#kitchen islands with columns | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

d-z20 · 2 months ago

Text

Extra Credit (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

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

-OR-

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

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

Words: 4.4k

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

AO3 | Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now,” she whispers, her voice dipping into a commanding tone that makes your stomach flip, “let’s get one thing straight.” She tilts your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I’m in charge tonight. Understood?”

You nod, too breathless to speak, and her lips curve into a wicked smile.

“Use your words for me, sweetheart,” she purrs.

Your hesitation earns you a raised eyebrow, her smirk widening in amusement. “Oh, don’t be shy,” she coaxes, her tone softening into something almost soothing. Her fingers trail up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your flushed skin. “Say it.”

“I understand,” you finally manage, making her control snap. Her hands tighten on your hips as she pulls you closer, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that is anything but gentle, her movements firm but unhurried, her touch alternating between rough and tender in a way that leaves you utterly breathless.

Her hands trail up your sides, tugging your shirt over your head before letting it fall to the floor. The air feels cool against your flushed skin, but her touch quickly distracts you as her lips trail down your jawline to your neck.

When you hesitantly reach for the buttons on her blouse, she lets you help, watching you with sharp amusement as your fingers fumble. “Careful,” she teases, her voice low and wicked. “Don’t tear it.”

Once her blouse falls open, you can’t stop yourself from staring. The soft, teasing dip of her lace bra is enough to make your mouth run dry, and Agatha doesn’t miss it. She arches an eyebrow, her smirk turning fond as she cups your face, fingers brushing along your jawline before she pulls you into another searing kiss.

The kiss is all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs as her body presses against yours. Her movements are intoxicatingly slow, as though she’s savouring every sound you make. When she pulls back just enough, her lips curve against your skin in satisfaction.

“You’re adorable when you’re overwhelmed,” she murmurs, her voice rich and indulgent, like honey warmed over fire.

Her hands, still impossibly steady, slide down your torso, pausing only to stroke the skin she’s uncovered. Her touch is deliberate, methodical—she wants you to feel everything. Agatha presses her lips to the hollow of your throat, leaving a trail of kisses that make you squirm under her control.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before her mouth finds yours again.

The kiss is slower this time—deeper, almost reverent—like she’s intent on memorising the way you taste. Her hands move with purpose, one gripping your hip while the other trails up your spine, leaving sparks in its wake. When you let out a soft, involuntary sound, Agatha groans softly into your mouth, her control threatening to slip.

Your hands wander up to push her blouse the rest of the way off her shoulders. Agatha hums in approval, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor.

She kisses you until you’re dizzy, her hands continuing their exploration of every inch of you. She’s relentless but not hurried, building the tension inch by inch until you’re left breathless beneath her. At some point, her fingers slide down to unfasten the button of your jeans, but she pauses, her lips hovering over yours.

“Are you still with me, darling?” She murmurs, her voice soft, grounding you just enough to remember to breathe.

You nod, your cheeks flush, and your heart races. “Yes,” you whisper, and her smirk softens into something impossibly fond.

“Good,” she says, pressing a kiss to your mouth. “That’s my good girl.”

Your body responds to her praise before your mind even catches up, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Agatha’s grin widens, dark and satisfied, as she watches your reaction. “Oh, I am going to have fun with you,” she murmurs, her voice dipping into something deeper, more possessive.

She steps back slightly, her gaze flicking over you as she considers her next move. There’s a moment of deliberation as her fingers trace lightly over your thighs, her eyes narrowing in thought.

“Let’s see,” she muses aloud, her voice low and steady. “How to get these off...”

You remain still, heart racing, the heat between your legs palpable as her fingers trail up your body. Her eyes lock onto yours for a brief second, and then she decides. With a swift motion, she places her hands on your shoulders, pushing you back gently so that your back is now flat against the cool surface of the kitchen island. You gasp, your breath hitching at the sudden change in position, but you don’t protest.

Agatha steps between your legs, her fingers moving slowly up your body, and she starts to tug at the waistband of your jeans and underwear. Her hands are skilled and deliberate as she traces the outline of your hips and thighs, pulling at the fabric with a teasing slowness that leaves you aching for more.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Agatha lowers herself, pressing a series of soft, heated kisses down your torso. Each kiss is carefully placed, her lips lingering just a little longer than necessary, as if she’s savouring every inch of your skin. You can feel the heat of her breath against your body, sending shivers through you as her hands trail along your sides, lightly grazing your skin.

Her lips travel lower, brushing over your hips, before she begins to kiss up your thighs, her touch slow and teasing. Her hands are still steady on your skin, caressing the soft curve of your body as her lips draw closer to where you need her most. The anticipation builds with each lingering kiss that inches closer to where you want her most.

You let out a breath, and your body instinctively shifts, eager for the contact you’ve been waiting for. But Agatha is in control, her smirk darkening as she watches your reactions, enjoying the way your body responds to her slow pace.

Her lips hover just inches from where you crave her touch, teasing you as she takes her time. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable now; your body is restless and aching, but Agatha remains patient. She lifts her head briefly, eyes locking onto yours with a glint of satisfaction.

"You’re so eager," she whispers, her voice rich with amusement, before returning her attention to your thighs. Her hands slide further up, brushing against your skin as she kisses the sensitive area just above your inner thighs, sending waves of anticipation coursing through your body. The slight pressure of her lips on your skin makes your breath hitch, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter beneath you. You can barely hold back a moan as the moment stretches longer than you'd imagined possible, but you know—she knows—that you won’t be able to last very long.

Agatha’s mouth moves even closer now, teasing your skin with the lightest touches before finally, slowly, moving to your sensitive clit. A gasp escapes your lips as her mouth finally connects, and you can’t help the desperate sound that falls from you. Her lips work with slow, purposeful pressure, her tongue tracing the lines of your body in expert strokes that make your hips involuntarily push towards her.

Her hands are firm on your waist, holding you steady as she brings you closer to the edge, her eyes never leaving yours, watching every reaction. "That's it," she murmurs, her voice low and approving. "So responsive... so perfect."

Every flick of her tongue sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you tremble beneath her. The anticipation that had been building for so long finally reaches a breaking point, your body trembling with need as she continues her relentless pace. You’re caught between wanting to beg her for more and wanting to savour every moment of this slow, delicious torture.

But Agatha, always in control, draws back just before you can lose yourself completely. She lingers above you, her breath heavy against your skin, and her smirk widens. “Not yet,” she whispers, the words making your chest ache with desire. "We’re just getting started."

The sudden buzz of her phone on the counter makes Agatha pause, her lips just inches away. She huffs softly, almost annoyed, before pulling back. You whimper involuntarily, only for her sharp gaze to snap to yours.

Without saying a word, she picks up her phone and swipes to answer, pressing it to her ear. “Hi Billy,” she says smoothly, her voice a picture of calm.

Her free hand drags lazily over her mouth, wiping away your arousal, before her fingers immediately return to you. She trails them up your thighs, her touch featherlight but devastating, making your hips buck of their own accord, a soft moan escaping before you can stop it.

Her gaze darkens instantly, and her eyes narrow in a silent warning. The message is crystal clear—keep quiet, or I’ll stop. The slow, deliberate circles her fingertips trace up your thigh make it nearly impossible to obey, but the threat in her glare keeps you still.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” She asks Billy, the tenderness in her voice at odds with what’s happening between you two. She waits for his reply, her lips curling into an almost amused expression. She drags her fingers through your folds, deliberately stopping to hover over your entrance, sending shivers up your spine.

Agatha’s expression doesn’t falter as she pushes two fingers inside you, pressing her thumb against your clit with devastating precision, the movement so slow and calculated that it feels like torture. Her smirk widens when she feels you clench around her fingers, but her attention shifts back to talk with Billy, utterly composed as she continues the conversation.

“Of course, sweetie,” she says smoothly, her tone saccharine and calm, as though she isn’t currently unravelling you one touch at a time. “Eddie’s for the night? That’s fine, just don’t forget to let his parents know, alright?”

She drags her fingers out slowly before thrusting them back in harshly, knowing it’ll leave you gasping. You grip the counter beneath you, trying to ground yourself, but your body betrays you—hips jutting towards her, a loud whimper slipping out.

Agatha pins the phone to her ear with her shoulder, bringing her hand to press firmly against your lower stomach, pinning you in place with a deliberate calm. She pauses, her fingers stilling for just a moment as her dark, warning eyes flick up to meet yours. The silent message is clear: be good.

You nod frantically, biting down on your lower lip to stifle any more sounds. Pleased with your response, she smiles softly and resumes, her fingers curling in a way that makes you dizzy.

“Mhm,” she hums distractedly into the phone as Billy continues to chatter, utterly oblivious to what’s happening on the other end. “Did you need anything else, love? I was just in the middle of something.”

The double meaning in her words doesn’t escape you, but you can barely process it as her movements quicken, a cruel flick of her wrist turning the slow tease into something far more demanding. Your breathing comes in shallow bursts, your legs trembling as she drags you closer and closer to the edge with ease.

Agatha’s expression remains perfectly composed, though the corner of her mouth twitches into a smirk when she feels you start to unravel. “Alright, sweetie,” she finally says, her voice gentle yet clipped as though she’s eager to end the call. “Be good, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

She ends the call with a soft click, tossing the phone onto the counter without a care. The moment it leaves her hand, her focus snaps back to you entirely.

“You couldn’t even follow one simple instruction,” she tuts, though her voice is far too pleased to sound scolding. Her fingers press deeper as she leans closer, her breath warm against your ear. “But I suppose I’ll forgive you. This time.”

The promise in her tone is enough to send you spiralling, a taut thread snapping deep within you as waves of overwhelming pleasure crash through your body. It starts slow—a tremor that blooms and builds, spreading through every nerve until it consumes you entirely. Your thighs quiver beneath her unrelenting touch, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

She doesn’t let up, her fingers maintaining their pace, drawing you through every moment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. The tension that had been winding you so tight finally unravels, your body shuddering under her relentless focus. It’s as if she’s pulling apart every layer of you, and you give yourself over to it completely.

Your head falls back, a broken cry escaping your lips—her name, raw and breathless, slipping free like a prayer you couldn’t hold back if you tried. The sound seems to fuel her further, her gaze locked onto you as though committing every detail to memory: the arch of your back, the way your fingers clutch desperately at her arms, the tremors that ripple through your form as you fight to anchor yourself to reality.

She leans closer, her breath ghosting over your skin as her movements begin to slow, guiding you gently through the dizzying aftershocks. Her free hand, firm yet gentle, settles at your hip to steady you, grounding you when you feel as though you might simply come undone entirely. The intensity of it all leaves you gasping—every nerve in your body oversensitive, your limbs weak as though she’s stolen every last bit of strength you had.

Agatha watches you with satisfaction, her smirk softening ever so slightly as she finally lets her hand still, her fingers brushing idly against your thigh. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice a rich, honeyed drawl that seems to soothe and ignite you all at once. “Breathe, sweetheart. You did so well for me.”

Her words seep into your skin like balm, even as you try to come back down from the overwhelming high she’s driven you to. She presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips gentle against your trembling skin, before finally straightening to look at you.

The smug satisfaction in her expression is unmistakable, but beneath it, there’s something more—something almost reverent as her eyes rake over you, flushed and wrecked, exactly how she wanted you. Her thumb brushes softly along your cheek as she tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze despite the haze still clouding your mind.

“There you are,” she murmurs, brushing a hand down your thigh, her thumb lingering against your skin. “Such a mess, but so good for me.”

Her lips curve wickedly as she tilts your chin up, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “Now, let’s take this to the bedroom. I’m not quite done with you yet.”

-----

Parent/Teacher conference is just a game of smash or pass if you're brave enough. If ANY (billy excluded) of the coven was there I'd choose smash every time

-----

Like and reblog if you enjoyed. this is a threat 🔫

849 notes · View notes