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d-z20 · 15 days ago

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A Risk of Ruin (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: At a lavish black-tie gala, Agatha teases you relentlessly before leading you to a secluded room overlooking the party. With the ever-present risk of being discovered heightening the tension, what begins as playful flirting quickly turns into a heated, intimate encounter.

-OR-

Agatha's too horny to wait until you get home so finds a semi-hidden place to fuck you at the party

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, Top Agatha, feminine reader, small bit of degradation and praise, semi-public sex, smut obvi, kind of possessive Agatha she wants to get caught

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Let's pretend that Agatha's outfit would actually be allowed at a black-tie event okay? Read the request

AO3 | Masterlist

The grand ballroom is a masterpiece of extravagance; every inch of it designed to impress. Glittering crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, their light refracting over marble floors and gilded accents. Servers weave expertly through clusters of finely dressed guests, trays balanced with champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres. It’s the annual gala for one of the most prestigious foundations in the city—a celebration of opulence and power.

Agatha had insisted you come as her date, brushing aside your hesitation about not fitting into her world. Now, standing next to her, you realise you needn’t have worried. Dressed in a striking black suit that hugs her frame perfectly, paired with an understated black bralette visible beneath the lapels, she looks every bit the powerhouse.

You, on the other hand, had spent far too much time agonising over your own look. But the moment Agatha saw you in your sparkling black gown, its high slit teasing the curve of your exposed thigh, she had whispered something sinful in your ear that left no doubt about her approval. The heat of her breath on your skin and the dark promise in her words still linger, making your heart flutter every time you replay the moment in your mind.

The evening begins smoothly enough. Agatha is a natural in these circles, effortlessly charming the other guests while keeping you close at her side. Her hand frequently finds the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd as she introduces you to various city officials. Every glance she casts your way, full of quiet possession and smouldering admiration, leaves you feeling flushed.

By the time the two of you make it to the bar, you’re desperate for a moment to collect yourself. She has been teasing you all night—an intentional brush of her fingertips along your arm here, a low murmur against your ear there. You’re so flustered, you barely taste the champagne she hands you.

"Excuse me for a moment," you manage, your voice shaky. Agatha’s eyes flick over you, her lips curving in a knowing smirk. She makes no move to stop you, but you can feel her gaze follow you as you make your way to the restroom.

The powder room is as opulent as the rest of the venue, complete with gleaming countertops, a marble basin, and a uniformed attendant stationed by the door. You offer a polite nod to the woman and make your way to the sink, grateful for the momentary reprieve from Agatha’s intoxicating presence.

Taking one of the pristine white towels on the counter, you run it under cold water before wringing it out carefully. The cool fabric feels heavenly as you press it to your wrists, then dab it lightly against your neck and chest. You’re mindful of your makeup, ensuring none of the effort you’ve put into tonight’s look is ruined. But even with the cooling touch of the water, your thoughts are still clouded by Agatha—her scent, her touch, the commanding way she has been looking at you all night.

"Need any assistance, miss?" the attendant asks softly, her voice smooth and professional.

"No, thank you," you reply, offering a polite smile. You exhale deeply, bracing your hands on the counter for a moment. Get it together.

When you finally feel composed enough to return, Agatha is waiting for you just outside the powder room. She leans against the wall, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a champagne flute. The sight of her nearly undoes all your efforts to cool off. Her dark hair frames her face in soft waves, and her suit—tailored to perfection—emphasises her every movement as she turns to look at you.

"You disappeared on me," she teases, stepping closer. Her free hand comes up to rest on your waist, her thumb brushing against the fabric of your gown just below your ribs. Her voice is low and sultry. "Couldn’t handle being around me, hmm?"

"Not everything is about you," you reply, though the breathlessness in your tone betrays you.

"Oh, but this is," she says, her lips curving into a wicked smile. Her gaze drops, lingering on the slit in your gown, and you feel her fingers skim the bare skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you, every nerve in your body sparking to life at her touch. "Let’s find somewhere a little less... crowded."

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Agatha’s hand is in yours, her grip firm yet unhurried. With practiced ease, she guides you through a side corridor and up a discreet staircase, her confident stride giving you little choice but to follow. Moments later, she leads you into a small, lavishly decorated antechamber.

The space is secluded but far from silent. It overlooks the grand ballroom below, the gilded railing framing the glittering crowd like a painting. From this height, the noise of the party seems amplified—the cheerful hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the swell of orchestral music blending together in an intoxicating symphony. It’s a stark reminder that the two of you are just one careless sound away from discovery.The risk sends a thrill rushing through you, your skin buzzing with anticipation as Agatha closes the door softly behind her.

When she turns to face you, the look in her eyes steals your breath. There’s a smouldering hunger there, barely restrained, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breath quickening as her gaze pins you in place.

“Now,” she purrs, stepping closer, her hands settling on your waist as she backs you gently against the wall. Her lips curl into a wicked smile. “Where were we?”

Agatha doesn’t wait for an answer. The thrill of the noise from the ballroom below, the ever-present risk of being overheard, seems to only excite her more. Her hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against her body as she claims your lips in a searing kiss. Her dominance is undeniable, the sharp nip at your bottom lip drawing a soft gasp from you that she swallows with a low, pleased hum. The taste of her is dizzying, the kiss consuming, as if she’s determined to leave her mark on you in every possible way.

"Careful, darling," she murmurs against your lips, her tone dripping with amusement. "We wouldn’t want to give the partygoers below a show, would we?"

Her hands begin to roam, one trailing up your back to tangle in your hair while the other slides down to the slit in your gown. Her fingers brush against your exposed thigh, sending sparks through your entire body. Your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your belly as her fingertips blaze a path across your skin.

“You’re breathtaking tonight,” she says, her voice low and husky. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all evening? This dress…” She punctuates her words by pushing the fabric aside slightly, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above your knee. The deliberate slowness of her movements leaves you squirming, your body aching for more. “...is a masterpiece, but it’s been driving me insane.”

Your breath hitches as her fingers travel higher, her touch deliberate and maddeningly slow. The cool night air from the balcony kisses your skin where her hands expose it, heightening every sensation. She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Be quiet for me,” she whispers, her voice dark and commanding. “Think you can manage that?”

You nod; your words caught somewhere in your throat. The command sends a jolt of desire through you, your body tightening at the intensity in her voice.

Agatha rewards your compliance with a wicked smile, her lips claiming yours again as her hand moves higher. She slides her thigh between your legs, her movements calculated and precise, as if she knows exactly how to drive you wild without uttering a word.

Her fingers brush over your bare skin, and she pauses, a low chuckle escaping her lips. "No underwear?" she purrs, her voice thick with amusement. "How typical of you... so eager, so ready to be touched." The comment makes you arch into her subconsciously—a soft whimper escaping your lips as heat pools between your thighs, your body responding involuntarily to her words.

Before you can gather yourself, Agatha presses her lips to your ear, her breath hot and teasing as she whispers, "You’re desperate, aren’t you?" The tip of her finger traces slow, teasing circles, making your breath catch. You feel your pulse quicken, the anticipation of her touch building, and the friction of her finger grazing your clit leaves you weak at the knees.

The first stroke of her fingers through your folds has you clutching at her suit jacket for support, your legs threatening to give way. She chuckles softly, her lips moving to your neck as she sets a torturously slow rhythm. Every motion is designed to unravel you, and she watches your every reaction with a predatory gaze, savouring the way your body responds to her touch.

As you moan softly, Agatha pulls away from your neck, her gaze sharp and commanding. "Shh, doll," she whispers, her voice a dangerous mix of affection and control. "You need to be quieter for me, understand?" She strokes your cheek lightly, the touch almost tender, before her hands move lower once more, continuing their slow, deliberate rhythm.

The heat pooling in your core intensifies as her fingers tease you, sliding through your slickness with agonising precision. You squirm under her touch, your hips shifting instinctively to chase the pressure you so desperately need, but Agatha is unrelenting—keeping her rhythm excruciatingly slow.

A wicked smirk plays on her lips as she tilts her head, her voice a low murmur. “Are you that desperate already?”

Her words are a dark caress, and when her thumb finally brushes over your clit, it sends a jolt of electricity through you, your knees nearly buckling as a strangled gasp slips from your lips.

"Look at you," she murmurs against your skin, her voice thick with desire. "So perfect, so sensitive... I could keep you like this all night."

You whimper softly, your grip tightening on her as her pace increases. The muffled sounds of the party below only add to the thrill of the moment, the constant threat of being overheard making it impossible to think clearly. All you can focus on is Agatha—her hands, her lips, her voice.

Agatha's fingers never falter, each stroke purposeful, her rhythm teasingly slow. “You like this, don’t you, doll?” she purrs, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction as her teeth graze the sensitive spot on your neck. “You’re such a mess for me already, and we’ve only just begun.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body trembling against hers, but Agatha isn’t done with you yet. With a devilish hum, she shifts, pressing her thigh more firmly between your legs, pinning you harder against the wall. “There, that’s better,” she murmurs, her free hand snaking up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so she can drink in every reaction. “Eyes on me, darling. I want to see everything.”

Her command sends a shiver down your spine, and when your gaze meets hers—those dark, hungry eyes fixed on you—it feels impossible to look away. Agatha smirks at the heat flooding your expression, her thumb brushing your bottom lip as her fingers continue their torturous work. “So beautiful when you’re falling apart for me,” she croons, the praise laced with just enough teasing to make your cheeks burn.

Your hips buck instinctively, chasing her touch, desperate for more, but Agatha only slows her pace, her movements maddeningly deliberate. “Oh no, doll,” she murmurs, clicking her tongue in mock admonishment. “Don’t get greedy. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the word tumbling from your lips before you can stop it.

“Good girl,” she praises, her smile downright wicked as she rewards your obedience with a firmer, faster rhythm. Your head tips back against the wall, a strangled moan escaping you before you can stop it.

Agatha stills immediately, her hand leaving you aching and empty as she grips your chin, forcing your head upright to meet her gaze again. “What did I say about being quiet?” she chides softly, though the dark edge in her voice betrays just how much the sound excites her. “Do you want everyone down there to know how filthy you are being for me?”

You shake your head quickly, swallowing hard as you bite down on your lip to stifle another sound. Agatha grins, clearly satisfied by your submission, and leans in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “That’s better. I knew you could behave for me.”

you with a practiced confidence that leaves you trembling. Each touch is deliberate, calculated—her fingertips sliding through your slickness with maddening precision before circling back to tease your clit. Her movements are agonisingly slow, designed to keep you teetering on the edge, and it works. Your breathing grows uneven, with shallow gasps escaping as the tension coiling in your core tightens with every passing second.

"Look at you," she murmurs, her voice a dark, velvety caress. "Falling apart so easily."

Her words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, and when her thumb presses more firmly against your clit, a loud whimper slips past your lips. Agatha chuckles softly, the sound low and predatory, her breath ghosting over your ear. "Careful, darling," she warns, though there’s a note of amusement in her tone. "I told you to be quiet."

Her free hand snakes up to your jaw, her grip firm yet tender as she tilts your head to face her. "Focus," she commands, her dark eyes pinning you in place as she continues her slow, torturous rhythm. "I want to see every little reaction."

The weight of her gaze makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, yet utterly consumed. Your body betrays you, hips shifting instinctively to meet her hand, but Agatha only smirks, pulling back slightly—just enough to make you whine in frustration.

"So greedy," she hums, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction. "You want more, don’t you?" Her fingers trace an achingly slow path, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves before pulling away again. You nod, your body arching against the wall as you chase the relief she’s withholding.

"Say it," she demands, her voice a low growl as her fingers hover just out of reach. "Tell me what you need."

Your cheeks burn at the command, but the ache between your thighs drowns out any sense of embarrassment. "More," you whisper, your voice shaky. "Please… I need more."

Agatha’s lips curve into a wicked smile as she leans in, brushing her mouth against your ear. "Good girl," she praises, her words sending another shiver through you. Without warning, she thrusts two fingers inside you, resuming her rhythm with a renewed intensity that leaves you breathless.

The tension building in your core feels unbearable now, each stroke of her fingers driving you closer to the edge. Your legs threaten to give way, your body trembling uncontrollably as pleasure coils tighter and tighter within you. Agatha watches you intently, her eyes dark with desire and triumph.

“Come for me, darling,” she whispers against your ear, her voice low and commanding. “Let go. Be good and fall apart on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long—her words, her touch, and her sheer presence are too much to bear. Your body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your nails digging into her suit jacket as you try desperately to stay quiet. Agatha holds you through it, her lips peppering soft kisses along your jaw as she slows her movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks.

“There you go, doll,” she murmurs, her voice softening, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “So perfect for me. Just like I knew you would be.”

You exhale shakily, your cheeks flushed as your gaze flickers toward the railing, a wave of awareness crashing over you. The crowd below continues to laugh and dance, blissfully unaware of what has just transpired above them.

“Relax, darling,” Agatha murmurs, catching your chin between her fingers and tilting your face back to hers. Her smirk is confident, unshaken. “No one saw. And if they had... " She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a velvety whisper. “I’d want them to know exactly who you belong to.”

Your breath hitches at her words, your heart pounding all over again. Before you can respond, Agatha slips an arm around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into her side. With a satisfied hum, she guides you toward the door, back to the centre of the party waiting below. The warmth of her touch lingers on your skin, and her promise of what awaits you later dances in the air, sending another delicious shiver through you.

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reblog if you want Agatha to fuck you at a fancy party <3

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I felt like the side room was more elegant than them fucking in the restroom as that would've been a little cramped speaking from experience I mean that's what I imagine it would be

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