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.”
