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pandorascripts · 5 months ago

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top three fics i've ever read... OH MY GODDDDDD.

Agatha Harkness x Reader

summary: you’re but a humble young librarian super into this milf who just happens to show up at an opportune moment.

warnings: age gap, public sex, oral, fingering

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha

i don’t do this btw

The Librarian

It’s snowing, the third time you meet her. Behind the circulation desk, with your feet kicked up against the long arch of desk that separates you from the rest of the library, paging through somebody’s hold (it’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, perhaps some sort of premonition), you look every bit as bored as you are. When you look up and out the window, it’s the kind of black only 6 o’clock in the middle of January can be. Snow pummels against the window. It’s the kind of weather nobody should be out in, either.

Between you and your two other coworkers — the lifeblood, like Atlas holding up the last two hours of the library before its close — there is really only the odd, uncanny emptiness of one librarian and their empty shelves. Of course you’re surprised when she breezes in, in a long dark trench coat with damp shoulders, opened to reveal a pale turtleneck tucked into pleated trousers, snowflakes still dotting her long, thick tresses of dark hair. The snowflakes dissolve. She is panting, wind-blown, she turns around and you see the stark blue of her eyes set against the soft red burn of her cheeks.

“Hi,” she says, breathy, her chest rising and falling heavily. She flashes you a smile, an intentional, albeit distracted smile, the smile of someone who seems a little caught, a little embarrassed in the way you really only can be around strangers for no apparent reason. She carries a folded, closed umbrella and a black bag on her shoulder.

Her name is Agatha Harkness. You were here when she signed up for a library card, and spent the whole time kicking yourself that you hadn’t beat your coworker to helping her. She’s new in town, she has a son that loves to read, or be read to, and there is no ring on her finger, which, as far as you’re concerned, means you have a chance.

You don’t move from your seat, knowing that if you scrambled to put your feet on the floor and throw the book back on the hold shelf then you’ll really look like you’ve been caught. You set the book down on your lap and cross your arms.

“Hi,” you say, smiling easily.

She looks around the library and takes a few hesitant steps towards the shelves. The New section is the first thing to greet library goers, and she distractedly scans the books. You don’t take your eyes off her. She’s beautiful. And you know a lost face when you see one, so when she absentmindedly taps her umbrella against the floor and turns to you, you’re ready.

“Hi,” Agatha says again, approaching the circulation desk. This time you set your feet down.

You smile softly, “Anything I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. I was looking to get some books for my son. He’s four.”

You point to the corner of the library, where the door frame labeled “Children’s Section” is tucked, leading to an entirely different section of the library. “The Children’s Section is over that way.” You’re a little disappointed to be sending her so far away, but you’re the only person at circulation and if she wants to check out any books she’ll have to find you anyway. But, to your surprise, she doesn’t turn towards Children’s. She taps the desk with a gloved finger, staring down the shelves. You take the opportunity to stand, leaving the book on your chair behind you.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”

Agatha inhales slowly, clearly lost in thought. Then, she turns slowly to you. Her eyes are so blue. It’s like being pinned in place, the way her eyes meet yours. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, but you’d be lying if you said your breath didn’t flee your lungs.

“Are you busy?” She looks down at the book. Normally, you’d feign a little embarrassment, but you smile and shrug.

“I’m getting slammed right now, actually. But uh, I suppose I could help you out.”

She chuckles, peeling off her black leather gloves and stuffing them in the pockets of her trench coat. “Sure. Any recommendations? What are you reading?”

This time you do flush a little. “It’s, uh, Lady Chatterley’s Lover. It’s someone else’s hold.”

Agatha narrows her eyes a bit, a small smile curling at the corner of her lips. “Is it raunchy?”

“By today's standards, probably not. Is raunchy what you’re looking for?”

She raises her eyebrows. Your blush deepens. Working these lonely evening shifts has you forgetting you’re employed to work, not to flirt with patrons, which you never do anyway, but luckily Agatha laughs after a moment.

“What’s your name?” She squints to read your name tag, and you offer it up lazily. “I’m Agatha,” she says. “Agatha Harkness. Actually, I’m a bit new to town. I just got my card.”

“I know your name,” you say, looking away. Agatha, who, until now, has been a bit fidgety and distracted, suddenly stills. “I was here when you set your card up. You probably don’t remember me.”

“But you remember me.”

She doesn’t say it like it’s a question. A knot forms in your throat. You offer a thin grin. “Of course.” Then you tap your temple, which is stupid and you immediately regret it, but Agatha doesn’t seem to really notice or care. Her smile stretches easily. She levels you with a knowing gaze, though you can’t imagine what it is she knows.

“It’s cozy in here,” Agatha says, beginning to rifle through her bag. Her hair is windswept and wild falling down her back, but you have the impression that this is its natural state, despite the wind. She pulls out her wallet, then her library card. “The roads are getting bad though. Especially now that it’s dark out.”

You nod. “Yeah, this is definitely the place to be. At least it’s supposed to slow down soon. There’s a fireplace back past non-fiction. Do you have any holds to pick up?”

Agatha smiles. You scan her library card. “Just one.” Your stomach drops.

“Ahh,” you pick up Lady Chatterley’s Lover sadly, “right. How about that?”

Agatha looks more than amused as you check the book out to her account, quickly plucking your place marker out from the pages.

“No, no,” Agatha says, “leave the bookmark. We can do a little book club, hmm?”

You’ve officially embarrassed yourself enough for one night. You smile warily. “I hope you enjoy it as much as I was. Drive safe.”

Still smiling, Agatha hums in response and tucks the paperback into her bag. “Did you say this was supposed to let up soon? You know, I could use a few recommendations while I have you here.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve already used up all your charm. It’d be ideal if she left and came back another day, but, the more you think about it, the more you realize that this is one opportunity you just can’t waste. Not a coworker in sight (one in the break room for the next half hour, the other shelf-reading in the basement), your work crush right here, mildly stranded in a snowstorm, willing to converse, nay, to joke with you, and- Jesus do you have a chance?

“Anything,” you say at the realization, a little more breathless than you’d intended but you feel renewed with your usual charm and ready to not let this opportunity pass without a fight.

“I was also looking for maybe a cozy mystery? What with the weather and all.”

Does she know the mystery section is the most isolated back corner of the library? You can definitely work with this.

“Sure. I can show you. Follow me.”

You step out from behind the counter, Agatha lingering on your heels. You haven’t had to think this fast in months. Maybe in years. What to say? What to do? You don’t even read mysteries.

You wind through the shelves, leading Agatha deeper into the more shadowy parts of the library, into the most definitely, undoubtedly empty and out-of-sight parts of the library.

“Here’s mystery. I mean, there’s obviously Agatha Christie, and then Laura Childs is pretty cozy, and-” you stop abruptly. You have no idea why you’re talking about mysteries. You face Agatha, who looks at you with one raised eyebrow. She looks expectant. Perfect.

“You’ve happened to find us in the coziest spot in the library,” you say as nonchalantly as you can, scanning the book spines, “But you won’t find anything raunchy over here.”

The look on Agatha’s face is both curious and knowing. Amused, even. She can read you like a book (hah), and some part of you feels like an animal in a zoo, watched by an audience far hungrier than you.

“I didn’t say I wanted raunchy.”

“Didn’t you?”

Agatha scoffs slightly. Her smile widens. She takes a step closer to you and you don’t move back.

“I have more than a few suggestions if that’s the case,” you say, tilting your head. You’re a good few inches taller than her, and when she looks up at you behind dark eyelashes…

“You’re bold,” says Agatha. The same grin hangs wickedly on her mouth.

“But not too desperate, I hope?”

Agatha laughs without taking her eyes off of you. You don’t think you could move backwards if you tried, you don’t think you could move if you tried, her face sings with an effortless amusement, like she knows every thought in your mind and every desire beneath your tongue. It’s vulnerable. Like you’re naked, or just bared, skin unprotected against a harsh wind or sharp rain.

“I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“I know.”

She hums, her gaze raking you up and down, studying. You’re nothing now but a specimen, an insect, pinned by the legs and wings to a cork board, shivering under a magnifying glass. You swallow, then take a step forward. Her chin raises. It’s cute, defiant in a way that reminds you almost of a petulant child, and this most momentary relief from the scrutinization of her gaze is all you need. You raise one hand and tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Cold out there, hmm?” you ask softly, almost boredly. Her unblinking stare doesn’t move from yours. She nods. “Warm in here though.” Your hands trace the lapels of her trench coat. “Damp.” You push it off her shoulders. It’s heavy, woolen, and water-logged, and crumples to the ground with a thud, taking the purse and umbrella with it. You let your gaze drag lazily, obviously, across her face, her eyes, her neck, her mouth.

You see her swallow, which feels like a victory in and of itself. Consider yourself spurred. “And of course, I’m-”

Whatever clever remark you had readied is cut off before even its effect is conveyed. Agatha closes the space between you two, shoving you against the bookshelf. You knock back against the shelves with an “oomph” and Agatha balls your shirt in her fists. She stares at you for a pulsing, pregnant moment before you crack and push your lips against hers. It’s a vicious kiss that’s barely a kiss and lasts for only half a moment anyway. Agatha pulls back severely and pushes you once more against the shelves. Your breath heaves out of your lungs.

“Something the matter?” you ask, grinning like a snake. Agatha scoffs. Her lips meet yours with a sharp inhale, her eyes closed. The kiss is not tender but not desperate, more inquisitive, curious, until a moan escapes your throat and your hands grab dumbly at Agatha’s waist.

You don’t want to be audacious, but you’re already past that point if you’re being honest with yourself, and you step off the wall. You don’t have that much time. You want. Agatha’s tongue slips between your lips and you feel the pit in your stomach empty out, heat flushing into a tense knot in your abdomen. Not much time.

Gentle — but firm —, you push Agatha back against the wall, and sink to your knees. Surprise flickers across her face, but quickly melts into an impish smile. Mischief looks good on her.

“Can I, Agatha?” you ask, very politely, your fingers working already around her belt.

“Yeah. Yes, sweetheart. That’s good.” The words send a twist between your legs and you tug her belt open and unzip the pants. While you pull them down, her hands shovel through your hair, fingertips digging into your scalp, and the feeling almost gives you vertigo. Her skin is impossibly soft. Her underwear is plain and black. You slide it down the swell of her thighs, swallowing. You can smell her on the air, skimming the top of it, and you fight the urge to lick your lips like some hungry dog.

Your hands feel up the length of her legs, one pushing under her shirt up her stomach, in a manner not short of exalted, and you can feel her shudder under your touch. It’s a power, of sorts, and you breathe into a taut smile.

Your mouth is on her legs, sucking at her thighs, and she hisses at the sting of your teeth on her skin. You don’t need to bruise her, really, but you do, if only to prolong eating her out, to hold what you’ve been waiting for in front of you just moments longer. Her breath hitches, she’s trying to be quiet, and in a moment of uncontrolled excitement you surge forward, your jaw widening, your tongue flat against her and your nose buried in her folds.

Agatha yelps a little louder than she meant to, and one hand leaves your hair to cover her mouth. She groans quietly into her palm as you eat her out, tongue scooping inside of her, the taste electric on your tongue, burning in your nose, your eyes heavy-lidded. Fuck. She’s hot. She’s so hot. One hand grips her thigh steadily, the other slides down beneath your waistband. What can you say? You’re desperate.

You whine into her and Agatha looks down, watching as you fuck yourself with your face buried into her cunt. She curses softly, her hand grabbing onto the ledge of a bookshelf by her head. “That’s great, baby, that’s-” your tongue flicks hard against her clit, interrupting Agatha as she spills into a moan. “That’s good, that’s good, that’s-” your lips suck airily around her clit, your tongue immediately continuing its flat and solid path through her folds. She’s dripping off of your chin by now.

Agatha’s breath stutters and she falls eerily quiet, but you know the signs. Her body tightens and then convulses, a delicate shudder gripped around your tongue, thighs squeezing your face, her manicured fingernails scraping against your scalp. She orgasms moaning your name quietly, in a hushed, devoted sort of way nearing on delirium.

When its intense waves wash away and you stand up you’re wearing a self satisfied smile, but Agatha doesn’t leave you long to bask in your pride. She stumbles forward and shoves you against the bookshelf, her mouth collapsing onto yours. She moans softly at the intense taste of herself on your skin; your mouth, nose, chin, cheeks. It’s overpowering. You can feel pearls of her rolling down your jaw and neck. Agatha bites your bottom lip, hard, and then her mouth finds your throat.

You sigh at the feeling of her above your pulse, the heat of her breath and the delicate trace of her fingertips across your sides.

“That was quite the orgasm.” There’s still a ragged edge to her voice, a lulled huskiness, and she seems to struggle to keep her voice balanced in the median between hush and speaking.”How do you feel touching yourself?”

Now with your back pressed against the bookshelves, you had given up all previous hope of getting yourself close. Not that you had minded, fucking Agatha was like seeing the gates of heaven. After that, who needed some masturbatory purgatory at the helm of your own fingers? You take too long to come up with an answer, lost still in the haze of the bruise you’re sure she’s sucking into your skin. Her fingertips, gripping at your sides, rush suddenly to undo the button of your jeans.

“Good,” you say, your head falling backwards, “not as good as this, I’m sure.” Agatha’s hand sinks into your jeans. You sputter forward and she leans harshly into you, pinning you against the stacks. Her fingers and palm slide down, and, God- she’s cupping you through your underwear, pressing testingly against you. It’s intoxicating. Fuck. Your arms sling around her shoulders and your hips buck into her hand. She smiles, kisses you.

“You want this?” she asks, leaning her mouth into your ear, her breath hot, as if it’s even a question, as if you’re not already dripping, soaked through your underwear, keening into her touch.

“Yeah, Agatha, yeah. C’mon.” At the sound of her name in your mouth, Agatha hums a moan. Her fingers slip under the seam. You pull Agatha into you, your hands tangled in her hair. It’s still damp from the snow.

Her fingertips slide into you. Cold, her fingers are cold, and the sensation of them curling inside of your cunt leaves you halfway to breathless. “Fuck.”

“You’re warm,” Agatha says mildly. She’s pulled back a bit in favor of studying your face, every twitch of your eyebrows and tug of your swollen lips, the blissed out, wired look in your eyes.

“Fuck. You’re- fuck.” She thrusts deeper into you, the tips of her fingers running against your walls, feeling for every jolt of your body. She thumbs your clit, rubbing soft circles into you. She’s good, fuck, every twist of her fingers and push of her thumb sweeps tides of pleasure through your body.

“I’m what?” Agatha teases, thrusting hard, then harder, and fast, and the library is so quiet and you can hear the wet slap of her fucking you.

“God, fuck, fuck,” you groan, your forehead falling against Agatha’s shoulder. She shrugs your head up, her hand smothering your mouth.

“We are in a library, darling,” she whispers, and your being silenced like this makes the slick sound of her fingers in your, against you, seem that much louder. You whine, whimper, keen, your body jolts, her fingertips hit against your g-spot and white pulses behind your eyes as you spill into orgasm.

Your body trembles, tense, your teeth closing around Agatha’s hand, and her fingers slip out of you. She pulls you into a soft hug, holding you up between herself and the bookshelf while you steady your breath.

“Jesus,” you pant, “that was so good, God.”

Agatha pats your hair and you pull back. She pushes a fast kiss against your mouth, and the heat returns, despite your orgasm still buzzing fresh on your skin.

“Thank you and you’re welcome,” Agatha says against your mouth. “Do you have a job to return to?”

“Only if you have a number to give me?”

Agatha smiles. She kisses your cheek and begins fixing her clothes. “I’m still old enough to be your mother.”

“I still know that.”

She eyes you warily, scanning you up and down. “You’ll give me your number, and you’ll wait to hear from me first.”

You sigh in relief and fall back against the bookshelf, running your hand through your hair. “Deal. Welcome to town.”

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