#darkfics

“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?”

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Rafe languidly ran his hand up and down his cock. His thoughts possessed with images of you. The Cameron's Estate was quiet, it was late. Rafe was lying in bed. He imagined you on your knees kissing his cock from his tip to his balls. Flicking your tongue over his most sensitive spots. He hated how you consumed his thoughts almost every day. 

He would never admit how much he wanted you. It made him livid; he despised you since you were in high school. Now you were in college, sitting in the same classroom as him. His hate morphed into something dark. He had fantasies of having you under him and under his control. He knew you thought you were better than him, you walked into class everyday ready to conquer the day.

He thought it was pathetic and meaningless to care so much as grades and being elite. He stroked harder, biting his lip to keep quiet, his thoughts overflowing with putting you in your place. 

Finally, you’re not in control, wedged in a situation you can’t get out of. Rafe imagined your eyes wet with tears, throat tightening, hollowed cheeks as he forced himself deep in your wet mouth. His strong grip on your hair, keeping you in place. His stride speeds up ready to release. An image of you looking up at him nervous and damaged, makes him explode, panting hard he lets out a sigh pleased but not satisfied. He was still aching because he desired the real thing and couldn’t wait much longer. 

The next day gave Rafe the opportunity he’s been waiting for. Rafe watched as you walked into class, your head held high, beaming with excitement for the day. He was annoyed already, what did you have to be so bubbly about? 

You greeted Mr. Bennett, smiling so sweetly in his face. Rafe knows that fucker would love a chance to play with an innocent little thing like you. You were so naïve. Mr. Bennett was one of the younger teachers at the school. Bright eyed new teacher who didn’t have the years of experience wearing him down yet. He had dark hair, a solid build. Rafe would admit that, but Rafe knew he was better than him. He was richer and hotter, what’s the competition? But the way he touched your shoulder made his blood boil. He hated the way Mr. Bennett interacted with you. He clenched his fists. You made your way to your seat in front of rafe, Not even sparing him a glance, but his eyes don’t leave you. 

*

“Can anyone answer my question?” Your teacher looks around the wide classroom, full of students with bored expressions and heads down. Your hand shoots up and you answer correctly. 

“Very good dear.” He smiles at you then continues the discussion. 

You hear a scoff behind you. Your heartbeat quickens, feeling your skin prickle. You already know that it’s no one other than Rafe Cameron, your bully. Your number one tormentor. 

You don’t turn around or make acknowledgement that you notice it. He leans forward, his scent invading your personal space. 

“Fucking teacher’s pet. Probably fucking him too.” He hisses at you leaning back into his seat. You shudder at his words. You’re angry at yourself for letting such juvenile words get to you. You sit up straight, pretending to not give a fuck. 

Mr. Bennett announces “Okay, students” He claps his hands together gathering everyone’s attention. “I’m assigning partners for our next project.” 

You try not to let your face drop. The class breaks out in groans. Mr. Bennett laughs, calming the class down. and calls out the pairs. You nervously shake your leg waiting for your name. Tapping your fingers on your laptop. “Alright, Rafe Cameron and Y/N L/N.” Your heart sinks. That familiar scent fills your nose again. 

“Looks like were partners, teacher’s pet.” 

The feeling like you just got punched in the gut hits you hard. The rest of the class goes by in a blur. Your mind racing with ways to get out of this. Mr. Bennett dismisses the class. You stand up quickly, ready to bolt. Rafe is right behind you, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Of course, I get paired with the fucking nerd, fuck it.” He sighs dramatically. 

“My house. Tomorrow at 5.” Rafe says impudently. 

You gape at him taken aback by his words, you try to force a smile, ignoring his insults. 

“Oh um, I thought we could just meet at the library or something. Coffee shop maybe?” 

Rafe looks at you with disgust like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

“What did I just say? My house at 5.” He bumps your shoulder on his way out the door. You clench your jaw. You take a deep breath and make your way out the door. 

*

You’re standing outside the front door on the massive Cameron's estate. Uneasiness fills your body; you take a deep breath before your fist raps on the door. You hoped no one would answer, and you wouldn’t have to face the darkness that is rafe cameron. The door swings open quickly, startling you. A beat passes you don’t move or blink. 

“You just gonna stand there looking stupid or come inside?” Rafe stares down at you as you shift your feet, trying to will yourself to move. He looks at you expectingly, you slowly walk past him standing in the doorway watching you. You stand in the hallway in awe from the beauty of his home. It’s quiet and clean and massive. You clear your throat when you hear the front door close and lock. 

Rafe makes his way to the couch; your eye catches the open beer on the table and the half smoked joint. You twist your face at that. You follow him sitting to the far side of the couch. Rafe moves closer to you, enclosing the little space keeping you apart. 

Rafe looks you up and down, you were wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt. The heat making it impossible to really cover up. His eyes lingering on your bare thighs and moves up to your chest. You were distracted from rummaging through your bag taking out the study materials. 

Rafe couldn't care less about the project, but thankful this gave him an excuse to be alone with you. He shifts in the seat and his thighs pressed harder against yours. He feels himself getting worked up by the slightest movement. He was dying to touch you. Your laptop sits on your lap, explaining the work you started, Rafe barely gives you more than a few grunts of acknowledgement. 

“So, you see this is the conflict and we need to offer a more detailed explanation and-’’ You stop taking when you feel Rafe’s fingers lazily brush your bare thigh. Rafe’s eyes are low. He wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. Too preoccupied with his own thoughts. Your eyes flashed to the beer; it was long gone. Your stomach dropped. 

“Rafe.” You said making him look at you. 

“Don’t…” You try to push his hand off you. The way you said his name set fire to Rafe’s grip, making him grasp firmer. He took his other hand to touch your face, he was looking into your eyes.

“What the fuck-’’ You were cut off quickly by Rafe roughly kissing you. You used all your strength to push him back. 

“Get the hell off” you demand, instinctively wiping your mouth.

Keeping him away at arm’s length. Rafe looks at your mad expression. 

“So, you’ll let that dick Mr. Bennett touch you but I can’t?” Rafe spits out, anger lacing his words. You looked confused, not understanding his rage. He stands up, pacing back and forth.  

“He’s-he’s our teacher Rafe, that’s all.” You move the laptop to the table.

“Fuck that. I see the way he looks at you. I bet he dreams about bending your smartass over his desk and fucking you stupid.” Rafe says crudely. He was in front of you now. Close. Too close. 

You sit stunned for a beat. You’re perplexed and a little frightened. Why was Rafe Cameron trying to kiss you? and why was he jealous of your teacher? It was all too much. You manage to spit out some words. 

“What? Mr. Bennett is a great guy and not a sick weirdo like you like to imagine. You’re acting fucking crazy Rafe!” 

That did it. 

That was it. 

Rafe’s fingers were tight on your jaw in an instant. You let out a little squeak. 

“Don’t ever call me crazy, ya hear me!? I’m not fucking crazy!” Rafe yells in your face making you flinch hard. You hate being yelled at; you can feel the tears escaping. 

“I’m sorry” you try to utter despite being Rafe still having his hand on your jaw. 

“Aw you’re sorry?” Rafe mocks your pitiful apology. 

“You should be sorry; you walk around all high and mighty. Like you don’t give a shit about anything or anyone but your stupid fucking grades. Its fucking boring.” Rafe cruel words stabs your heart. He lets go of your face. 

“That's not true! and I know I shouldn’t call you names, but you really said some fucked up stuff.” You try to placate him, trying to get him to ease up. 

“Don’t be a fucking baby, you try to act all innocent, I bet your panties get soaked when that loser touches you. When he compliments you. I bet even when you get a fucking ‘A’ on a test you’re soaked” Rafe obscenely says licking his lips. Sinking to his knees in front of you.

You gulp down. His words and movements make you nervous, even though there is little truth to it. You do find Mr. Bennett attractive, and that makes you feel guilty enough, he’s your teacher, not a peer. Now Rafe is calling it out? Like its written all over your face. 

“No” you shake your head hard. 

“Rafe, just forget it and let’s get back to work yeah?” 

He ignores you. 

You feel his hands on your thighs now. You try to back up and free yourself but can’t move back any further. 

Nowhere to go. 

You’re trapped between the couch and Rafe, his hands explore your thighs, reaching closer and closer to the top of your shorts. 

“Hm, how about now?” Rafe wonders out loud, more to himself instead to you.

“Huh?” you manage, confused at his words. 

“Let’s see if you’re wet. Maybe you like being treated like this. Not being in control. Having someone telling you what to do. Make you do shit you would never do freely?” 

You don’t say a word, a little afraid of what will come out. Your thoughts were so jumbled in this moment.  

You’re scared yet you feel your skin flush. Rafe comes closer to you and hooks his fingers in the sides of your shorts. His teeth connect with the zipper on your shorts pulling it down slowly. You hand flies over your mouth, keeping your whimpers locked inside. Rafe pulls your shorts down and it pools to at ankles. Rafe takes a moment to stare at you sitting in front of him just in your panties and shirt. He pulls your legs apart, spreading them wide. 

“Rafe” your voice quivers. 

You want him to stop but your body desperately wants to be touched. You hated the fact it was Rafe doing it. He hated you and wanted you at the same time, it was twisted and wrong, but he made something spark inside of you. Something you haven’t felt before. You feel out of control and self-conscious. You can feel your wetness dampen your panties. You knew Rafe could tell by the grin that molded on his face. 

“I knew it” he breathed out like he was proud of you. 

“Little little slut” he shoves his hand between your legs, feeling up your panties, the wet spot becoming more obvious. He strokes his fingers on your slit making you tense up; you try to close your legs, but Rafe prevents you. 

“Don’t be shy now…I thought you liked being the center of attention?” Rafe remarks sarcastically, playing with your folds through your panties. You tremble from his touch, you let out a little gasp when your panties are pulled to the side.  

“Fucking hot, better than I imagined” Rafe murmured. Your eyes bug, shocked by his confession. 

“Touch yourself” Rafe rasps, his breathing heavy. 

“What? No, I can’t” you blurt out. That was not what you were expecting.

“Don’t tell me you can’t. I want to see you touch yourself, just like I was doing to you” Rafe stands tall now, his figure looming over you. 

There is little room for argument, you shakily run your hands over your wetness, coating your fingers. You tease yourself lightly, Rafe is watching you closely. 

“Hike your legs up.” 

You almost whimper at his demand. You slowly bring your knees as close to your chest, you’re in a squatting position, spread wide for him. You try to close your eyes and forget he’s there while you do as you’re told. 

“No no, keep your eyes on me” Rafe runs his hands over the tent forming in his shorts.

 You try to keep eye contact with him. Your brain feels like its short circuiting, you want to stop, make him stop. You’re smarter than this. You know this is some sick game Rafe wants you apart of. Another way to fuck with you like he’s been doing since high school. 

“Keep going, don’t stop touching yourself baby” Rafe purrs. He drops his shorts, standing in his underwear. 

Baby

Your breath catches in your throat at that. You let out a moan feeling dizzy, you are close.

Rafe was so satisfied with how you pleasured yourself in front of him, for him. It was almost too much, he wanted to fuck you so bad. But he needed you warmed up for him. He probably wouldn’t get another chance, why not make it good. 

“That's right baby, I want you to cum for me, cum on your fingers looking up at me” Rafe was on edge he was stroking himself slowly, trying hard to stay cool. The look on your face wasn’t making it easy, he can see you were fighting it, he wanted you to let go. 

“Fucking cum for me, cum for me” Rafe practically begs, his own movements losing rhythm. 

You do just that. You feel electricity shooting through you, you jerk against your fingers, your wetness coating them, you let out a broken moan, riding your fingers for a little longer. you try to even your breathing as you come down. 

“Good girl” Rafe praises. You try your best not to sob, you drop your legs and cover your face, feeling embarrassment wash over you. Rafe stalks forward and takes your hands from your face. Knocking you on your back and pins your wrists against the couch, above your head. 

“Rafe, wait please” You sob for real now, not ready to give more, you feel spent after your climax. 

Rafe lets out a scoff and rips your panties down your legs. He pulls your shirt over your head to expose your chest to him. 

“Always knew you had a great rack under all those ugly baggy clothes you wear” Rafe takes your bra pulling it down to cup under your boobs. You let out a groan when Rafe’s teeth meet one of your nipples, he carefully grazes against it, then sucks hard on it, you almost scream at the sensation. When he repeats it on the other side only rougher, you let out a scream, arching your back.  

“Stop, that hurts” you whine, panting feeling overwhelmed by pain and pleasure. Rafe laughs 

“I love hearing you cry baby, it’s so sexy” Rafe groans. He brings his mouth over your clavicle and bites unforgivingly, probably leaving a mark. You sob out, squirming under him. Rafe leaves kisses over your collarbone, then drags his tongue tenderly over your skin from left to right. 

“Rafe, enough please” Your begging falls on deaf ears. Rafe is too lost in the pleasure to stop himself now. 

“Look at me. Now” Rafe commands you look in in the eyes, holding his gaze. Rafe runs his tongue over your lips ever so lightly. He brushes his lips against yours before crushing his them hard against yours, rolling your lips with his. With you distracted by his kiss, he takes this moment to burying himself into you. You plead at him, begging to slow down but Rafe grunts into your mouth losing himself inside you. 

“Fucking Christ, you feel so good, too good.” Rafe rasps. 

He hooks one of your legs over his waist to give himself better access. Rafe lets go of your wrists; you feel the bruises coming. Rafe nuzzles his head into your neck. You try to push him off, to get some space, just to breath for a minute but it’s impossible. Rafe is too far gone, it’s like trying to move a boulder.

You pull on Rafe’s hair, he doesn’t move. He groans loudly while his hips rut into you harder and harder.

“Fuck yes, God you’re fucking wet for me” Rafe moans, his movements become frantic. He’s hungry for you and your fight only makes his desire intensify. You feel defeated you can’t take much more; you’re losing to the intoxicating feeling of Rafe’s cock splitting you open. You dig your fingers in his shoulders hard, he’s growls, and brings your hand to his neck, he squeezes a little too hard not caring about your comfort. 

“You made me like this, it’s all your fault.” Rafe rhythm gets sloppy his climax approaches. You feel him pulsing inside of you. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum baby, deep in you.” Rafe can’t hold back any longer, you plead with him to pull out. You beat on his shoulders. 

“Fuck fuck fuck” Rafe’s hip jerk against you, he goes still inside you. His hand is still around your neck. When he finally lets go you cough, trying to catch your breath. You couldn’t get out from under him fast enough, you push past him, grabbing your clothes. 

“What the fuck! like actually, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” You’re seething and you have tears in your eyes, you wipe them away quickly. Rafe is still hazy post his orgasm, it takes him a moment to get his bearing. He stands up, gathering his clothes that were discarded. 

“Not so perfect now, are ya? Now we are equals. There’s shit in this world you can’t control, just thought I’d show you first.” Rafe smirks wickedly at you. You’re speechless. Stunned. You huff and frantically grab your belongings. Ready to run the hell out of there.