to be okay. 

You were both going to be okay. 

[myharkness]

𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐬 + 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧(𝐢𝐬𝐡) 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

A/N: bitch!reader, yay.

Emily swears she’s not a masochist… but the way she melts every time you say “God, you’re such a nerd” when she excitedly tells you about some obscure historical detail says otherwise. You roll your eyes every time she opens the door for you, muttering something like, “Wow. Chivalry really is undead.” And Emily just smiles like it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to her. You snatch her coffee and take the first sip every single time — without asking. “You’re welcome for making sure it's not poisoned.” Emily lets you. Every. Time. She even orders it the way you like it, just in case. She pretends to be offended when you correct her grammar mid-conversation. “It’s whom, Emily. Jesus.” And she goes, “God, you’re insufferable,” while mentally picking out engagement rings. When you poke at her for being dramatic — like when she pulls you behind her protectively in a parking lot — you whisper, “Relax, Lara Croft, it’s a squirrel.” She blushes. Still puts herself between you and the squirrel. You’ve changed her contact name to “Ma’am (Derogatory)” in your phone. She changed yours to “My Favorite Problem” with five red hearts. Sometimes you casually smack her ass when she walks past and say things like, “You’re lucky I love you.” She stumbles. Every time. Her brain short circuits. That’s her Roman Empire. Once you called her “my tall, brooding government-issued girlfriend” during brunch with Garcia. She still brings it up months later with this smug little smile. When she does something sweet — like leaving you a note or making you tea — you look at her and say, “You are so gross.” …while sipping the tea out of the mug she bought you that says “World’s Meanest Girlfriend.” But the second someone else tries to cross a line with her — even jokingly — you’re feral. “No one bullies Emily except me.” She’s so smug about it. She calls you “her guard dog” and gets that look in her eyes whenever you get possessive. And late at night, when you’re curled into her side and mumbling, “You’re still such a nerd,” as she kisses your shoulder, she’ll whisper: “I love you too, sweetheart.” She melts when you’re soft. Every once in a while, you surprise her with a gentle “you’re my favorite, you know that?” whispered against her shoulder. And she just melts. Like, full-body sigh, clutching your hand like she might float away otherwise. You kiss her just to shut her up. Mid-lecture. Mid-rant. Mid-sentence. You lean in with a smug smile and say, “God, you talk so much,” and kiss her stupid. She pretends to be annoyed, but pulls you back in every time. She never stands a chance. She's tough, sharp, sarcastic — and completely whipped. You’re a little menace in her life and she adores you with her whole heart. Even if you do keep calling her “Agent Buzzkill” in front of Hotch.

[myharkness]

✹ ── SOY CELOSA, LO SIENTO.

PAIRING : professor!lilia calderu x reader

CONTENT + WARNINGS : fem reader. legal age gap. power imbalance. jealousy and possessiveness. brief mention of vomiting. one use of y/n. pet names ( angel / little one / love / baby / dear ). biting and marking. mommy kink, reader calls lilia mamma. semi-public sex. fingering ( reader receiving ).

WORD COUNT : 3.6k

♪ favorite — isabel larosa

AO3 | MASTERLIST | C.AI BOT

Lilia Calderu, history professor — a highly respected and educated woman that treated her students with adequate respect and as her equals instead of inferiors, as many other professors at the college did. She never had any unrealistic expectations for her students, simply asking to receive the best they could do. Not too many rules either, but demanded that the few she had were to be thoroughly followed, punishing those who chose to disobey and ignore the kind-hearted warnings she gave when a rule was broken. Her gentle demeanor and method of teaching earned her a spot in the ranking of favorite teachers, but her ranking of favorite students was filled with only one person — you.

Your classmates weren't stupid, they were fully aware of the special treatment Ms. Calderu gave you and no one else. Those lingering glances and touches that lasted a bit longer than it would be appropriate for a professor to give their student, the adoring smiles being sent your way, and the way she allowed you to break the rules more often than the others. None of those things went unnoticed by the class, but you were simply too busy hanging onto every word that came out of the grey-haired woman’s mouth, standing at the front of the huge classroom, her voice the sweetest melody you’d ever heard as she talked about women’s history and rights with a passion that was beautifully inspiring.

Your usual warm smile was cruelly ripped away from you and turned into a bitter frown the day a new student was welcomed into the class and began to receive every bit of Lilia’s attention; the attention that had always been yours and no one else’s. It upset you greatly, the way the older woman barely acknowledged your presence, being too focused leaning over the new girl’s desk and explaining the lesson with gentle words.

When she called ‘angel’, that was the breaking point for you. Your jaw clenched and hands formed fists under your desk at the sound of your title being used on someone else. You were her little angel, she’d said once. The jealousy bubbling up inside of you within each infernal minute that went by was sickening, and you had to resist the urge to double over and vomit your feelings out all over the floor.

It’s not like you and Lilia even had something going on to begin with, and normally you would be ashamed of your behavior if you weren’t so enraged by the way your favorite person in the entire universe seemed to have forgotten about your existence as a whole. You were acting like a spoiled toddler that didn’t get what she wanted and you were well aware, but to pretend you weren’t affected by the situation was an arguably impossible challenge — one that you were losing and failing miserably at, unable to stop the uncharacteristically snarky remarks that left your mouth almost unwilling, retorting back to every little thing that came out of Lilia's mouth. The classroom was heavy with tension due to your behavior, shocking Lilia and your classmates, who were so used to seeing you looking at the wise woman with captivated heart eyes.

When class came to an end, Lilia dismissed everyone. As you began to stand up from your desk and gather your things, the usual warmth of her voice was missing as she called out to you. “Not so fast, Y/N. Your smartass stays behind.” Her tone of voice made it clear it wasn't a question — but an order that left no room for disobedience. You let out a huff and plopped back down onto the chair, crossing your arms in annoyance. Your eyes were unusually cold as you looked up at the professor, watching as she locked the door for privacy. Lilia’s own arms crossed over her chest as she slowly approached you with silent footsteps and a disapproving frown lingering on her lips.

“Mind to explain what the hell happened today, young lady?” She questioned, voice lower than usual, hands resting on your desk as she leaned over it, just a few inches away from you. “The little display of disrespect you showed during class is nothing like you. I need to say, disappointment is an understatement.” You felt insignificant, terribly small under her stern gaze. The words stung more than you’d like to admit, even though you knew you deserved it with the horrible way you were acting, especially towards the woman who gave you nothing but affection in its purest form.

“I’m surprised you even noticed. You seemed so concentrated on the new girl I thought you forgot about me.” The words dripped from your lips bitterly, the hint of jealousy not going unnoticed by Lilia, who simply narrowed her eyes and kept staring at you. It wasn’t like you, but at that moment, you hated Lilia — and hated the way your stomach fluttered as she scanned your face. How was she so attractive when angry?

She inched closer, a hand reaching to hold your chin between her fingers in a tight grip, the cold metal of her rings making you shiver. She doesn't speak at first, those wise brown eyes boring into yours as if reading your soul and seeing your entire life. Then she clicked her tongue, forcing your head back and eliciting a gasp from you from the roughness.

“Jealousy doesn't suit you, little one.” The huskiness of her voice made your thighs clench, heart beating insanely faster. “You know you’re my favorite, don’t you, angel?” As she questioned with raised brows, her piercing gaze was unwavering, never faltering from your flushed face, not even once.

It took a while for the words to come out of your mouth, voice trembling as you finally spoke. “You didn't even look at me today. Not until I started being a fucking asshole.” The shame, previously shielded by the immeasurable anger you felt only moments earlier, began to wash over you. Not only were you rude to Lilia, you did it in front of the entire class. As the realization finally hit you, no longer driven or blinded by rage, frustrated tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, a mixture of humiliation and genuine sadness over the feeling of rejection that Lilia’s actions inflicted on your confused little brain.

At the sight of your teary eyes and saddened face, everything Lilia could do was melt for you. You didn't even know the effect you had on the older woman, unknowingly stealing her heart and making it your own home — and she kept you there dearly, with no intention of kicking you out. Her frown deepened and a sigh fell from her lips, running her hand through her hair. She moved to stand next to you, hands carefully cradling your face and pulling you close. Almost automatically, your arms wrapped around her and you nuzzled her chest, hiding your face away from the world. Crystal tears streamed freely down your face, wetting the fabric of the professor’s silk shirt.

The sound of your small sobs filled the empty and otherwise quiet classroom, body softly shaking under Lilia’s gentle hands caressing your hair and back in complete silence, simply waiting for you to let it all out. She looked down at your crying form empathetically, heart clenching at the thought she was the one to make you feel like that — though not on purpose, she still felt horrible for hurting her special girl, the one who brightened her days even during the hardest of times.

You’re not sure how long you stayed in that position, but it sure felt like an eternity. Pulling away, you wiped your nose with the back of your hand and glanced down at the embarrassingly big wet patch on Lilia’s shirt. “I’m so sorry…” you whispered, slowly looking up to meet Lilia’s eyes.

She offered you a small, loving smile, nodding subtly. Hands moved to cup your tear stained face, thumbs gently caressing your rosy cheeks. “Don’t apologize, love.” The pet name forced a smile out of you, the usual sparkle returning to your eyes. “I’m sorry, hm? I didn’t think you’d be so upset. I’ll never ignore you again, okay? I promise.” She leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering against your skin for a bit longer than considered necessary — not that you would ever complain about it, obviously.

“Do you mean it?” God, you sounded pathetic, almost whiny. But Lilia loved it. She hummed and nodded, tilting your head up just the slightest bit.

“What can I do to prove how much I adore you with my whole heart, little one?” The question, spoken in a way that was seemingly innocent and genuine, was a stark contrast to the hungry look in her eyes. Desire was hiding beneath those orbs, and you weren’t sure if her pupils had dilated or if you were just imagining things.

You could feel the blood rushing to your face, the thumping of your heart loud against your ears. Your fingers held the fabric of her shirt firmly, hands shaking ever so slightly. Your lips parted, breath becoming ragged as you gathered the courage necessary to ask for what you wanted. Your mind was a mess, and it got even worse when the older woman leaned down just enough to trail her nose against your neck, the touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake.

“Make me yours.” Your voice trembled, hands working to pull her even closer. You were still sitting on the chair while Lilia’s standing form towered over you, forcing you to tip your head back to look at her properly. It made you look submissive, and the words slipping from your mouth only made you seem all more irresistible.

Before your brain could process the risky words that came out of your mouth, a firm hand wrapped around your waist with a possessiveness that made you drip. You gasped when you got pulled up to your feet and practically dragged to the professor’s desk, being lifted onto the surface with a strength you weren’t even aware Lilia possessed. Hands on your knees, she spread your legs apart and stood between them before moving to cup your face.

“Are you sure you want this, love? Because once I claim you as mine, there’s no going back. It’s forever, you hear me?” You nodded frantically at her words, hips subtly rolling against the air. The motion brought a side smirk to Lilia’s face, a breathy chuckle escaping her as she shook her head in amusement. “So desperate. For me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat and a strangled whine came out instead when the older woman cupped your pussy under your skirt. She groaned as her palm made contact with the damp fabric of your underwear, rubbing it teasingly. You let out a quiet moan when Lilia’s lips found your neck once more, tilting your head and granting her full access. She nipped and sucked, leaving open-mouthed kisses and hickeys all over the sensitive, shivering skin. Her hand never moved from your clothed cunt, not even for a split second. But it wasn't enough, not even close.

When you moved your hips against her hand, desperately seeking for friction, a yelp was forced out of you at the canine teeth sinking into your flesh out of nowhere. The bite was painful, but the discomfort was quickly replaced by pleasure. Your eyes fell closed at the unfamiliar, yet not at all unwelcomed, sensation, a hand flying to the back of Lilia’s head and pulling her impossibly closer. Needing, craving every inch of her. She trailed kisses up your neck and peppered your jaw with featherlight kisses before capturing your lips with her own in a frantic, passionate kiss.

It was sloppy and needy, all the pent-up desire and yearning being set free after months of being pushed away and hidden from the other. The groan she let out when you tugged at her bottom lip made a sense of pride wash over you — she needed you as much as you needed her, a concept you wouldn’t deem as possible even in your wildest dreams. But there she was, the hottest teacher you’d ever had, groping your chest over your shirt. Her tongue begged for entrance and you gladly complied, parting your lips. As the kiss deepened, you simultaneously let out soft moans and gasps against each other.

When you pulled away for air, panting and with dazed eyes, you barely had time to think about your next move as Lilia pushed your underwear to the side and began to rub your clit, with no barrier of fabric between you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sudden stimulation, hands moving to grip the edge of the desk tightly, until your knuckles turned white. “Fucking hell, baby, you’re soaking wet.” She muttered, eyes locked between your thighs where her hand was.

You nodded and hummed, the sound coming out more like a whimper. Then every movement stopped and your eyes snapped open, wide and desperate. Although slightly annoyed at the unwanted interruption, you watched Lilia fumbling with the buttons of your shirt and taking it off your shoulders. Your bra was unclasped with a soft click and thrown away, landing somewhere in the classroom — something for future you and Lilia to worry about. Your back arched when her hands got a hold of your breasts, kneading them gently.

You let out a loud moan when her lips wrapped around a nipple, the other being toyed with by her hand. She never looked away as she swirled and flicked her tongue against the hardened peak before switching to the other one. Soft noises escaped her now and then, but you were a mess, moaning at every little bit of stimulation she gave you. Your mind went blank when she went back to rubbing your clit and planted a few kisses on your chest before pulling back up to kiss you again.

You moaned shamelessly against the heated kiss, feeling the older woman’s fingers caressing your soaked folds and sending sparks of pleasure through your body. After breaking the kiss, she brought her own fingers to her lips and sucked the wetness off them. Her eyes closed and a moan escaped her at the taste of you. Your body trembled with excitement, legs unconsciously spreading wider and hips bucking against nothing.

“You’re so sweet, my dear.” She muttered, nose brushing against yours as her fingers returned to your pussy, delving deeper into the folds. “In every way possible.” She grinned at the breathless giggle you let out at the words, enjoying the way the sound turned into a moan full of lust when she pushed two fingers inside you. Your warmth welcomed her eagerly, inner walls pulsing around her digits, which she thrusted in and out slowly.

“Mamma…” The whiny word came out of your mouth before you could stop it, too turned on to think straight. Lilia’s eyes widened at the same time yours did, simultaneously realizing what you had called her. “Fuck, Lilia, I’m—” She didn’t let you finish, her free hand grasping your chin.

“Call me that again.” When you obeyed, the desperation audible in the moan she let out matched yours. The sound made your eyes widen further, and so did the third digit that was pushed inside you without a warning. She was so deep, the pace still arguably slow but hitting just the right spots. The grip she had on your chin was firm, almost bruising, eyes boring into yours with an intensity you’ve never seen in her before. “That’s right, angel. I’m your mamma, hm?”

You nodded pathetically, head falling back and pussy clenching around her digits. You hissed in pain; not from the fucking, but from the way your hands hurt from holding onto the desk for dear life. Lilia curled her fingers with every hard thrust she gave, gradually picking up the pace until you couldn’t stop the high pitched yelps falling from your lips each time she hit the spot that made you see stars. “So close, mamma! Harder, I—”

Your legs almost gave out beneath you as you suddenly got pulled off the desk. Your mind spun at the same time your body did, Lilia’s surprisingly strong grip harshly forcing you around, a hand on your back she pushed you forward, your upper body falling onto the harsh surface. The thrill of being bent over by your much older professor over her desk after class was immeasurable, a breathless chuckle escaping you as you looked over your shoulder. Your breath hitched at the grin she had on her lips — the most sinful thing you’d ever seen. You completely gave in to the intense pleasure you felt, cheek resting on the desk and a moan falling from parted lips as she began rolling her hips against you. You pushed back, ass grinding against her.

The fabric of your skirt was quickly hiked up around your waist, warm hands running up and down the soft flesh of your ass. She chuckled at the way you pushed back, leaning into the touch you were so needy for and begging for more — begging for anything and everything she was willing to give you. Her hands found your dripping cunt once more, realizing you’d gotten even wetter. She muttered something under her breath, something you were too dazed to comprehend, mercilessly pushing three fingers inside you.

Lilia’s experienced fingers seemed to have doubled their efforts, the pleasure becoming almost too much — keyword: almost. A hand snaked around your body to play with your tits, twisting the peaks and squeezing the plump flesh as she continued railing you. “You’re so tight, baby.” She whispered, leaning over your back with her breath fanning against your ear. “Like you were made for me.”

God, you were made for her. Completely and utterly, you were hers and no one else’s, always had been and would always be. The way no one, not even yourself, had ever managed to get you so close to orgasming as quickly as Lilia did only confirmed that theory. She whispered sweet things against your ear that fueled your pleasure, nibbling on your earlobe. “You’re getting even wetter, little one. Such a horny little thing, aren’t you?” She nagged, the tone of her voice almost mocking and the wicked grin on her face audible.

“Mamma, I’m gonna cum!” You cried out, feeling embarrassed at the drool dripping down your chin but unable to stop it. You tried your best to ignore the feeling Lilia’s desk was going to break from how hard you were clutching its edges. Your body rocked with the impact as her hips thrusted against you in time with her speedy fingers. Her hand slowly slid down your body, from your chest to your clit, harshly rubbing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves and sending shockwaves through your body. Your moans became louder and high pitched within every second that passed, bordering on pleasure filled screams as tears began to form on your eyes.

“Look at you, crying for mamma.” She cooed, feigning pity, but unable to hide the affection in her voice. Her nose trailed the same path as it did before, moving up and down your neck and sending delicious shivers down your spine. “Cum for me, my angel. Let me claim you as mine.”

The possessiveness mixed with gentleness of her words and written on her face drove you wild, more than enough to send you over the edge. Your face fell forward and buried itself in your folded arms over the desk, teeth sinking into your own flesh to muffle the sobs and whimpers dripping from your lips as you experienced the most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever had. You felt dizzy as your juices coated Lilia’s fingers, feeling her free hand tenderly caressing your waist as you rolled your hips weakly, completely spent.

Lilia peppered kisses on your bare shoulder and back, slowing down the movements of her fingers and only pulling out the moment you stopped moving and let out a whiny sigh, body going limp. She spun you around much more gently than she previously did, and brought her fingers to your lips. With half lidded eyes never looking away from hers, you took them into your mouth, humming with approval as you tasted yourself. Lilia watched you intently, biting her own lip.

“God, you don’t know what you do to me when you give me those puppy eyes.” She whispered, slowly removing her digits from your mouth, pupils dilating at the way you stuck your tongue out. “Or when you do that. Add it to the list.” With her hand now free from the evidence of your little activity, she hugged your waist and smiled — a genuine smile that carried all of the love she held for you.

You offered her the best smile you could, mind still clouded with the aftermath of your exploding orgasm. “I love you, Ms. Calderu.” You said weakly, arms wrapping around the grey-haired woman’s neck as you used her body to support your weakened and trembling form.

“It’s mamma to you, dear.” She joked, playfully poking your stomach. The smile on her face slowly faded and made way to a frown as she realized your upper body was still naked. Looking behind you, she caught a glimpse of the shirt, hanging off the desk and almost falling off, but the bra… She looked around the classroom. “Um—”

“We should leave it there to see who finds it.” You suggested, your voice sounding weirdly serious. You stifled a giggle by biting your lip at the way Lilia quickly turned around to face you with a dumbfounded look and raised eyebrows.

dividers made by cafekitsune

images found on pinterest

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[myharkness]

— HANDLING EMILY — e.prentiss x female reader

PREMISE: You’ve always teased Emily Prentiss about being older. About how you could handle a woman like her—experienced, commanding, devastating. But when she finally calls your bluff and takes you home, you learn exactly what it means to be at her mercy.

WARNINGS: legal age gap, oral, mentions of spit and swallowing spit, choking, scissoring, pussy slapping (once), dom!Emily, sub!reader, older!Emily, face riding, degradation, possessive behaviour, breast biting/marking, slight aftercare.

WORD COUNT: 3K

𓏲𝄢 find my masterlists

You said you could handle an older woman. Emily’s about to make you prove it.

You never meant for it to actually happen—not at first. The teasing started as harmless flirting, the kind of half-sarcastic sass you knew you could get away with when Emily would sit across from you in the bullpen, sipping her coffee, legs crossed, eyes sharp. You’d always toss something her way. A cheeky smile. A cocked eyebrow. “Sure you’re not too old to keep up with me?” Or, your personal favorite: “Bet you were a wild one in the ‘90s.”

She always gave it back just as hard. “Keep dreaming, rookie.” Or, more recently: “You wouldn’t last a minute with me.”

But god, what she didn’t know—what she probably knew, honestly—was that you weren’t just playing around. You had it bad. Hopeless crush, heart-racing-in-elevators bad. She was everything: the streak of silver in her hair, the worn leather jackets, that unreadable gaze she had when she was pissed off and trying not to show it. You’d lie awake some nights thinking about what it would feel like to belong to someone like her. To have her ruin you, command you. Praise you—or not.

So when she invited you over for “a drink” after the team closed a case, and you said yes with a grin too wide to be innocent… you kind of knew. You both did.

Her house smells like sandalwood and dark wine and something faintly smoky—like old books and danger. You pretend to admire the furniture, all dark woods and soft fabrics, while she watches you over the rim of her glass. Still in her work slacks and button-down, sleeves rolled to her forearms. Hair tied back, but loose enough to say I’ve been thinking about this too.

“You know,” you say, walking your fingers along the edge of her bookshelf, “I always figured you’d taste like scotch and sin.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And what do you taste like?”

You smile. “Come find out.”

That’s what does it.

In two strides she’s in front of you, her glass abandoned. She doesn’t kiss you yet—just presses you against the bookshelf with her body, one hand coming to rest lightly on your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just there.

Her voice is low and rough. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who blushes when I so much as look at you.”

Your heart is hammering. Your whole body is heat. “Maybe I blush because I like when you look at me.”

Emily chuckles—dark and amused, like she’s already decided how this night ends. “Is that right?”

Then her hand tightens—not painfully, but with purpose. Her palm wraps around your throat just firm enough that your breath hitches. Her thumb traces up under your jawline. Your knees go weak instantly. She tilts her head, eyes glittering. “You said you could handle an older woman,” she whispers, voice right against your lips. “Prove it.”

She pulls you in by the throat and kisses you like she’s claiming you—slow, deliberate, devastating. Her tongue invades your mouth with the kind of confidence only time and power can give a woman. You melt against her, moaning softly, already undone and still fully clothed.

When she steps back, her hand still holding you, she nods toward the living room.

“Strip for me.”

You hesitate for half a second—more out of awe than fear. Then, you start to move.

The fire’s burning low in the background, casting flickering gold across the walls. You make a show of it for her, because you want to. Because she’s watching you with that amused, unreadable expression like she’s deciding whether to ruin you slowly or all at once. You slide your shirt over your head, letting your fingertips trace your own stomach before unhooking your bra. You peel off your jeans, slow and sensual, keeping your eyes locked on hers.

She licks her bottom lip. “You’ve done this before.”

“Not for anyone like you,” you breathe.

Her smile darkens. “Damn right you haven’t.”

She comes to you again—pressing you down onto the couch, climbing over you like a wolf cornering its prey. Her hands move over your body like she owns it, mapping every inch. She pauses when her fingers slip between your thighs and find you soaked.

“Jesus. Look at you.” She pulls your legs apart with one hand and settles between them, kneeling on the rug. “You’re dripping. Just from a little choking and dirty talk?”

You whimper, embarrassed and turned on beyond words.

She slaps your thigh, just once. “Answer me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She groans at that—whether it’s from the title or the mess between your legs, you can’t tell. “Fuck, you are a good girl,” she mutters. “Let’s see how good.”

Then her mouth is on you.

She licks you like she’s savoring something rare and expensive, tongue slow and flat and devastating. She keeps eye contact as long as she can, even as your hips buck and your fingers dig into the cushions. Her tongue flicks your clit with maddening precision, alternating with deep, slow strokes that make your stomach clench. She moans against you—like you taste like sin. Like she’s been hungry for this.

Your pussy is swollen, glistening, and fully exposed under the flickering light. She spreads you wider, her thumbs keeping you open so she can lap at every part of you. She spits once—deliberately—and drags her tongue through the mess she’s made.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” she says, voice wrecked, breath hot. “So wet and needy. This what you’ve been thinking about while you’re sitting at your desk? Humping your thighs like a needy slut, pretending it wasn’t for me?”

You sob. “Yes, yes—Emily, please—”

“Ma’am.” Her voice cuts through the haze like a blade.

“Yes, ma’am,” you gasp, thighs shaking. “Please, I—I’m gonna—”

She pulls away just before you fall.

Cruel.

You whine, reaching for her, but she grips your throat again, pushing you back into the couch cushions.

“You don’t come,” she snarls. “Not until I say. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you whimper, every nerve lit up.

Her fingers replace her tongue—two of them sliding in to the knuckle while her mouth goes back to your clit. She pumps slowly, curling, hitting a spot that has your hips jerking with every thrust.

You're gone. Undone. A mess beneath her.

And you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

Emily watches you squirm—your legs trembling, pussy soaked, your whole body aching for the release she just denied. You’re flushed, panting, lips parted, caught in that blissful place between desperate and obedient.

She doesn’t ease up. Her fingers stay inside you, thrusting slow and deep, curling exactly where you need them, while her mouth toys with your clit in lazy, taunting licks. She knows what she’s doing. She’s watching the way your stomach tightens, the way your eyes flutter, how your hips fight to meet every thrust even though you're not allowed to come.

"You close again?" she asks, even though she already knows.

You nod frantically, mouth barely forming words. “Please, please—I can’t—I need to—”

Emily lifts her mouth, licks her lips, and gives you a low, almost mocking smile.

“Then come for me. Now.”

Her voice is like a spell. Your body obeys instantly.

It hits like a wave—sharp and hot and all-consuming. Your back arches off the couch, legs clenching around her shoulders, the pleasure wracking through you in relentless, shuddering pulses. You cry out, a broken, needy sound that makes her groan into you.

She doesn’t stop.

She fucks you through it, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, dragging out your orgasm until it blurs into something even messier, your body twitching from oversensitivity. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Your hands are gripping at nothing.

Finally—finally—she pulls back.

You’re left panting, dripping, thighs still twitching. Your pussy’s pink, puffy, still clenching from the aftershocks.

Emily brings her fingers to her mouth—slick and shiny—and licks them clean, one at a time. She moans at the taste, slow and deliberate.

“God,” she mutters, “you taste even better than I imagined.”

Then, without warning, she leans in and pinches your clit—sharp and fast.

You jolt. “F-fuck—Emily!”

Before you can recover, her palm slaps your pussy once—a wet, loud sting that makes your hips jerk and your eyes go wide.

She grins darkly. “Just making sure you remember who made you come like that.”

You’re still catching your breath when she moves up your body, climbing on top of you with the same effortless power that’s been driving you wild all night. Her mouth latches onto your breast without warning—hot, open-mouthed kisses that turn into biting. Her teeth graze your nipple, then she sucks hard, making you arch in a sharp mix of pain and pleasure.

“Sensitive?” she murmurs, eyes flicking up to watch your reaction. “Too fucking bad.”

She does it again. And again. Alternating sides, biting, sucking, marking you as thoroughly as she claimed your cunt. Your nipples throb, swollen and red, but you never ask her to stop. You don’t want her to.

You’re already shaking again when she finally pulls back.

Then she stands up.

And slowly—so slowly—she starts to undress.

The way she peels off her button-down is obscene. Her eyes never leave yours as she slides it from her shoulders, revealing toned arms, a black lace bra, and the kind of quiet confidence that makes your stomach flip. She undoes her belt next, tugging her slacks down over her hips—no underwear beneath.

Her body is stunning. Real. Experienced. Power and sex wrapped in one devastating package.

She unhooks her bra last, letting it fall to the floor, and tosses it aside like she already knows she won’t be needing it again tonight.

“Lie back,” she commands. “And keep your mouth open.”

You do.

She straddles the couch again, but this time it’s your face she’s hovering over.

You don’t even get a warning.

She grinds down onto you—wet, hot, already soaked—and grabs the back of your head, holding you in place. Her scent is intoxicating. You moan into her, tongue immediately finding her clit, licking her like you were born for it.

Emily groans—deep and raw—as she starts to move. Her hips roll against your face, using you like her own personal toy. You flick your tongue faster, sucking her clit when she rocks forward, flattening it when she tilts her hips back.

“Just like that,” she pants. “Fucking god, baby. Don’t stop.”

She leans back slightly, one hand in your hair, the other gripping the armrest for balance. Her thighs are tight around your head. Her moans grow louder, sharper, filthier.

“You love this, don’t you? Love being used like this—face full of my pussy, tongue fucking me like a desperate little whore.”

You moan in response, tongue plunging deeper, licking up every drop she gives you. She tastes incredible—musky, sweet, intense. You press your hands to her ass, pulling her down harder, letting her grind against your tongue however she wants.

Her movements get rougher, more erratic. She’s close.

“So fucking good,” she growls. “Gonna come all over your face, baby. Gonna soak you.”

And then she does.

Emily cries out, voice cracking, thighs trembling. She grinds down hard, riding your mouth through her orgasm, hips jerking with each wave. You drink her in, moaning into her cunt, loving every second of being her personal plaything.

She finally goes still—shaky, flushed, breathless—and looks down at you with a wicked smile.

“Now that’s how you prove you can handle an older woman.”

Emily’s still above you, her body glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling fast as she catches her breath. Her thighs are still slightly trembling where they straddled your face, but there’s a grin on her lips—feral, proud. You made her come. Hard. But she’s far from done.

She leans down, kissing you deeply, not caring that her own slick is still wet on your chin. If anything, it turns her on more. Her tongue pushes past your lips with purpose, tasting herself on you, groaning when you moan into her mouth. The kiss is messy, needy—more animal than anything else. It’s tongues and teeth and heat.

Then, without a word, she pulls you up into her lap—managing to keep control of the moment even as your legs wrap around her waist. Her hands are firm at your hips, guiding you as she lowers both of you onto the rug in front of the fireplace, the flames throwing flickering amber light across your skin.

She shifts, and suddenly her thigh presses between yours—and you realize what she’s doing. You gasp.

“Oh my god—Emily…”

She hushes you with a kiss to your throat. “You said you could take me,” she murmurs. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

She positions her legs, and yours, until your pussies align—slick, sensitive, bare skin pressed to bare skin. You both inhale sharply at the first touch—hot, swollen, aching.

You grind forward first. Tentative. Exploring.

Emily exhales, slow and low. “There you go. That’s it, baby.”

You keep moving—rubbing yourself against her, your soaked folds sliding against hers, clits brushing and catching, slick noises mixing with your broken gasps. Emily grabs your waist, meeting every grind with one of her own, panting, her eyes locked on yours.

You’re nose to nose. Chest to chest. Wet and wild and completely, deliciously lost in it.

She kisses you again—sloppier now, desperate—and as your moans tangle in each other's mouths, she reaches up and grabs your jaw, tilting your head back.

“Open your mouth.”

You do, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

She leans in, tongue barely out—and lets a thick strand of spit drip from her mouth into yours.

You swallow it without hesitation, moaning like it’s the filthiest, hottest thing in the world.

Emily’s eyes go dark.

“You really are my perfect little slut,” she breathes, before her hand wraps tight around your throat again. This time firmer. Possessive.

The pressure makes your vision blur around the edges, makes every rub of your body against hers so much more intense. She’s grinding up harder now—her hips relentless, chasing that edge again. And you’re right there with her, every nerve ending on fire, soaked and shaking and completely hers.

“Come with me,” she growls, tightening her hand just slightly as her pace quickens. “Let me feel you.”

Your body gives in first—heat rushing through you like a lightning strike, thighs trembling, pussy pulsing, mouth wide open but no sound coming out as you collapse into her. But Emily doesn’t stop. She thrusts against you one more time, lets out a choked groan, and her whole body stiffens beneath you as she comes with a low, breathless moan right into your neck.

You both stay there, tangled, gasping, foreheads pressed together.

Chest to chest.

Pussy to pussy.

Still pulsing.

Still connected.

Eventually, she loosens her grip on your throat and strokes your cheek instead, her thumb brushing gently across your lips.

“That,” she says, still catching her breath, “was only round one.”

And judging by the look in her eyes?

You believe her.

Even though her voice was still rough with dominance—“That was only round one”—her touch changes almost immediately afterward.

You’re still straddling her, still tangled up in heat and heartbeat and sweat, your body soft and pliant against hers, when she lets out a long breath. Her hand slips from your throat to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone with surprising gentleness.

“You okay?” she murmurs.

You nod, still dazed. “More than okay…”

Emily kisses your temple, slow and grounding. Then she lifts you carefully off her lap, guiding you down onto the rug beside her. You watch her body move as she stands—graceful, still naked, still so stunning it makes your throat tighten.

But this time, she’s not stalking. She’s not commanding.

She disappears down the hall for a minute. You hear a faucet running. When she comes back, she’s got a warm, damp towel in one hand and a softer look in her eyes.

“Don’t move.”

You don’t.

She kneels between your legs and begins to gently clean you up—slow strokes between your thighs, catching the mess of both your orgasms with careful precision. It should feel embarrassing, being spread out and wiped down like this—but somehow, with her, it doesn’t. It feels intimate. Reverent, even.

“You were incredible,” she says softly, pressing the towel against your inner thigh one last time. “You took everything I gave you.”

You look up at her, eyes hazy, lips parted. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

She smirks, but there’s warmth behind it now. “I know.”

She rises again and tosses the towel into a nearby hamper, then offers you her hand. You take it, and she pulls you up into her arms. She doesn’t bother redressing yet—just walks with you, skin to skin, back to the bedroom, where she peels back the covers and lets you climb in first.

Then she slips in beside you, spooning behind you, her arm wrapped firm and protective around your waist.

You’re sore. Spent. Blissed out. And entirely, completely hers.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you feel her mouth brush against the back of your shoulder, and you hear her whisper:

“Next time, I’m tying you up.”

And god help you—your exhausted body still shivers at the thought.

[myharkness]

She is like a cat in the dark and then she is to darkness

Emily Prentiss x reader

Nota do autor : If you’ve made it this far, this might be exactly what you needed – without wanting to sound pretentious. Read at your own risk. Comments are always welcome.

*****************

You could feel it—the eyes always burning into your back with every step you took. Whether you fixed your hair, yawned... It was strange, unsettling. Anyone would be on edge having the attention—albeit unintentional—of the woman who'd stirred up the most conflicting emotions in your entire life.

Emily fucking Prentiss. In full command of herself, she walked like the floor wasn’t worthy of her steps. The archetype of supreme power that made you tremble from head to toe, leaving only one coherent thought in your mind: complete obedience. Of course, S/N, always eager to help, the first to volunteer, constantly showing up in Garcia’s not-so-secret lair. Not that you didn’t dare go out on the field with the team—you’d been with the BAU for just over five months.

But ever since the last case—where the profile you drafted about the suspect, which no one had noticed, led to a quicker capture—you never forgot the words Ms. Prentiss had whispered, secretly, for no one else to hear: “Good girl.” And she looked at you like she could see your soul.

Fuck. For someone driven by validation, those words—almost immoral in their intimacy—completely rewired your brain chemistry.

The team had just returned from a case in Texas, after investigating a local drug trafficking ring. It was messy—seemed like the whole town knew the names, but no one was willing to risk their life over it. That’s exactly why the BAU gets called in.

Some think profilers are nothing but charlatans, but the craft lies exactly in reading between the lines, beyond what anyone’s willing to show. And that—ah, that only comes with practice and study. It’s the kind of job where each experience sharpens your skill even more.

Your mind was foggy. Now it was impossible not to associate the success of the case with the anticipation of looks, gestures, words that subtly confirmed just how well you’d done. The last time you craved something that badly was during your Psychology grad school, in a particular class where the professor—who radiated the energy of someone who’d cradle you and make you confess your darkest secrets—explained how gratification is tied to positive reinforcement within behavioral patterns. As if we’re propelled by pleasant stimuli following desirable behavior, increasing the likelihood of repeating it. That was exactly how you felt about your boss.

— Agents, her strong, commanding voice cuts through your thoughts.

— I know you’re all tired and just want to get out of here as soon as possible, but we still have work to do. I expect your reports on my desk before you leave. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.

She turns, and her silver hair moves with the subtle breeze in the hallway. You’d give anything to feel it between your fingers… To see it fall over her face while she’s on top of you…

— You heard your girl, S/N. Get to it, chérie... unless you plan to sleep here tonight, Garcia teases with a grin.

— She’s not my girl, Penelope, you mumble, the flush on your cheeks betraying you.

— Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart. Good luck with the paperwork.

And that’s your cue to bury your head into the desk, tuning everything else out, wishing you were anywhere else—anywhere but here.

time skip.

The floor was eerily quiet. The cold overhead lights cast elongated shadows across the empty corridors, and the sound of your steps echoed like you were trespassing a sacred place. It was past nine p.m.—everyone had already left.

Everyone except her.

The email notification still blinked on your screen: “S/N, when you finish, come to my office.” That was it. No period, no context. But it was enough. You couldn’t possibly ignore anything that came from her.

You took a deep breath before knocking on the half-open door.

— Ma’am? — you noticed she always swallowed hard when you called her that, but you couldn’t resist the way that innocent little word tasted on your tongue.

She was seated at her desk, blazer draped over the chair, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her once-flawless hair now fell more freely around her face—a softer look, yet still dangerously commanding. SHIT, that’s not even what made you hold your breath. It was those damn buttons—meticulously undone—offering a reserved glimpse, just enough to make you crave more, like a taste of life’s elixir you now couldn’t live without.

She raised her eyes from the report and gave a nod with her chin.

— Come in. Lock the door, please.

You walked toward your noose, slowly, never breaking eye contact. The kind of eye contact even madmen wouldn’t dare break.

Standing in front of her desk, you stopped.

She exhaled and stretched her fingers, looking at you as if she knew something you didn’t—as if she could truly read you from the inside out. And you wouldn’t doubt it.

— Sit down, she said, not loudly, but with enough firmness to make you obey without question.

The chair creaked softly as you sat. Your hands rested, restless, in your lap, and your heart beat far too loudly for a room so quiet. She didn’t speak. Just watched you for a time long enough to make you wonder if you were being tested.

— You know what intrigues me about you, agent? — her voice finally broke the silence, low, almost casual. A mischievous smile teased her lips. — That constant need to always be seeking something. That hunger, that... craving for... — she ran a hand through her hair with a resigned sound — Validation. You try to hide it, but... not very well, really.

You swallowed hard. Couldn’t hold her gaze for more than two seconds. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.

— But you know what? That’s also what makes you good. Maybe too good.

She smirked, and something in you melted—fear or desire, hard to tell. The room felt smaller now. Warmer. More suffocating.

— You should know that no one hides anything for long around here. And honestly, it’s almost admirable that you thought I wouldn’t notice your little inclination. I just needed time... to assess whether I was lucky enough to have your need for approval aimed at me.

— Tell me something: do you have issues with your mother... or is it just this thinly veiled urge to give up control? Be honest, doll. I can sniff out a lie from miles away.

The world stopped. Your breath was uneven, and a cold shiver sliced through your soul. It was the sensation of being questioned about things never spoken—not even to yourself. Truths buried deep in your subconscious, the stone in your shoe that keeps you from walking into the glory of the desire your body craves, cries for, needs.

It teetered on the edge of a panic attack, but it wasn’t one. You felt yourself slipping into subspace, being pulled by something invisible and inevitable. Your insides burned—on open flame. And your underwear was hopelessly ruined.

She, noticing your silence, your lack of reaction—as if the chaos inside hadn’t just been unleashed—just observed. You couldn’t tell if she realized the mess she’d made of you. She stood, carrying that arrogant energy that made your knees weak. Walked until she stood in front of you and grabbed your chin—not forcefully, a gentle touch, but devastating to your sanity.

— Doll... — you leaned in almost instinctively at her touch.

— Hmm... you murmured.

— E-mi-ly...

There it was.

— That’s what I’m talking about, she grinned wickedly, like she’d already won. — You melt in my hands, babygirl.

She gripped your hair, hard.

— Kneel for me, sweetheart. Would you do that?

— I’d do anything for you, Emily. — Your voice carried something pure, irrational, beyond the limits of acceptable desire and submission for someone.

And then you did it.

You knelt.

Accepted your rightful place—where you’d always belonged. Beneath her.

Bent to her will.

To Emily Prentiss.

If this was hell... then whatever came next would be child’s play to you.

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night

And wouldn't you love to love her?

Takes to the sky like a bird in flight

And who will be her lover?

All your life you've never seen

Woman taken by the wind

Religion may be the refuge of the weak—the presence of a God influencing every decision made by us, mere mortals. His omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient existence. That's exactly how I felt about Emily. Maybe I am weak? Or maybe it’s just a different perspective—the one where we’re self-aware enough to recognize what we need and go after it with every ounce of strength running through our blood. I wanted her, now and forever.

[myharkness]

14 from hydrangea and the “you should wear the red one tonight” where em’s painfully jealous that r is going but wants her to be happy, and r literally is only going bc em is avoiding making a move bc its “unprofessional”

I love it when they're down bad idiots >_< part of the 800 celebration!

Tags: jealous emily, idiots in love, reader gets all up in emily's face lol, uc emily

Word count: 0.7k

She just had to be here for this, didn’t she? Hip against the doorframe like she owns your damn house, arms crossed against her bruised heart as she watches you style your hair and muse over the multiple outfits you’d laid on your bed, indecision creasing your brow in a frown. Even half-ready, still dressed in your home clothes, you twist her stomach into nauseous knots. Emily digs her nails deep into her arm, trying to look away from the purse of your lips.

“You should wear the red one tonight.” She says when your silence lingers too long.

Your eyes flick up to hers, narrowing the slightest bit. 

What the fuck is she doing again? 

Emily clears her throat, “You look good in red.”

“You think?” You say, not bothering to hide the flatness of your tone. It pokes at her skin, razor sharp, drawing blood the same color of the fabric spread out over your sheets.

She hates this. She hates the glare in your eyes, the bitter poison on your tongue. Emily’s not fooling anyone. You both know what you’re doing; this endless game of cat and mouse, pushing and pulling—it’s gotten predictable. 

You’re her best friend. Her subordinate. Fire and gasoline, continually reignited and doused with water. 

She can’t control the flame now.

“Pretty enough for a guy from corporate,” you drawl, your voice dark with scorn. “But not for an ambassador’s daughter, right?”

Her heart jumps to her throat.

“It’s not that.”

“Not that, huh?” You scoff. “You can’t even give me a better excuse?” 

Emily’s neck heats, her shoulders pressing flat against the doorframe as you lessen the useless space she’d put between you. She holds her breath as you crowd against her, palpable anger and your familiar perfume heavy in her bloodstream. “What is it then, Emily? It can’t be work, can it?” Your volume drops. Her ears strain for your whisper. “I’ve seen you cozying up with Laura from the B team. Work didn’t seem too important then.”

Laura wasn’t anything. She was just stressed, overworked, tired of seeing nothing but a hopeless dead end when her eyes met yours. It was just a few hours, hardly a night; she left before the sun came up. What she did with her she couldn’t do with you.

“You’re a coward.”

Emily flinches. It doesn’t matter that you say it softly, the words caressing her skin. They lodge into her chest like a bullet.

“Be braver than me.” She wets her lips, already unraveling between your body and the wall. It never takes much with you. “Please.”

“So you can shut me down again?”

“I won’t. I won’t.” She breathes, her hand finding the nape of your neck. Your skin is fever-hot. “I can’t do this anymore. Seeing you like this, getting ready for someone else—” her head jerks, “it’s killing me.”

You’re unfazed as you press your hand to the wall behind her head. “And when you’re not seeing me like this?” You murmur. “What then? You’ll come back to your senses? Be the sensible Unit Chief who won’t stoop down low enough to fuck her subordinate?”

The words ring in her ears.

“Don’t, stop. You’re more than that.” There’s not enough air. Too much you. “You’re not just some fling I can forget about. People will talk.”

“You’ve never cared.”

“I do when it comes to you.” She slides her hand up, cups your cheek. “Baby, I’m just—”

“If you say you’re just trying to protect me, I swear to god, I’ll dropkick your ass.”

Emily’s smile is faint. Her hand finds the curve of your waist, her palm molding to its shape. “I love you.” She says softly.

You go still.

“I love you, and you’re right, I’m a coward. But”—she runs her tongue over her lip—“I’m trying to be brave. So I’ll kiss you. Okay?”

Your mouth opens, moves, but no sound comes out. Emily can feel the fast pace of your heart under her thumb, drumming through your warm skin. Her own heart picks up as your hand slides down to her shoulder, then up to the line of her jaw, your pupils blown. You clear your throat.

“Okay.” 

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco@jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz

[myharkness]

Billiards !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha Harkness x Fem!Avenger!reader

word count: 6,447

Content warnings: MDNI; jealous Agatha, established relationship, top!Dom!Agatha, bottom!Bratty!reader, ROUGH SMUT, heavy on the breeding kink, choking, magic strap, spit kink, bondage, squirting, controlled orgasm, dacryphilia (crying kink), tummy bulge, size kink, mommy kink, degradation kink, praise kink, impact play, mild intoxication, minimal use of 'y/n', soft Agatha at the end, AU nobody's dead

Summary: Agatha's birthday had never been a huge affair--until she became an Avenger. Now, she's celebrating at the biggest party ever thrown for her, and it's all thanks to you. But what happens when Tony makes a bet with you that he and Agatha can beat you and Nat at a heated game of billiards?

A/N: So I received a request for a breeding kink oneshot and then my tumblr was all fucked up and I had to delete the original post, so I lost the anon message. So, if you're the anon, here you go<3 I think this is the filthiest smut i've ever written BY FAR and also the longest oneshot I've written.  

I'm absolutely going to be making Avenger!Agatha a more frequent addition to my masterlist, so if you have any other ideas lmk! I have a little post here from a while ago about Agatha being an Avenger, so I'll probably be pulling more ideas from there!

And a huge shout out to the hotties of the Keeping Up With the Lesbihahns server! Thank you for being amazing human beings<3

The speakers vibrate with the bass of the song that blares from them. 

Across the room, Agatha laughs loudly and snorts before taking a sip of her drink–a ranch water on ice, garnished with a lime. You had been worried when she became an Avenger, not knowing how well she’d fit in, but now, after almost a year, you silently scold yourself. It took a bit of time for her to adjust, but she fits in perfectly, and in your one-hundred-sixteen years of knowing her, you had never seen her so happy.

Now, she celebrates her 353rd birthday at Avengers Tower. After everything you had been through together, from arguments that ended in you leaving, to finding her again and walking the Witches’ Road just a couple years ago, you never saw a future like this with her. But here you are, admiring her from the bar and blushing when she winks after catching you staring.

Having been out before the party, you never got a chance to see her after this morning, and you make your way over slowly. With a drink in hand, you weave through the maze of guests, stopping every so often to say hello and thank them and catch up. In fact, by the time you get to her, your drink is over halfway gone. 

“Hi,” she says, turning away from her previous conversation with that sly smirk that she seems to always have just for you. 

Her arm goes around your waist and you peck her on the lips, “Happy birthday! I feel like I haven’t seen you all day…”

“Mm, not true,” she says, taking a sip of  her drink and tightening her grip on you before she lowers her voice. “You saw me this morning and as I recall, it was quite pleasant.”

“Agatha Harkness!” you gasp, faltering into light laughter. “What is the matter with you?”

“There she is! The birthday girl!”

Just a bit away, Tony has his arms out wide, clearly in the beginning stages of inebriation. Agatha groans into her drink as he heads straight for you.

“Just sent Peter home and Wanda sent her kid with him too,” he says, drinking from glass. “I don’t know why I keep letting them attend these things.”

“What happened this time?” you ask.

Tony huffs, “Well, it’s getting late, and he and Billy tried to learn how to bartend…and subsequently dropped a $300 bottle of vodka.”

Your eyes widen and you smile when you see Natasha walking over. “Hey! Did you hear that Peter and Billy broke a $300 bottle of vodka?”

“Hear?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow and scoffing. “I watched it happen. Slipped right out of Parker’s small hands and landed right on the floor. Looked like he was about to shit bricks.”

Looking behind her, you notice that the billiards table is deserted and turn your head to look up at Agatha. “Would you care for a friendly game of pool, my love?”

“Friendly?” she says. “With how competitive you and I are? Nothing we play is ever ‘friendly’…but yes. I would love to.”

“Want to play?” you ask Tony and Nat. “Or are you too chicken from the last time Agatha kicked your ass, Tony?”

“Alright, fine,” he relents. “But let’s switch it up. Harkness, you’re with me.” At the table, he looks at you and Nat, clearly thinking. “Let’s make a wager. I bet a hundred bucks Harkness and I will kick your asses.”

Nat’s eyes widen and she scoffs, “Alright. You’re on.”

Beginning the game, Tony removes all but two of the balls from the table and you line them up on the head string. You retrieve the cues and hand one to Agatha to begin the lag, but she stops short.

“Wait,” she says, giving you a pointed look. “I know how you play. We need a referee.”

Nat glances around, holding tightly to her drink. The room is crowded and loud, but she manages to wave someone down. “Hey, Rogers!” she calls. “Come be our ref for the lag! This one here likes to cheat.”

Your jaw drops. “I do not like to cheat! Agatha is being dramatic!”

“Not what I remember from the last time we played Monopoly,” she mutters into her drink.

“I didn’t cheat,” you hiss. “You just kept landing on ‘Go to Jail’. And on top of that, you made a very bad investment by buying Park Place and Boardwalk! Everyone knows you don’t go for those! They’re a trap.”

“Alright, enough bickering,” Tony huffs. “But, Steve,” he adds, eyeing you, “keep an eye on her–actually, you know what? Keep an eye on both of them. Harkness cheats just as much.”

You down the rest of your drink, feeling it warm your insides. “I can’t do this without another drink, I’ll be back.” You see Agatha’s empty glass, asking if she wants another, and when she says yes, you dash, getting yourself an extra strong margarita and Agatha another ranch water, both with top-shelf tequila.

You hurry back with both drinks in hand, and when Agatha sees, she smiles as you hand her drink over. “There she is! What took you so long, hon? Planning out your cheating strategy?”

Before she can take her drink, you take it back and take a big sip. You look down and notice that a large lipstick stain has been left. You hum, shrugging your shoulders and giving her a coy smile, “Oops.”

Agatha purses her lips, but there’s an amused glint in her eyes and she takes a swig of her drink.

Setting your drinks aside, you stand to Agatha’s right, both of you lining your cues up with your respective lag balls. Steve stands close to the table with Tony and Nat, eyeing your cues carefully. And when you have them lined up, he starts to count down, “Alright, on three. One, two, three!”

With a light grip on your cue, you hit the ball softly, sending it to the footboard of the table. Agatha’s ball rolls next to yours, hitting the foot cushion just before yours. The five of you watch the two balls roll, your anxiety racing as Agatha’s hits the head cushion first and rolls back toward the head string, stopping a couple inches short. Your ball hits the cushion and rolls, just stopping short of Agatha’s lag ball.

You and Nat cheer, high fiving as Agatha groans. You give her a whiney pout with your best puppy eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Are you a sore loser?”

You can see Agatha trying not to smile and she just manages to suppress it, “Not at all,” she scoffs. “That was just the lag. Set up the other cue balls and take your shot so that Stark and I can win a hundred bucks from each of you.”

“You’re very confident tonight,” you laugh.

“Stop teasing,” she huffs. “It’s my birthday.”

“Are we placing bets now?” Steve asks casually, his hand in his pocket as he sips his drink. 

“A hundred dollars buy-in,” Tony responds. “You want in?”

“My bet is on these two,” Steve says, pointing to you and Nat.

“Oh, come on!” Tony scoffs. “Y/N is crap at billiards. The last time we played, she sent a ball off the table and Agatha ended up taking over!”

You giggle beside Agatha and Steve shrugs. “I dunno, I just got a feeling.” 

Nat removes the triangle and lines up her cue with the ball, aiming for the red 3 at the tip of the triangle. You stay by Agatha’s side, eyeing her from the side. “I better not hear any incantations from that mouth of yours,” you mumble.

“My lips are sealed,” she mutters back.

You hum, “They weren’t this morning.” And you can see her turn toward you and open her mouth in rebuttal, but Nat gets the 9 ball in on her first turn and you cheer. “Awesome, we’re stripes!” you smile, completely ignoring Agatha.

You step up with your cue, leaving Agatha with Tony and Steve. Lining up the cue with the white ball and aiming for the 14 ball, Nat leans over you.

Her left hand comes to your back and her right hand to yours, adjusting the position of the cue. “If you hold it like this,” she says, her voice low, “you’ll get a lot more control.”

You look across the table to where Agatha stands. She holds her drink tightly and her lips are puckered as you make eye contact. And when you grin, you watch her tongue poke the inside of her cheek. You’ve known her long enough now, that you know exactly what’s going on in her head.

You glance back at Nat and thank her for the advice before shooting the ball. The cue ball hits the 14 almost perfectly into the pocket and Nat replaces you with her turn. When you step back you look at Agatha and raise your eyebrows, shrugging your shoulders and grinning. You receive a slow shake of her head and a slight chuckle.

Nat misses her shot and Agatha steps up to take her place, eyeing the 3 ball and shooting it in the closest pocket. Tony takes his place now and lands the 7 ball in the pocket, letting Agatha take her turn again. 

As she lines her cue up with the ball, aiming for the 5 ball, Wanda enters the sidelines and is followed by two others–Thor and Loki. Wanda stands beside Nat who asks her if she wants in on the bet–to which Wanda agrees, placing a hundred on Agatha and Tony.

“I’ve seen how Y/N plays,” Wanda says. “My bet is on them.”

Nat purses her lips and sighs, looking you up and down from behind. “I dunno. She’s getting pretty good.”

Across the table, as you watch her with admiration, Agatha can see everything happening and her mind starts to cloud. She takes a deep breath and shoots, only to end up scratching the cue ball in the pocket across from it. “Dammit!”

“I’ll place a hundred on them,” Thor says, pointing at you and Nat.

Loki–who is clearly drunk–looks between the two teams, “I’ll place a hundred on Stark and Harkness.”

 You step up to the table and aim the cue ball for the 13, managing to ricochet it off a cushion and land it in the pocket. “You’re up, Romanov,” you say, eyeing Agatha with a sense of pride.

“Well, shit,” Wanda sighs. “Maybe I should’ve placed my money on you two.”

When Nat walks past you, her hand brushes against your waist. Agatha watches on, her nostrils flaring, but still remaining civil–but, God, is it hard when she’s watching you with Nat.

Nat manages to get the 10 ball into a pocket. Only the 12, 11, and 15 balls are left, and you manage to knock the 11 ball into the pocket fairly easily.

With a prideful grin, Natasha steps up again, looking between the 12, 15, and 8 balls. Three more. As she gears up to hit the 12 ball, Bruce and Clint have joined, watching intently.

Tony looks miserable, and his third drink is definitely hitting him, because when you miss your next shot at the 15 ball, he loses his balance briefly before stepping up.

“You haven’t won just yet,” he sighs, and knocks the 2 ball into a pocket. 

Agatha’s up again and she leans down, lining up the cue and carefully knocking the 6 ball into a pocket. Tony’s back up and once again successfully hits the 4 ball into a pocket, and when Agatha gets the 1 ball in, tensions rise.

There are three object balls on the pool table.

The 5 ball, the 15 ball, and the 8 ball.

They could easily win. If Tony gets the 5 ball in, all he has to do is knock the 8 ball into the pocket. Neither of them are in the most difficult positions, but being three, almost four, fairly strong drinks in, they could be at the edge of a pocket and he’d still miss.

Your heart races, and you can feel your face flush from the alcohol. Tony lines up his cue with the cue ball and…

He misses.

“Shit!” Agatha groans.

The ones who placed their bets on Tony and Agatha are looking sheepish now, and when Nat walks up to the table, she lines her cue up, draws it back, and shoots.

And the 15 ball goes right in.

Cheers from both sides erupt, some good, some bad. Murmurs bounce around, predictions shared, and you slowly walk up, cue stick in hand.

“You hustled us, didn’t you?” Tony sighs, rubbing his face tiredly.

You lean down to line your stick up with the cue ball. Your eyes go to Agatha and then you look directly at Tony with a shit-eating grin, “Yes, yes I did.”

You draw the stick back, focus on the cue ball, take a deep breath, and strike. The 8 ball rolls quickly…right into the back left pocket.

Tony’s head falls back while Agatha tries not to look so frustrated. As the other members of the team whoop or jeer (with Steve boasting that he knew it and was the first one to place a bet on you), Nat hugs you and Agatha struggles just a bit more to hide her emotions.

She chugs the rest of her drink and you mosey over with a sway in your hips and a smile on your lips. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Why don’t we get you another drink.”

You set the cue stick down on the table while the rest of the gathering either sits down or disperses to other conversations. Taking Agatha’s hand and your empty glass, you follow her to the bar. What follows is a third drink–her fourth–and then retiring to the wildly expensive sofas with your fourth drink around midnight.

Leaning against Agatha in your tipsy haze, you watch as the party guests slowly file out. You both nurse your drinks, talking quietly and soon having the other team members sitting down with you.

You all talk and laugh, sharing stories and adding in quips here and there. When your drink is finished and Agatha’s abandoned hers, you’re pulled even tighter into her side. You subtly look up and notice where her eye line is immediately–you knew it from the second you went to make your shot and Nat came up behind you. Agatha’s jealousy only got worse after that, and her eyes are narrowed at Nat, who seems completely oblivious to it.

Smiling, you know exactly how this will end. You kiss Agatha’s shoulder and then the hand that holds you close. Looking around, you see that there are very few guests left and most of them are at the bar. The music is quieter now, and the rest of the team is thoroughly immersed and distracted by a drunken game of gin rummy.

You lean in close to her ear and lower your voice, “I’m feeling a little…tired, do you want to go upstairs with me?”

Agatha says nothing and stands up, leans down to get her glass, knocks back the rest of her drink, and then takes your hand.

You giggle to yourself as you both rush off to the elevator. “Slow down,” you laugh. “I think I’ve crossed the threshold between tipsy and drunk.”

Once in the elevator, you’re pushed against the wall before you can press the button to your floor. Agatha presses it herself, huffing into your mouth. 

“I couldn’t stand watching her touch you like that,” she mutters, breathing heavily as her fingers thread through your hair. “Touching what’s mine…”

You kiss her and pull back, your noses pressing against each other. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re jealous.”

“Shut up,” she seethes, and kisses you hard. “God, I fucking love you.”

The doors on your floor open and you’re pushed out of the elevator. Agatha presses you against the wall, hovering over you as she devours your disheveled look–lipstick smudged, hair frizzy, it drives her crazy and she crashes into you again.

You both stumble to the door, refusing to let go of each other. When the door opens, it’s shut quickly after, with you slammed against it and Agatha’s hands slip under your shirt. You gasp when you feel her nails scrape down your torso, hands grasping her waist tightly as she maneuvers you around.

You’re both breathing heavily, faces flushed and lipstick ruined as her lips suck marks into your neck. “Wait, wait, wait,” you pant, your mind dazed. “Makeup–we should probably take off our makeup.” You slip from her grasp and toss her a look over your shoulder, “And then you can lay your claim on me…”

A fire flickers behind her eyes and she follows you into the ensuite bathroom. Through your intoxicated haze, you messily remove each other’s makeup, uncontrollably giggling as she tries to lay endless kisses on you.

“You taste like makeup wipes,” she hums, laughing and kissing you as the two of you stagger out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

“Mm, so do you, but don’t worry,” you breathe. “That’ll change soon.”

“You know…” she huffs. “I was thoroughly enjoying my birthday…” Her hand comes up to your chin, tilting your head back to look her in the eyes. “Especially the view from behind when you’d shoot during pool…” She takes a deep breath in, “Oh, I loved that…You know I loved that…Until that slut had her hands all over you…”

You glance down at her lips and then back up at her eyes, your hands running over her hips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Agatha chuckles darkly. She readjusts her hold on your chin to fully grip your jaw now, fingers digging into your cheeks. She towers over you, making you feel impossibly small as you crane your neck to look up at her. “You’re a big girl.” Her voice is low and gravelly, and it makes your knees weak. “You’re smarter than that. So, tell me, why did you let it happen, baby?”

You choose your next words carefully. You could deny the whole thing again, but you know you can do better, so instead, you say, “Because…I know how you are when you’re jealous…and I know how much it gets you worked up…and I want nothing more than for you to fuck me until I’m crying.”

The look in her eyes visibly changes to something darker. Her lips curl into a wicked smile, “God, you’re such a fucking slut…” Her eyes skim down your body and back up before she leans in close. “Get on your knees.”

“No.” The words tumble from your lips with no hesitation.

“I’m going to tell you one more time…and I’d think very carefully about how you'll respond,” she warns you. With each word, she gets closer to your lips. “Now…get…on…your knees.”

You look her in the eyes defiantly one more time before dropping to your knees slowly.

“Good,” she mutters. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

Agatha crosses the room to the walk-in closet where she remains inside for a short amount of time. When the door opens again, she stands there in nothing but a black lace bra, a satin robe, and…there it is.

She grins as she watches the expression on your face change to something that looks like you’re masking excitement. But it’s hard. It’s so fucking difficult, because every time she puts that strap on–the double ended one, the designated strap that means there’ll be magic involved–you can’t help but squirm.

“Someone’s excited,” she drawls, creeping closer. The mix of alcohol and lust makes your heart race as she gets nearer and nearer to you, before finally standing tall over you. Her hand comes to your hair, stroking it softly, and you can’t help but admire how she looks in this lighting–the dim glow of the bedroom lamps, the floor-to-ceiling windows that cast the white light of New York City into the room, the shadows on the left side of her face seem to sharpen all of her features.

The features that turn hard and dark as she scowls at you. 

“Suck,” she commands, her fingers twisting into your hair and jerking your head forward.

You look up at Agatha with wide eyes and lean forward. Slowly taking the strap in your hand, you can feel the light hum of magic and judging by her facial reaction, she can feel every brush of your fingers on the fake cock.

Your head feels light and airy as you take it in your mouth. She huffs, letting out a breathy laugh, “That’s it, baby. Suck Mommy’s cock like the good little slut you are.”

Her fingers tighten in your hair and start pushing your head forward. You feel tears flood your eyes and drool drip from your lip as you begin to choke on the fake dick. Above you, Agatha wears a wicked smile as she looks down. When the tears fall from your eyes, rolling down your flushed cheeks, she reaches down with one hand and wipes them away. “Aww, the poor baby,” she pouts. “Can’t even wrap your hand all the way around Mommy’s cock because it’s so big.”

She pulls your head back roughly and drops you like a rag doll. “Get on the bed.” You stand up and walk slowly over, only moving quicker when she comes up behind you and slaps your ass. “Faster,” she spits. 

She practically manhandles you when you get onto the bed, maneuvering you to the middle and giving you no chance to breathe before her lips are on yours again.  Her hand grips your jaw tightly, “You suck Mommy’s cock so well, you know that?”

“I do know that,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Someone’s full of herself tonight,” she says smugly. “You’re such a brat.”

You sigh as Agatha leans down to kiss you, “You love it.”

She hums against your lips. “I’d never admit it,” she mutters. 

“Who’s the brat now, Mommy?” you tease.

She pulls back and tightens her grip on your face. “Someone needs to fix that filthy mouth of yours,” she growls. “You don’t get to speak to me that way. Do you understand?”

Heat rushes straight to your core and you squirm beneath her, trying to hold back a drunken giggle.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing right now,” she says, shaking her head. “Things are only going to get much worse…but that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

You bite the inside of your lip, knowing that the look you give her when you do it drives her up the walls. Nodding your head, you let out a little, “Mhm.”

“You’re such a slut,” she sighs, shaking her head lightly. “Do you remember your safe word?” she asks, and when you say yes, she leans down, smiling softly. “Good…I love you.”

“I love you too,” you mutter back, receiving the softest kiss of the night so far.

When she sits back, all the warmth that was in her eyes when she kissed you has dissipated. “Now…what to do with you…” Her hands roam your body as she begins to slowly strip you of your black dress and pantyhose. “You’ve been such a brat all a week…teasing me during training–you know how I get when you wear those leggings.” Her voice, though syrupy sweet, is laced with venom. “And your hands when I was driving us home from dinner…” She clicks her tongue, “distracted driving…so dangerous. And now, on my birthday, letting Nat put her hands on you just so you’d get me wound up…” She raises her voice and the sweetness in her voice has gone. “Oh…you’ve been…Such. A bad. Girl…”

Agatha’s hands pull your legs apart roughly, fingers coming down to rub the gusset of your underwear. “Hmm…and look how worked up you’re getting from it.” She moves it aside and drags a finger up and down your slit. “So wet for me, baby. Did choking on Mommy’s cock really get you this turned on?”

The tip of her finger teases your entrance and goes back up to circle your clit. You let out a shuddering breath. “Yes,” you breathe

She hums. “So fucking filthy.” And without warning she tears your lace underwear, discarding them on the bed.

“Agatha!” you gasp. “Those were expensive!”

She shrugs nonchalantly and rubs the inside of your thighs, “Don’t worry about it, toots.” She leans down and kisses your torso, trailing them down to your thighs. “I’ll get you a new pair. I’ll get you ten new pairs. And each one will be sexier than the last.”

She dips her head and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit. She circles the tip of it over your clit before inching it down to your entrance and keeping it there as your head spins with pleasure. She moves it in and out, collecting every last drop of your arousal.

Agatha sits up and leans over you, her hand coming up to grab your jaw again. “Open your mouth.” You obey and she lets a slow string of her spit and your arousal drip into your mouth. “Good girls swallow,” she says, and you do exactly that. She smiles, but it’s condescending on every level. “There she is…What do you say?”

“That you no longer taste like makeup wipes,” you say with a mischievous look and anticipating the reaction that would come after.

Her eyes are the darkest you’ve seen them, but you don’t dwell on it for much longer because the slap that comes to your face is quick and sharp. Her hand grabs your jaw again and squeezes your cheeks hard enough that your lips pucker. “I give you exactly what you want, and you don’t even have the decency to say ‘thank you’.” She looks over your face and sneers. “You really are enjoying this, hm? I wonder how much you’d enjoy it if I edged you to the point of insanity.”

She laughs at the look of fear in your eyes when you realize she’s serious. Her hands grab your wrists and cross them, holding them over your head.

“Keep your hands there,” Agatha mutters dangerously. “Or I’ll tie them up.”

The words “Yes, mommy” are on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you push her to the edge, hands wriggling in her grasp. “If I were you, I’d tie them up.” Your eyes become soft and pleading. “You just fuck me so well, Mommy, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay still.”

Your words have a clear effect on her because she closes her eyes momentarily and steadies her breathing. She climbs off the bed, goes back to the walk-in closet, and returns with your favorite vibrator and the black satin restraints that you use more than you care to admit.

So much so, that you had six hooks installed–four in discrete areas of the bottom of the headboard and footboard, and two on either side of the bed frame, tucked underneath and out of sight. 

And after Agatha removes your bra, she utilizes them quickly. Your hands are tied together tightly above your head and she stands beside the bed, looking over you and thinking. “Hmm…Should I tie your legs up too? Completely bound while I fuck you, but never let you cum.”

Silently, she answers her own question and takes four more restraints, tying two to your ankles and the other two to your thighs. You couldn’t lie, you weren’t expecting it to go this far, but, god, you’re not complaining. Her fingers glide through your folds before landing a hard slap on your pussy.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me now?” she asks, face hovering over yours. 

“Maybe…” you sigh. 

“Maybe?” she repeats. “Well, hopefully, by the time you’re begging to cum, you’ll change your answer.”

She reaches for the vibrator, looking down at you like a predator with its prey. “I’m going to have so much fun with this,” she groans, turning the vibrator on to its lowest setting and pressing to your clit. As your back arches and your jaw drops, two fingers are slipped inside you easily.

Her fingers curl and speed up quickly, the sound of your wetness and your moans filling the room. You don’t think you’ve ever had an orgasm approach so quickly. 

“Agatha! I need–!” You choke on your words as you struggle against the restraints.

She stops her motions and the vibrator entirely, running her hands over spread thighs. “Still having fun?” she says, patronizing you.

You huff, keeping on your facade that’s quickly fading, “Yes, I am, actually.”

Agatha sees right through you, of course, and after giving you a few minutes to settle down, she turns the vibrator back on. She repeats this routine until you lose track in counting and you’re sobbing.

“You wanna cum?” she asks, pouting. When you nod your head and let out a strangled cry, she removes the vibrator and her fingers. “Oh, poor baby…I thought this is what you wanted, though?”

Your chest is heaving and tears blur your vision. You choke on your sobs through the most pleasurable pain you’ve ever experienced. “Mommy, please! Please, please, please!” you sob.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum,” she says, her hand wrapping around your throat. “You know that. So, I’ll ask you again. Are you going to be a good girl?”

You whimper beneath her, the tip of her strap grazing your clit as the pressure inside becomes unbearable. “Yes!” you say finally. “Yes, I’ll be good! I promise!”

“Will you use your manners?” she asks. “Say please and thank you? And take everything that I give you, and do everything I tell you?”

“Yes, Mommy!” you say, arching your back into her. “I’ll do anything, I promise! Please!”

Agatha hums and kisses you, trailing her lips to your cheeks and licking the tears from them. She sits back and slips her fingers back into your cunt with ease before turning the vibrator back on. You moan loudly, verging on a scream as your orgasm comes hurtling toward you. You cry and beg and plead for Agatha to let you cum, and finally, those words leave her mouth.

“Cum for Mommy, baby,” she tells you. “That’s it! Good girl!”

“Thank you!” you cry. “Thank you!”

Your body shakes and you scream as you gush all over her hand. She throws the vibrator aside, fucking you through your orgasm as you sob. “There she is! Good girl! Look at you!”

When you go limp, she leans over you, opening your mouth and sticking her middle and pointer fingers inside. You close your lips around them immediately, moaning at the taste of yourself. Agatha presses her fingers on your tongue, pushing them back far and fucking your mouth until you choke. When she pulls them out, spit following, she grabs your face hard and kisses you even harder. 

It all happens quickly. She sits up, not giving you a moment to recover, releases your legs from their bounds, throws her robe on the floor, and takes a pillow from behind you and places it under your hips. Her hands come under your knees, gripping your thighs and pushing them wide open. 

A loud moan escapes your throat as she slowly thrusts into you. “It’s too big!” you cry. “Agatha–”

“Ah, ah,” she tuts. “No complaining.” She softens her voice, comforting you with a hand over your stomach. “I know, baby. It’s bigger than usual, but you can take it.” When her hand presses down, she gasps and pulls it away. “Oh, look at that…so fucking big, you can see it peeking through…”

The feeling of magic buzzes through you faintly as she pulls out and pushes back in. Agatha’s head falls back and her eyes close as you clench around her. “Fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good.” 

Your arms strain against their restraints, desperate to get your hands on her as her hips speed up. The sound of skin slapping against skin reverberates around the room and she leans in close with her hand on your throat, squeezing lightly. You’re gasping into each other’s mouths, and just as you’re about to beg her to untie your hands, she reaches up and pulls the tail end of the ribbon.

Your hands claw at Agatha’s back, holding onto her tightly as you tremble beneath her. “Fuck, I want you to cum inside me,” you gasp. “Please!”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she huffs following it with a breathy chuckle. “You want me to fuck you so good that you end up pregnant. How fucking amazing would that be? Knowing I did that. You’d look so fucking beautiful, baby.” Her thrusts grow messier as she continues and you’re beginning to teeter on the brink of bliss. “Carrying our child, everybody–even that slut downstairs–knowing you’re taken–that you’re mine.”

You let out a strangled gasp and your hand slaps over your mouth, only for her to remove it and lace her fingers with yours. “Don’t cover your mouth, baby,” she says. “I want to hear everything. So, tell me, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” you seethe, your teeth clenching as you look up at her desperately. “Fuck, yes, I would! Cum inside me! I want to carry your baby, and I want everyone to know who I belong to! I’m yours! I’m fucking yours, Agatha! I love you so fucking much!”

“Then let’s fucking do it,” she breathes. “Let’s have a baby and let everyone know who you belong to.” She can see you struggling to hold on, to hold off finishing before her. But she forces you to look at her, and with a crazed, heated look in her eyes, she says, “Cum. Now. Cum for me.”

“Fuck! Thank you, Mommy!” you sob, shaking violently underneath her as you start to finish. You can feel her throb inside you and as you just get over the peak of your orgasm, you feel the warmth of her own spread through you. 

Agatha goes limp on top of you, a comforting weight as she presses soft kisses to your shoulder and neck. You’re both out of breath, but still, she kisses you on the lips tenderly and trails them from your cheeks to your ear.

“I love you,” she says softly. She sits up, pulling out slowly and removing the strap. After tossing it on the floor, she rests on top of you again, leaning on her elbow and supporting her head with her hand. “Thank you for a wonderful birthday,” she mutters, kissing you again. “But if that bitch ever touches you again, she’ll be a sacrifice at our next coven meeting.”

Agatha ends her threat with a boop to your nose, a smile, and then a kiss on your lips. You giggle into it, smiling against her lips, “Come on, let’s go take a bath.”

After helping each other out of bed, Agatha wraps her robe around herself and guides you to the bathroom with a hand on your back. As you prepare the bath, she cleans herself up and retrieves the towels, placing them on the towel warmer that you insisted your room have. 

She comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, lips brushing your ear. “I’m going to put some pants on and sneak downstairs to the kitchen to get us some wine and snacks. Would you like anything specific?”

“Oh, good,” you muse. “My drunken haze is starting to wear off, and I cannot have that.” You turn your head, giggling, “No, hon. It’s your birthday. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

“Well, technically it’s not my birthday anymore,” she mutters. “It’s almost three in the morning.”

“Go get the wine,” you say.

When she returns with the wine, two glasses, and crackers underneath her arm, she sighs. “Everyone’s gone and Gin Rummy lies abandoned on the coffee table.”

“Surprise, surprise,” you hum, taking the opened bottle from her hand and pouring yourself a glass. “Probably at Taco Bell. Now get in while it’s still hot.”

These are your favorite nights. The quiet ones. The ones spent in a hot bath and Agatha’s arms, with a glass of wine and snacks. Sure, you enjoyed the nights out and the parties, but these–when it's just the two of you–are your favorite.

You lean into Agatha’s touch, back against her chest as she wraps her arms around you. “Mm, don’t forget you owe me a hundred dollars.”

Her lips dip to the meeting place of your shoulder and neck, leaving soft kisses. “I think I just gave you something worth a lot more than a hundred dollars.”

You laugh at her response and turn partially in her arms to give her a proper kiss. “You’re right. Plenty of people would pay for that.”

She giggles into your neck, hands roaming your body in the water. Everything’s quiet and peaceful, perfect, but one question lingers in your mind.

“Agatha?” you say quietly. 

“Hm?”

“Um…” You try to think of the phrasing, not trying to sound too eager. “Were you serious when you said ‘let’s have a baby’?”

You feel her arms tighten and lips press to your neck. Her voice is quiet, “Do you want me to be serious?”

“I–Well–We’re not even married.” You try to reason, but it’s not with her. It’s with yourself, and your voice is tight, “But…Maybe…?”

“Remember when we had that tea party with Morgan a few months ago?” Agatha asks, and you nod. “That whole time I couldn’t stop looking at you–that silly tiara and those clip-on earrings, every time you made her laugh, played along and talked to her stuffed animals…” She sighs, “I just couldn’t stop thinking about how good of a mother you would make.”

You turn your head and look at her, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Really?”

She kisses you softly. “Really. You know, up until that day, I didn’t think I could love you any more than I already did. But when you sat down at that pink table with her, and you put on that ridiculous tiara, I was proven very wrong.” 

Her thumb wipes away a stray tear on your cheek as you sniffle, and she smiles softly when she says her next words, the arm around your waist tightening. “So, let’s get married, and we’ll see what the future has in store for us.”

[myharkness]

profesor wandanat x reader is so yummy 18+ under cut

Professor!Wanda who makes you sit in the front row from the very start, ignoring the way you blush

Professor!Natasha who doesn't care where you sit, as long as she can see you and you can see her.

They're both fond of calling you to office hours, especially Natasha, who has thicker walls and an office that's more hidden.

If you ever fail a test, neither of them will hesitate to bend you over their desk and spank your ass so hard you can't sit for a week.

"If you needed help studying then you should've asked," Wanda hissed in your ear, her front pressed against your back, "I'm dissapointed, you're supposed to be our smart girl."

But the aftercare that followed was the most amazing ever, filled with soft kisses peppered all over your face and words of reasurance.

"There's always next time. And we'll help you study, with certain...motivations of course."

Late nights at their house on the weekend, curled up on the couch as you study.

It starts innocent, until the two enter with wine glasses in their hands and sandwich you on the couch.

Wanda plucks the book out of your hands, despite your soft, whiney protest.

"Let's play a game, hm?" She hums, voice deceptively kind.

Wanda flips through the pages of the textbook as Natasha pulls you into her lap and you gasp as you feel the buldge of a strap.

The older red head shushes you when you squirm and try to turn around so you're straddling her.

"That's the reward," Natasha whispers in your ear, "Now focus on your studies. Pretend I'm not even here."

That instruction became increasingly harder as her hands wander along your thighs and up your shirt.

Wanda asks you questions, giving you a firm look when you stammer through an answer.

Then Natasha's hands dip below the waistband of your sweatpants and trace over your wet panties.

A low laugh echoes in your ear, "Our sweet girl is getting off on this."

All Wanda does is scoff and roll her eyes like she already knew that, which she probably did

The questions continue and so do Natasha's wandering touches until she's slowly fingering you into a fuzzy headspace.

Stammering through another answer you whimper softly, grinding on Natasha's fingers.

"Five more questions baby," Wanda chides softly, tapping your cheek to get your focus.

Those are the five hardest questions of your life, all coherent thoughts leaving your brain when Natasha touches your clit.

And her touches only get more and more pleasurable the longer you take to answer.

"Need to come," you whine at some point, squirming.

"Not until you're done," Natasha murmurs, stilling her fingers inside you for a moment, "Finish up."

Somehow, honestly you have no idea with how hazy your brain was, you manage to finish.

Then you get fucked into the mattress hard before Wanda eats you out until you can't breath anymore.

[myharkness]

Teasing

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Wc: 2.6k

Warnings: pure smut, mommy kink, scissoring, let me know if i should add more

Summary: Agatha was teasing you relentlessly for weeks, what happens when it affects her too??

A/N: this was made a looong time ago when i was drunk so sorry for any mistakes, and its all because i couldnt stop thinking about Agatha after reading LCM @lunargrrrl 🙂‍↕️...

Anyways enjoy this and pls dont be mad i disappeared for god knows how long from tumblr

You thought Agatha was joking at first. That it's just some stupid words. But the stupid words turned into weeks of her teasing you, without her needy hands fucking you. Oh my sweet baby, you tested my limits today. Let's see if you will still act this way if i don't touch you at all. Her words bounced around your head, echoing endlessly.

At the time you've thought that it was just empty promises, nothing more than a simple tease. Oh you were so, so wrong. You haven't caught the serious tone, or the glint of her eyes when she uttered these words. Agatha was keen on making her words come true.

It's close to three weeks since she have fucked you. Maybe bratting out to her wasn't a good idea after all. You've spent three grueling weeks without her touch, without her mouth on your body and it started to bother you. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that Agatha has been teasing you relentlessly everyday. The torturing varied depending on her mood. Sometimes it was her hand lingering for longer than it should when she moved past you in the kitchen, the other time it was her playfully slapping your ass when you were standing in the bathroom brushing your teeth. Either way it is too much for you to handle, your skin burning with her every touch.

But it started to affect her too. She was getting more handsy with each passing day. You could see it was breaking her as much as it did you. During the three weeks you had to endure, you could sometimes hear her ragged breath as she was muttering your name, touching herself to the thought of you. It was pure torture, listening to her, yet you knew that touching her was off limits as Agatha was set on making you as miserable as possible.

The witch was doing alright until one day, Agatha just snapped. She found you in your shared living room, playing games and talking with friends. She tugged your headset off and looked at you with a dangerous sparkle in your eyes.

“Hi sweetheart, are you busy?”

“Yes Aggie, sorry I'm playing with my friends.”

This should've been enough to keep her away, right? Turns out it was not nearly enough. She slowly came around the couch that you were sitting on. Her smirk widening as she sank to her knees before you.

“I think you should be busy with something else baby.”

If you weren't paying much attention to Agatha, then now you were. Her nimble fingers were undoing your jeans and her eyes were fixated on your centre. Agatha's every move was calculated, almost as if she was planning this all along.

“You think you can focus on your game while i fuck you sweetheart?”

You held your breath when you heard the words that left her mouth. She was eyeing you up and down, her gaze wandering all over your body and concentrating on what she wanted the most.

While you were busy cursing at the game, Agatha took off your pants gently, kissing on the now uncovered expanse of your thighs. You muted yourself to talk to the witch.

“Agatha, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I've decided that it's enough. I wanna fuck you. Hard.”

“No Agatha. I'm busy.”

The witch raised her brows in surprise. You were denying her?

“I know my love, but don't you want this too?”

The question hung in the air for a while, until you were ready to respond to her. She was eagerly waiting for your answer. Expecting a simple yes or a nod. But you haven't done any of that. Instead you focused on your game, craving for the victory royale you were so close to.

As her question lingered, it remained unanswered. Agatha started to nudge your bare thighs, kissing every now and then to grab your attention. But it didn't work on you. Your eyes were completely fixated on the screen of your shared TV not daring to look away for even a second.

“Baby, please… I want you so bad right now. Won't you do mommy a favour?”

Your cheeks flushed pink at the honorific that came out of Agatha's mouth, but you were still unwilling to succumb to her. She tried everything she could think of, kissing your thighs, playing with your biceps and yet it failed.

Annoyed you looked at witch's desperate state

“You went without touching me for almost three weeks. I’m sure you can go a few hours longer.”

If looks could kill, then you would be a dead man. Agatha stared daggers at you, but you didn't spare her even a glance. Annoyed at your antics she decided to take matters into her own hands. With your pants already off, Agatha took pleasure in touching you through your, now soaked, underwear.

“C'mon baby I know you want it as much as I do, hmm?”

Just as she thought that her pleas went unheard, you put your headset aside and leaned down to whisper.

“You've been teasing me for too long, you gotta beg for it now sugar”

Agatha's smirk was immediately wiped off of her face. Her eyes now full of yearning.

Witch’s hands trembled beside your body. Her mind was fighting the urge to beg you to give into her needs. It was a long battle that she lost. Her voice slightly trembled when she asked you.

“Please baby, I just wanna taste you. Wanna taste your pretty cunt.”

“Agatha I'm still playing-”

She cuts you off with a kiss, not letting you finish your sentence, kissing your lips with a newfound fire. You furiously drop your headset on the table in front of you. Agatha's hands are now wandering all over your body, as if she has never touched you before. You push her away quickly, shutting your console off, your gaze now solely focused on the mess of a girlfriend you had on your knees in front of you. Feeling annoyed at her actions, you grab her chin and force her to look at you.

“I thought all of the agonising teasing was just to break me… did you snap too Agatha?”

Agatha's voice faltered, unable to produce any coherent sound. Her mind was wilding with all the possibilities this interaction unlocked. You were never dominant in bed with her. Maybe, once in a blue moon, you made some demands. But you were never acting like that. It awoke something in the witch's mind. And she needed to get more of that.

“Oh my, did the all mighty Agatha Harkness go all submissive on me? Tell me baby, does this turn you on?”

Agatha was dumbfounded, reeling in the feeling of you being so dominant with her. Every fiber of her being radiated with a sudden urge to submit to you. To beg for your touch. Yet she didn't say anything.

You let go of her face and started to slowly undress yourself. As your pants were long gone, you started to unbutton your shirt slowly. The witch was having none of it, your buttons went flying as the older woman practically tore your shirt off.

“You're so eager, Aggie. Beg for it baby, beg for what you want so bad.”

Agatha's eyes sparkled wildly as she raked her brain for any sensible response. She tried hard, yet her only response was a low whine with a few words.

“Please baby, I fucking need you.”

“You have to do better than that to make me forgive you for all the teasing.”

Her mind blanked and suddenly all she could say was please, please, please.

“Fuck baby I need you, please-”

Agatha moved closer to you, her cunt covered by her attire started to grind on your boot. She was now mindlessly searching for pleasure, yet you moved yourself away from her.

“You beg so pretty for me, I think you deserve a treat, don't you think?”

“Yes- yes baby, yes I do.”

With that you pulled her in closer, her cunt already against your foot, rutting feverishly, chasing her high. You let her enjoy the moment but then you pulled her up, sitting her on your lap.

“Will you be a good girl for your baby and do what I say?”

The witch was so lost in it that she could only nod. After getting that response from her you started to undress her. Clothes went flying all across the living room. Poor woman's panties landed on the coffee table while the rest was discarded on the floor.

“You got so worked up from teasing me that you couldn't wait. You even let me take control, that's so brave of you honey”

You helped move on your lap, grinding her hard just how she likes it. The whimpers that came out of her mouth were like honey to your ears.

“Stop fucking playing with me and fuck me already…”

Agatha was impatient now. Her clit against your thigh was nothing compared to what your fingers could do. She imagined herself bent over the couch with you slamming your digits inside her, without giving her a single break.

“I'm done playing- a-ah- the submissive o-one. Fuck mommy properly. Put your fingers i-in me-”

And who were you to deny her? You enjoyed the switch of the dynamic. Usually you were the one begging, but now, seeing Agatha on your lap, grinding sloppily, fueled something inside you. Now you were as desperate as the woman in front of you. Flipping your position, you put her underneath you, her face pressed into the beige pillows that adorned your couch.

Your hands traveled on the expanse of her bare back, making Agatha shiver against your touch. She was unusually quiet, but that was until your fingers grazed the entrance of her needy hole that was now dripping with need.

“Fuck- Put it in me- now”

You tease her cunt for a little bit, gathering her wetness, when you entered her without warning. The moan that got stuck in her throat made you painfully aware of the wetness that was slowly seeping through your underwear. Instead of putting your other hand on your girlfriend's body you slipped it inside your purple underwear.

“A-ah- sweetheart- more. I need more-”

Attacking her neck you entered another finger into her, stretching Agatha out. She was now bouncing on your hand. You left purple bruises along her neck and her back. The witch was now moaning under you, getting what she wanted. The fingers were not feeling good enough on your cunt, so you urged your girlfriend off of the couch.

“Get off right now- I need you to eat me out.”

“And I thought I was the needy one”

Quickly you shut her up with a kiss. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, swallowing eachothers moans. You broke it off and pushed Agatha down to her knees. She obeyed without protest and with a swipe of your panties to the side, she started to eat you out.

Her tongue felt hot on your cunt. Licking and reaching all the good spots. After the weeks of teasing and celibate, you already felt like cumming.

“Mommy- fuck- your mouth feels so good on me-”

“You taste so good sweetheart, I could stay between your thighs forever.”

You only nodded, pulling Agatha closer, practically suffocating her. But she didn't mind. For all she cared she could pass out and still be happy that she made you feel good.

Agatha's orgasm was long forgotten as she focused solely on you. She frantically grabbed your thighs, desperate to make you come undone on her face. The slight tremble in your legs gave away what's about to happen. You were close. Painfully so.

“Agatha please- I'm close-”

“Come on baby give it to me… Soak my face.”

And that's what you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, making you shake uncontrollably. Agatha's smirk widened between your thighs. Her hands left your body to wipe the remnants of her juices from her face.

“Fuck- Agatha..”

You throw your head back, closing your eyes for a second.

“It was supposed to be the other way around. Come here it's your turn now”

“You don't have t-”

“Oh but I do, you were so close, weren't you Aggie?”

You mumbled the words near her ear as you put her back on the couch. The older woman wanted to protest, putting her hand on your shoulders in a last attempt to change your mind. It didn't work. You swiftly put the witch's hands above her head and got to work your way down her body.

“Sorry for being so selfish earlier-”

You said between kisses that you were now leaving on her neck

“-but it was not my fault that I was so worked up.”

Agatha's arousal was ever apparent, her juices leaking onto the couch. She was squirming, itching for more. So you delivered. You moved your feverish kisses down to her breasts, paying your utmost attention to her pebbled nipples.

“A-ah- baby they are sensitive-”

Agatha whined and it only earned a feral smirk from you. Every sound she made under your ministrations spurred you on further. She looked so ethereal underneath you. Wild hair splayed on the cushions, pale skin glowing with sweat and remnants of your own orgasm. It's truly a sight to see.

You got stuck in your own head, never stopping the sucking and biting on Agatha's boobs. You snapped out of it after one particularly hard suck made your girlfriend moan loudly.

“Fucking touch me properly or I'm going to explode-”

Agatha was getting impatient. Her hips rutted upwards looking for any type of friction to get herself off, with no effect.

You didn't say anything, instead you pressed your pussy against hers. The older woman's eyes rolled back into her skull, the pleasure taking over her senses.

“Is this enough for you mommy? Or do I need to continue playing with your tits too?”

Agatha was at loss for words. Every coherent thought left her body a long time ago. Now the only thing she could focus on is how good you felt on top of her. She was never one to come quickly, but with your pussy on hers and your mouth working miracles on her chest, she was sure she wouldn't last long.

You on the other hand weren't that far from another orgasm. Even if you just came down from one, the overwhelming feeling of Agatha's body made the coil in your abdomen tighten again, threatening to snap.

“You feel so good Aggie… wanna come with you.”

“Yes- fuck yes- I wanna come with you too-”

With that you rutted your hips into her with newfound power. Your juices mixing together, the movements making squelching sounds that echoed through the room making you hungry for her release.

Agatha's thighs started to twitch, she was getting so close. And so were you, your hips stuttering, losing their rhythm as both of your orgasms approached quickly.

“Fuck- Aggie- come with me, please-”

Your girlfriend didn't respond, instead she let out a near pornographic moan as she came, pushing you over the edge. You collapsed on top of her, snuggling into her and leaving small kisses on her neck.

“Honey- Shit- that was so good. I don't think I've ever came this hard”

Agatha says, chuckling a little bit.

“If I knew that teasing you would bring results like that I would've started earlier.”

You playfully hit her on her shoulder as Agatha is laughing, her voice full of amusement. Nuzzling even closer to her, you muttered near her ear.

“Don't you EVER tease me like that ever again or I'll fuck the shit out of you befor that even happens.”

“Oh don't threaten me with a good time, baby.”

Defeated, you don't say anything else to your girlfriend. Closing your eyes, you dozed off, while Agatha mindlessly drew patterns in your lower back.