Lesbo

She/her - yeah I'm a homo - 22 - hopeless romantic

[summer2224]

Still

Natasha Romanoff G!P x Fem Reader

by summer2224

18+ Smut

smut 18+ G!P

An intimate morning with a certain redhead.

Written June 10-12th 2026

word count 2,454

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The morning comes in slow.

Light through the curtains, pale and thin, and the warmth at your back that has nothing to do with the blankets.

Natasha is still here.

You know before you're fully awake, the weight of her behind you, the steadiness of her breathing against the back of your neck, the arm draped over your waist like she put it there on purpose even in sleep. She probably did. You've learned that about her. Even unconscious, she holds on.

You don't move. You're not ready to be awake yet and neither, it seems, is she.

Then her fingers shift.

Just barely. A slow drag across your stomach, palm flat, like she's checking that you're real. You feel her inhale, deep and deliberate, and she presses her nose into your hair. Stays there.

“Detka.”

It's barely a sound. More breath than word, warm against the back of your head, and you don't know if she meant to say it or if it just came out of her. Either way it settles in your chest like something lit.

You still don't move.

Her hand moves again. Slower this time, like she's being careful, like she's trying not to wake you and also like she very much wants to. Her palm slides up your ribcage, thumb tracing the space between your ribs, and she exhales again when she reaches the curve of your breast. Doesn't push. Just rests there, covers you, and you feel the tension in her arm, held back. Deliberate.

She's awake.

You know she knows you're awake too.

Neither of you say anything.

Her lips touch the back of your neck, barely, just the press of them, warm and dry and slow, and the arm around your waist tightens. Not urgently. Just more. She tucks you closer and you go, shifting back into her, and that's when you feel it.

The low sound she makes against your neck.

You feel her against you, the press of her hips, the unmistakable weight of her, already hard and warm through the thin fabric between you. She doesn't grind forward. She just is, lets you feel it, and her hand finally moves, cups your breast properly and squeezes gentle enough to make your breath catch.

"Morning," she murmurs.

That's all. Two syllables, rough with sleep, lips still against your skin when she says it.

You shift back against her, not accidentally, and her grip tightens.

"Y/n."

The way she says your name, it's not a warning, not quite. It's something closer to a question, like she's asking permission even as her thumb drags across your nipple, slow and deliberate.

You don't answer with words. You press back again, more intentional this time, and you feel her exhale against the back of your neck, a shaky thing, barely controlled.

Her hand slides from your breast, down over the curve of your waist, fingers tracing the waistband of your sleep shorts. She pauses there, fingertips just barely slipping beneath the fabric, waiting.

You lift your hip, just slightly, just enough, that tiny movement is all she needs.

Her hand slips lower, palm flat against your stomach, then lower still, and you're already wet, have been since you first felt her hard against you.

She hums against your shoulder, a sound of low, satisfied appreciation as her fingers slide through your slickness. It’s a slow, teasing exploration, gathering your arousal before she presses a finger against your clit, just barely there.

Your breath hitches, hips canting back instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact.

"Good morning, baby," she whispers, voice thick with sleep and desire as you push back against her hardness. Her finger circles your clit gently before slipping lower, teasing at your entrance without pushing inside.

Your breath hitches, a broken little sound escaping you as you keep pushing back, grinding shamelessly against that hard, heated length behind you. You need her, the ache building low and sharp in your belly.

"Morning," you manage, the word barely a whisper, breathless and wrecked before the day has even begun.

Her finger slips inside you, slow and deliberate, and you arch back against her with a stuttered gasp. 

She groans softly against your neck, her hips rolling forward once, finally, letting you feel exactly how hard she is, her length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.

"Nat," you breathe, and it comes out desperate, your hand reaching back to grip her thigh, fingers digging into warm skin and taut muscle.

She adds a second finger, stretching you open, and her thumb finds your clit again, slow, maddening circles that make your thighs tremble.

"Baby," she whispers hoarsely in your ear, hips rolling forward slowly, giving you that thick length pressed exactly where you need it. "I'm so hard for you." Her fingers pump steadily, curling just right inside you.

"I need you," she whispers, the words hot against your ear as she thrusts her fingers deeper.

You whimper, pressing back harder against her, meeting each stroke of her fingers with your own needy grind.

"Please," you manage, voice wrecked and trembling. Your hand reaches back again, gripping the base of her where she's pressed tight against you, guiding her forward hungrily.

She hisses through her teeth at the touch of your hand, fingers curling tighter inside you in response. Her hips rock forward into your grip, urgent now, losing that maddening restraint she'd been holding onto.

You angle your hips, guiding her toward where you need her most, slick and ready and aching.

Her fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty and wanting for one aching second before she's hooking her thumbs into your waistband, tugging your underwear down your thighs with a slow, deliberate drag.

“Lift,” she murmurs, and you do, raising your hips so she can pull the fabric down, off, tossing them somewhere behind you both.

She positions herself, her hard, heated length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass. She's warm, so warm, her skin flushing against yours as she rocks forward slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance.

"Baby," she whispers hoarsely against your shoulder.

You arch back against her, reaching one hand back to grip her hip, urging her forward. Your other hand presses flat against the bed, knuckles white as you steady yourself on your side, presenting yourself to her. 

"Babe," you breathe, the word trembling with want and need.

She groans low in her throat, feeling your urgency and responding with her own. She's slow, so slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance before she presses in just a little, testing your readiness.

"I'm so big for you baby," she murmurs against your shoulder.

You bite your lip, nodding frantically against the pillow. She's huge, and you love it, you crave that feeling of being stretched wide open by her. 

"Please," you whimper, arching your back deeper, trying to take more of her in this side position.

She pushes forward, inch by devastating inch, her hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as she fills you. The angle is different like this, intimate, close, her chest pressed warm against your back as she sinks deeper.

You both moan when she's fully seated inside you, her hips flush against your ass, her breath ragged against your shoulder.

"Feel so good," she breathes, lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear. She doesn't move yet, just lets you feel the full, thick length of her, lets your body adjust around her.

Her hand slides from your hip to your stomach, palm flat and warm, holding you close as she draws back almost all the way, then snaps her hips forward.

The new angle hits you perfectly, her thick length dragging along your inner walls just right, and you moan out softly, gripping the sheets. 

"Right there," you gasp, pushing your ass back to meet her next thrust.

A pleased, satisfied noise escapes her at your response, and she picks up the pace, finding a steady, deep rhythm that makes the bed frame creak. Her hand on your stomach spreads out possessive, spread fingered, protective as she pulls back to thrust deep again.

The room fills with your moans and skin on skin. 

Natasha's deep, rhythmic thrusting pushing you forward each time, only to pull you back again with her grip on your stomach. The position keeps her pressed tightly against you, almost spooning from behind.

"So tight," she whispers hoarsely.

You can feel her leaking inside you already, thick, warm, slick precum coating your inner walls, making the glide of her easier, wetter. 

Her cock is impossibly hard, the thick length of her stretching you wide with every thrust, the ridged veins along her shaft dragging against your sensitive walls.

You bite your lip and whimper softly, pushing your ass back to meet each of her deep, possessive thrusts. 

"Only for you," you gasp out, your inner muscles clamping tightly around her length as she withdraws almost all the way before slamming back home.

Those words hit something in her, a spark behind those green eyes you can't see but can feel in the way her grip tightens, the way her hips snap forward harder, deeper.

She rolls her hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes you see stars and moan against your pillow.

"Mine," she groans against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "All mine."

The possessive words make your core clench around her, and you can feel her thickness jump inside you, more hot precum leaking out to mix with your own slick. 

She's so big, filling you up completely in this position, hitting places you didn't know could feel this good.

She sifts slightly, changing the angle, and hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. “Right there,” you whimper, reaching back to grip her hip, urging her on. “You’re so deep.”

Her cock slides out slowly, inch by thick inch, glistening with your combined arousal in the morning light. You feel every ridge, every vein draping along your tight walls, leaving you achingly empty for one breathless moment before sliding back in hard. “Oh fuck,” she moans, voice rough and wrecked against your shoulder. 

You moan out as she fills you again, that thick head hitting deep, so deep in this position. Your bodies are pressed close, her chest warm against your back, her hips flush against your ass with every thrust. The wet obscene sound of her sliding in and out fills the room, slick and hot and filthy. “Yes,” you moan, fingers twisting in the sheets. 

She picks up the speed, her thrusts losing rhythm now, just raw need, dragging that thick cock through your dripping walls, over and over. You can feel the way she leaks more inside you with every desperate plunge. “Shit—” she grunts, biting down on your shoulder. 

You arch your back, pushing your ass further taking her deeper. She hits that spot again, leaving you a moaning whimpering mess. 

You’re so we that you can feel her leaking out of you, dripping down your legs. 

“Harder,” you beg.

Without warning, she pushes flat onto your stomach, her weight pinning you to the mattress as she follows you down, covering your body completely. Her hands find yours, fingers lacing together above your head as she traps you beneath her. 

Her control snaps completely. Her thrusts turn wild uncontrolled, her thick cock hammering into you. She buries her face in your neck teeth and lips everything as she fucks you sensless from behind. 

You’re trapped beneath her, pinned, claimed, utterly at her mercy as she takes what she needs. Her eyes flutter close, then roll back a groan tearing from her throat she loses herself in the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around her aching cock. 

Your thighs are shaking, and you’re so close, way too close, especially with her weight pressing you into the mattress, her thick length thrusting into you from this angle. 

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, your voice coming out desperate and wrecked. “Oh fuck, Natasha I’m gonna come–”

She doesn’t slow down, groaning against your neck as she feels your walls starting to tighten and clench around her. 

“Come for me,” she demands, her voice ragged and needy. “Come on my cock, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches, nails dragging into her hands as you scream into the pillow. Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave so intense you vision whites out, your body jerking beneath her, your pussy clamping down hard on her thick cock as you flood around her. 

She groans, deep, desperate, as she feels you come undone.

Her eyes snap shut as your orgasm triggers her own. With a final deep thrust, she buries herself inside you and releases, hot thick cum flooding your already dripping pussy. She keeps thrusting through it, slow, shallow strokes as she empties herself completely inside you. 

Her forehead drops to your shoulder blade, breathing labored and unsteady as she finishes coming inside you. Her hands slide from gripping yours to brushing lazy strokes against your knuckles. The thick base of her cock remains firmly seated inside you, her still hard length leaks more cum with each pulse.

Eventually, she slowly pulls out, her thick length sliding out with a wet, obscene sound. As soon as the head pops free, her heavy load immediately follows, a thick, white trickle of her cum leaking steadily out of your pussy and dripping down on your inner thighs. 

She watches with a satisfied groan as more of her cum drips out, making a sticky mess on the sheets beneath you. She gently pushes your tights apart more, getting a better view of how thoroughly she filled you up.

She presses a thumb gently to your messy entrance pushing some of her cum back inside, completely obsessed with the sight. 

“My girl,” she whispers, kissing your spine. “Good morning.”

A lazy, satisfied smile curves your lips as you stretch beneath her, feeling deliciously sore and utterly claimed. You hum softly at her touch, at the feeling of her pushing her release back inside you.

"Mmm," you murmur, voice still shaky from your intense orgasm. You turn your head just enough to catch her eye, cheeks flushed. "Good morning to you too."

You reach back lazily, fingers finding her cheek, pulling her down into a soft and tender kiss, contrasting the roughness of moments ago.

"Love you," you whisper against her lips, feeling completely content and thoroughly claimed.

“Love you too,” she smiles, that rare and soft thing just for you, and settles beside you, pulling you close against her chest.

[snoopylovessoup]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you love ao3 exactly how it is and you don’t want it to “update” or change in any way♡

[covenofagatha]

Sweet dreams

You wake up in the middle of the night to find your girlfriend, Agatha, having a very good dream.

Word count: ~1400

Warnings: somnophilia, girl penis, Agatha has a cock, blowjob, sex, mentions of public sex, mommy kink, cum

Taglist: @stayevildarling

You’re having the most pleasant dream when all of a sudden, something unknown wakes you up. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, noticing the clock on the nightstand blinking 3:33 in red. 

You roll your eyes and try to think back to the last time you actually slept through the whole night. It’s been years at least. You’ve never been very good at sleeping. 

But the woman wrapped around you has helped. You furrow back into your girlfriend, Agatha’s, arms which are spooning you, her body pressed against yours. 

Ever since the two of you had started dating, you found yourself to be sleeping better. It was much easier to doze off with when she was cuddling with you. And it was much easier to be tired enough to doze off after she fucked you so nicely in only the way she could. 

Tonight, however, Agatha had been out late at a work dinner, so this was the first time you’d seen the woman in since the previous morning. You had eventually fallen into a restless sleep before she had gotten home. 

You snuggle tighter into her grip and close your eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep. 

And that’s when you feel it. 

The hard bulge rubbing ever so slightly up and down your ass. Agatha’s cock. This must’ve been what had woken you up. Heat runs through you at the thought of your girlfriend having a naughty dream. 

You turn over in her arms, taking extra care to not disturb her. When you’re face-to-face with her, you can see her furrowed brow and sweaty skin, her hips grinding just a little against nothing. 

“Y/n,” Agatha whispers, her hand clutching your shoulder in her sleep, and your mouth runs dry. She’s dreaming of you. 

A smile stretches across your mouth. This is so much better than sleeping. 

Agatha and you had experimented with somnophilia in the past, but it was usually you who woke up to find mommy’s tongue on your clit or her fingers or cock buried in your cunt. But the thought of being the one to wake her up like that is delicious. 

You gently turn the older woman onto her back and pull the sheet down. She’s wearing only an oversized purple flannel, her favorite to sleep in. It’s ridden up in her movements and her long, hard cock is completely visible. 

The tip is flushed and leaking. It must be a good dream she’s having. You glance up just to make sure she’s still asleep before leaning down and running your tongue up her length. 

She groans and you freeze. She mumbles something incoherently, turning her head to the other side. You lick a few more times, keeping a close eye on her, before taking the tip into your mouth and giving it a light suck. 

“Yes, baby, so good,” Agatha grunts, hips raising lightly. Her dick twitches in your mouth. You can taste her precum. You use one hand to stroke the bottom of her and open your mouth wide and sink further down, your tongue curling against her. Her hand tangles in your hair and she’s starting to stir. You know you don’t have much longer before she’s totally awake. 

You slide back and forth enthusiastically on her cock, feeling her hand tighten. Her hips have started thrusting more and you swallow around her, hearing a loud moan. 

“What – oh, shit,” Agatha says, fully waking up. She looks down to meet your eyes and she takes in the sight of your pretty little mouth wrapped around her cock and she cums on your tongue with a breathy gasp, spurts of her coating the inside of your mouth. She watches with wide eyes as you swallow all of her. 

“Were you having a good dream, mommy?” you ask innocently. You feel her cock twitch and you raise your eyebrow playfully. 

“I was. Do you want me to tell you what it was about?” 

“I mean, I have a few guesses,” you joke, nodding at her length. Agatha smirks and pulls you up into a kiss, moaning at the taste of herself. She puts her hands around your hips and holds you so you’re straddling her. You can feel her warm cock against your wet underwear. 

“We were at a restaurant,” she begins, and you lean in closer to hang onto every word. “And the waitress wouldn’t stop flirting with you. She was being relentless, giving you light touches on the shoulder and winking at you. But you thought she was just being nice. It was making mommy so mad.” She begins to stroke your hips with her fingertips ever so slightly and you shift in her lap. “So I had no choice but to remind you who you belong to. When the hostess came over with the check, I bent you over the table and shoved my cock into you.”

You let out an involuntary gasp at the image. 

“The look on her face was delectable. Everyone turned around to watch what a good slut you were being for me. I made you look at the waitress the entire time so she could see that you were already taken. It was so hot, baby. Claiming you in front of all those people.” 

You’re literally dripping and you can feel her cock getting harder. She slides a hand into your underwear and smirks. 

“I’m not the only one who thinks that’s hot. Do you like the thought of that?” 

“Yes, mommy,” you say, starting to grind on her fingers. “Need you to remind me who I belong to.” She grins and sits up so she can sink her teeth into your neck. You gasp and tilt your head so she has better access. She leaves a few more marks before flipping you on your back on the bed. You squeal and she positions herself between your legs so she can rub herself against your covered pussy. 

“Since you woke me up so nicely,” Agatha says, trailing kisses over her bites. “I think it’s only fair that I give you a reward.” You nod eagerly and she reaches down to move your underwear to the side. She drags her dick up and down your slit, coating it with your juices. “You’re so wet, baby.” 

“Only for you,” you choke out. She smiles into your neck as she slowly pushes herself in. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re still so tight,” Agatha groans. She gives you a second to adjust when she bottoms out and then starts thrusting. You whimper everytime she hits the spot only she can find. It’s embarrassing how close you already are and you can feel her twitching inside you. Looks like neither of you will last long. 

“Mommy,” you whine. 

“I know, baby. I’m almost there, too. Want me to fill you up?” 

Your walls clench involuntarily and you moan. You think your favorite feeling in the world might be having your insides painted by her cum. “Yes, mommy!” 

She picks up the speed and reaches a finger between you two to rub your clit. You raise your hips to match her thrusts and she grunts with the exertion. 

“Gonna cum, baby, gonna cum in you,” she pants and suddenly, you feel bursts of heat in your cunt. She keeps fucking you through her orgasm and you quickly follow in suit, your pussy walls trying to milk every last drip from her. She stays buried in you for a few moments while the two of you breathe. 

You can feel her cock slowly going limp and then she slides out. You gasp at the feeling of her cum dripping out of you and she holds your legs apart to watch. You reach down and spread your folds apart so she can get a better view. 

“You’re so hot, baby. I love you so much,” Agatha says appreciatively and gives you a kiss before going to get a warm washcloth. She cleans your pussy, rubbing against your clit too many times to be considered accidental, and then climbs back in bed with you. 

She wraps her body around yours like she does every night and presses another kiss to your forehead. “Sweet dreams, darling.”

You have no trouble falling asleep after that. 

[ahintofchaos]

Fuck I forgot how much I love this fic. You’re fantastic. I love all of your writing oh my god

[miss-galaxy-turtle]

Random CBS Ghosts Headcanons

Sassapis knows what "getting sucked off" means. He consistently knows a bunch of modern shit, there's no way he doesn't know. He just acts dumb because he knows how much it means to Trevor I love their friendship so much

Trevor doesn't know Sass knows

Jay has a bunch of DnD characters based on the various ghosts. Even the ghosts who don't care about DnD like updates on "how they did" in games. Jay's favorite is, of course, the one based on Pete.

Jay screams at cooking competition shows like they're sports games

One time, Sam put on both Wicked movies back to back so she could get the ghosts out of her hair for a few hours...only to get sucked into it herself and watching it with them. Yes she'd already seen it. No it didn't stop her plan from backfiring. I may make a separate post just about this idea

Trevor was one of the people who went to Times Square to watch the Seinfeld finale. He tried getting his bros to go with him. Pinkus was the only one who did

Also, because one of my favorite running gags is how poorly Trevor's interests have aged...he doesn't know about the Michael Richards Laugh Factory incident. Please, no one tell him. It'll give him a second heart attack

Nancy loves It's Getting Hot in Here and has very colorful commentary. She also loves Cupcakke remixes to the point that she gets confused hearing the original songs

[buddie-romance]

thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3

[musicismypreferredlanguage]

Alice: how’s it going being friends with Agatha?

Teen: sometimes I open the cupboard and let the Tupperware hit my face on purpose

[barren-heart]

happy ghostmas!

[mmcwritesfanfic]

Read it in a Book

You couldn’t get the infamous door lean out of your head, more specifically, if Agatha did it to you. What’s the harm in asking?

TW: smut, orgasm control (forced if you squint)

You'd been thinking about it for days. That scene from the book you'd devoured in one sitting, the one where the character leaned against the doorframe with such casual confidence that it made your stomach flip. The infamous door lean. You couldn't get it out of your head, and more importantly, you couldn't stop imagining Agatha doing it to you.

The problem was asking her.

Agatha Harkness wasn't the type of woman you made requests of lightly. She had a way of turning every situation to her advantage, of taking control so smoothly you didn't realize it had happened until you were already breathless and wanting. Still, the image persisted, her arm braced against the doorframe, that knowing smirk playing at her lips, her body angled just so.

You found her in the kitchen one evening, pouring herself a glass of wine with the kind of elegant precision she brought to everything. The late afternoon light caught in her dark hair, and you almost lost your nerve.

"Agatha?"

"Hmm?" She didn't look up from her glass, swirling the deep red liquid thoughtfully.

"I... I read something. In a book." Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

That got her attention. Her eyes lifted to yours, one eyebrow arching with interest. "Oh? Do tell."

Heat crept up your neck. "It's silly, really. Just this thing where someone leans against a doorframe, you know, all confident and—" You gestured vaguely, feeling ridiculous. "Never mind."

But Agatha was already moving closer, setting her wine glass down with a soft click. "No, no. Continue." Her voice had dropped into that lower register that made your pulse quicken. "You want me to lean against a doorframe?"

"I said it was silly."

"I didn't say that." She tilted her head, studying you with those impossibly dark eyes. "The infamous door lean, is it? I'm familiar."

Of course she was.

"So... would you?" You tried to sound casual and failed miserably.

Agatha's lips curved into a smile that was equal parts amusement and something darker. "Perhaps. On my terms, of course."

"Of course," you echoed, not sure if you should be excited or terrified. Probably both.

She picked up her wine again, taking a slow sip. "When you least expect it, darling. That's when it works best, don't you think?"

And then she'd walked away, leaving you standing in the kitchen with your heart hammering against your ribs.

Three days passed. Three days of heightened awareness every time you walked through a doorway, every time Agatha was in the same room. She seemed to take particular pleasure in your anticipation, brushing past you in hallways, letting her fingers trail across your shoulders as she moved by. But no door lean.

You'd almost convinced yourself she'd forgotten—or worse, that she'd been teasing you and had no intention of following through—when it finally happened.

It was a Thursday afternoon. You'd been working in the study, lost in your laptop screen, when you decided you needed coffee. The house was quiet; Agatha had a work call scheduled in twenty minutes, and you'd heard her in her office earlier, preparing notes.

You padded down the hallway in your socks, comfortable and unsuspecting. You'd just crossed the threshold of the study doorway, one foot in the hall, when you felt it: her hand, firm and sure, wrapping around your wrist.

She tugged you backward.

Not hard, but with enough authority that your body responded before your mind could catch up. You stumbled back into the doorframe, and suddenly Agatha was there, her arm braced against the wood beside your head, her body angled toward yours in a way that made the hallway feel impossibly small.

"Going somewhere?" Her voice was low, almost a purr.

Your breath caught. She was so close, close enough that you could smell her perfume, something dark and expensive that you'd never been able to identify. Close enough to see the flecks of color in her irises, the way her lips curved with satisfaction.

"I—coffee—I was just—" The words tangled on your tongue.

"Just what?" She leaned in incrementally closer, her free hand coming up to rest on the doorframe on your other side, effectively caging you in. Her lips were inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath. "You seem flustered, darling."

"I'm not—" But you absolutely were, and you both knew it.

Agatha's smile widened. "No? Your pulse is racing." She shifted, her body pressing closer, not quite touching but near enough that you felt the heat of her. "I can see it here." One finger lifted from the doorframe to tap gently against your throat, right where your pulse hammered visibly beneath your skin.

You couldn't form words. Your brain had short-circuited somewhere between the hand on your wrist and the way she was looking at you—like you were something delicious she was considering devouring.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Her voice dropped even lower, intimate and knowing. "The infamous door lean. Though I suspect you're discovering that the reality is quite different from reading about it in a book."

"Agatha..." It came out as barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, darling?" She was so close now that her lips nearly brushed yours when she spoke. Nearly, but not quite. The almost-contact was somehow more devastating than a kiss would have been.

Your hands had found the doorframe behind you, gripping it for support because your knees had gone unreliable. Everything had narrowed to this—the solid wood at your back, Agatha's presence overwhelming your senses, the aching want that had settled low in your stomach.

"Your call—" you managed. "Don't you have a call in—"

"Fifteen minutes." She said it dismissively, like fifteen minutes was an eternity, like there was nothing in the world more important than this moment. Her eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide, and you recognized that look. She was enjoying this, enjoying the way you'd gone pliant and breathless, the way you were looking at her like she'd hung the moon.

"That's not enough time," you protested weakly, even as your body betrayed you, swaying toward her.

Agatha laughed, low and rich. "Oh, sweetheart. You'd be surprised what I can do in fifteen minutes." Her hand slid from your wrist up your arm, fingers trailing fire in their wake. "But you're right. This deserves more time. More attention."

She pulled back slightly, not much, just enough to look at you properly. Her gaze raked over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.

"Look at you," she murmured, almost to herself. "So responsive. So beautifully undone." Her thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you couldn't suppress the small sound that escaped you. "There it is. That's the state I love you in, all soft and malleable, thinking about nothing but me."

It was true. Your mind had gone hazy, thoughts scattering like leaves in wind. There was only Agatha—her touch, her voice, her presence filling every available space in your awareness.

"The call can wait," she decided, her voice taking on that commanding edge that made something in your chest tighten with anticipation. "Or better yet, I'll cancel it entirely."

"You don't have to—" But even as you said it, you knew you didn't mean it. You wanted her to cancel it. You wanted her to stay right here, in this doorway, with you trapped between her and the frame, for as long as possible.

"I know I don't have to." Her lips finally, finally brushed against yours, the barest whisper of contact that sent electricity racing down your spine. "I want to. There's a difference."

She kissed you then, properly, deeply, one hand sliding into your hair while the other remained braced against the doorframe. You melted into it, into her, your hands leaving the frame to clutch at her shoulders, her waist, anywhere you could reach. She kissed like she did everything else: with complete confidence and devastating skill, taking you apart with practiced ease.

When she finally pulled back, you were breathing hard, your lips swollen and your mind completely empty of anything resembling coherent thought.

"Still want that coffee?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

You shook your head mutely.

"Good." She stepped back, but caught your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. "Come with me. I have some calls to cancel and then..." Her smile turned wicked. "Then I'm going to show you exactly what else I can do with a doorframe."

But she didn't move. Not yet. Instead, her hand tightened around yours, pulling you back against the doorframe with enough force that you gasped. "Actually," she murmured, her mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, "the calls can wait."

Her knee pressed between your thighs, and you couldn't stop the sound that escaped you, half whimper, half moan. She smiled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. "That's what I wanted to hear."

Your hands found her hips, pulling her closer, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more everything. She obliged, her thigh pressing harder, and you rolled your hips against her without thinking, chasing the friction.

"Eager," she observed, pulling back just enough to watch your face. Her hand slid from your hair down your neck, your collarbone, lower. "I like that about you."

When her fingers found the hem of your shirt, you nodded frantically, and she laughed, low and rich and absolutely sinful. She pushed the fabric up slowly, deliberately, her knuckles dragging against your skin in a way that made you shiver. You raised your arms and she pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind her without looking.

Her eyes darkened as she took you in, and suddenly you were very aware of how exposed you were, still pressed against the doorframe in the middle of the afternoon. "Agatha—"

"Shh." Her thumb traced the edge of your bra, then dipped beneath it. "You asked for this, remember? The door lean?" Her fingers found your nipple, circling, teasing. "You wanted to know what it felt like."

"Yes," you managed, arching into her touch. "Yes, but—"

"But nothing." She kissed you again, swallowing whatever protest you'd been about to make. Her other hand worked at the button of your jeans, and you helped her, fumbling with the zipper until she pushed your hands away. "Let me."

She sank to her knees in the doorway, and the sight of her looking up at you from that position nearly undid you completely. She hooked her fingers into your waistband, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion. You stepped out of them clumsily, one hand braced against the doorframe for balance.

"Perfect," she said, her hands sliding up your thighs. "Now stay just like that."

Her mouth found you, and your head fell back against the frame with a thud you barely felt. She worked you with the same devastating skill she'd kissed you with, her tongue moving in ways that made your knees weak and your breath come in short, desperate gasps.

Gentle strokes at first, making you chase after her, hips rocking against the doorframe. Then devouring you like you would disappear, like if you weren’t gasping her name you weren’t real.

"Agatha—" Your hand found her hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. "I can't—I'm going to—"

She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath hot against you. "Then do it. Come for me right here."

And you did, crying out her name as pleasure crashed through you, your body shaking with the force of it. She held you steady, her hands firm on your hips, working you through it until you were boneless and trembling.

When she stood, her lips were curved in satisfaction. "Now," she said, taking your hand again, "let's move this to the bedroom. I'm nowhere near done with you."

You barely made it down the hallway. Your legs felt like water, but Agatha's grip on your hand was steady, purposeful. She glanced back at you once, her eyes dark with promise, and your pulse kicked up all over again despite what had just happened.

The bedroom door closed behind you with a soft click. Before you could catch your breath, she was on you again, backing you toward the bed with deliberate steps.

"Lie down," she said, and the command in her voice sent heat pooling low in your belly.

You obeyed, settling back against the pillows. She stood at the foot of the bed, watching you with an intensity that made you feel exposed in the best possible way. Then she began to undress, slowly, holding your gaze the entire time. Her sweater. Her jeans. The black lace underneath that made your mouth go dry.

When she finally climbed onto the bed, she moved like a predator, all grace and certainty. She straddled your hips, leaning down to capture your mouth in a kiss that was somehow both languid and demanding. You could taste yourself on her lips, and the thought made you moan into her mouth.

"I want to hear you," she murmured against your lips. "Every sound. Don't hold back."

Her mouth traveled down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point before moving lower. She took her time with your breasts, her tongue circling one nipple while her fingers worked the other, until you were arching up into her touch and gasping her name.

"That's it," she praised, her voice rough with desire. "So responsive for me."

She continued her descent, kissing and nipping at your stomach, your hip bones, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. By the time her mouth finally found you again, you were already trembling with anticipation.

This time was different, slower, more deliberate. She took you apart with patient precision, building you up gradually until you were writhing beneath her, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tangled in her hair. When she added her fingers, curling them just right, you shattered with a cry that echoed off the bedroom walls.

But she didn't stop. She worked you through the first orgasm and straight into another, her fingers and tongue relentless until you were begging—though whether for mercy or more, you couldn't say.

When she finally crawled back up your body, her lips were glistening and her smile was pure satisfaction. "Better," she said, settling beside you and pulling you against her. "But we're still not done. I want at least one more from you before sundown."

You turned your head to look at her, breathless and amazed. "You're going to kill me."

"What a way to go, though." She kissed you softly, then deeper, her hand already beginning to wander again.

[theballadofharkness]

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Agatha Harkness

Agatha Harkness Masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: Being heavily pregnant with Agatha Harkness’s baby is a dream… until you are compared to a great big pumpkin in a grocery store by a child and don’t want your wife to see you naked anymore.

Word Count: 11.3K

Warnings: GP!Agatha, explicit smut, pregnant sex, as always MDNI xo

A/N: Happy Samhain to all that celebrate 💜 to celebrate here is a mammoth spooky week one shot, I finally bit the bullet and wrote a pregnant!reader for spooky season, so let me know what you think!

It’s early, too early, and you’re already waddling.

You’re waddling like some bewitched little pumpkin on legs. You’re muttering darkly under your breath as you shuffle down the creaky hallway, one hand on the wall for balance and the other cradling your very pregnant stomach like a ticking magical time bomb.

You’d kill for coffee. You’d settle for toast. You’d give anything for a bath hot enough to dissolve your bones.

From somewhere in the house, you hear the faint flick of a match and the low creak of an antique chair, and you know without looking that Agatha is already curled in her spot at the kitchen table, nursing her first cup of something dark and bitter. You can picture the way her robe falls open at the collarbone, her legs crossed just so, one sharp nail tapping the porcelain rim of her mug.

You’d like to hate her for looking that good this early. But then again, she’s your wife. So really, you just feel smug.

Sort of.

Mostly you feel huge. And tired. And a little weepy for no reason.

You finally reach the threshold of the kitchen and lean dramatically against the doorframe, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m dying.”

Agatha doesn’t even blink. She turns a page in her spellbook and lifts her mug to her lips. “You’re pregnant,” she says calmly. “Not cursed.”

“Feels the same,” you grumble.

She looks at you fully, enough that you can see the gleam in her eyes, the one that started around the second trimester and only got worse with every inch your belly grew. That sharp, slow burning hunger that makes you feel on the edge of unraveling.

You try to straighten your posture, but you give up halfway and just slump into a chair with a grunt.

Agatha closes her book without looking. “Did you sleep well?”

You shake your head, rubbing your lower back.

“The baby was doing somersaults. And your night time protection spell makes the bedroom smell like rosemary farts.”

That earns you a smirk. She rises from her chair, graceful and infuriating, and crosses the kitchen.

“You’re glowing,” she murmurs, reaching for the kettle. “Like a goddess out for blood.”

“Don’t flirt with me,” you mutter. “I haven’t shaved my legs in three weeks.”

Agatha hums, pouring the water. “As if I care.”

You glance up in time to see the way she’s looking at you, like she wants to crawl into your skin and live there. You feel a flush start in your chest and crawl up your neck.

She sets a mug in front of you with a flourish and leans down, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “Drink. Eat. Let me worship you properly once you’re awake.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re obsessed.”

She grins, unapologetic. “You’re carrying my child, little witch. Of course I’m obsessed.”

You’re halfway through your second slice of toast and already fighting sleep again when Agatha crouches beside your chair. She’s still in her robe, the silky black one with the plum lining and dangerous slit up one side, and there’s something about the way she’s looking at you that sets off a low, annoyed thrum in your gut.

You swallow and narrow your eyes. “Stop it.”

She blinks, all false innocence. “Stop what?”

“That look.”

“What look?” she purrs, tilting her head. “I’m just admiring my beautiful little green witch. All round and glowing. My precious pregnant mama to be…”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “You’re such a freak.”

Agatha snorts and shifts onto her knees with a theatrical sigh. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were marrying.”

You glance down. She’s got her hands wrapped around your calves now, thumbs gently stroking your ankles. She’s been obsessively reverent lately. Not just protective, but borderline possessive, like she thinks if she touches you enough, everyone in the world will see her claim on you.

It’s been weeks since you let her really touch you. Since the last time she had her hands down your panties, mouth on your neck, whispering filth in that low, cracked voice that makes you mewl.

It’s not that you don’t want her.

You just… can’t.

You feel so puffy, so stretched, so unrecognizable. Your center of gravity is somewhere in another dimension. Your skin itches. Your thighs stick together. Your nipples are sore and your back is killing you and when she looks at you like you’re the moon and the tide and the magick in her bones, it makes your heart ache, because you don’t feel like you anymore.

You don’t feel sexy.

You feel like a blimp in a cardigan with crumbs in your bra.

Agatha’s hands move slowly, stroking up your calves to your knees. Her eyes track every inch like they’re memorizing you. “Do you know,” she murmurs, “how badly I want you right now?”

You stiffen. “Agatha…”

“No,” she says gently. “You don’t know. Because if you did, you wouldn’t keep running away from me every time I try to touch you.”

Her voice is low, almost hurt, and that makes your chest ache worse than anything.

“I’m huge,” you mutter.

She blinks. “Yes.”

You scowl.

“Yes,” she says again, slower this time, like she’s trying not to combust. “You’re huge. Glowing. Fucking divine. You’re full of life, full of power, full of me. Every time you walk into a room I forget what I’m doing. It’s maddening.”

You scoff, reaching for your tea.

She takes the mug from your hands.

“Agatha.”

“No,” she says again, and this time it’s more like a growl. “You don’t get to hide behind sarcasm. I know you. I know you’re not okay. And you don’t have to be. But I need you to know that even like this, especially like this, I want you more than I ever have.”

She leans in, hands sliding up the sides of your thighs now, up to your hips, reverent and slow, lips brushing your belly through the fabric of your sweater. She kisses the swell softly. Then again. And again. A quiet moan leaves her throat.

You flinch.

Agatha stills instantly. Her voice drops. “Too much?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I just… I don’t feel right in my body. I know you love it. I know you want me. But I feel like… like an oversized waterbed. I don’t feel-”

“Hey.” Her fingers slip beneath your chin, guiding your gaze back to hers. Her eyes are dark with longing, but soft, full of something bottomless. “You are mine. Mine. And your body is perfect. You’re not a waterbed, you little witch. You’re a fucking altar.”

That makes you laugh despite yourself, despite the burn in your throat.

She grins, triumphant. “There’s my girl.”

You shake your head, leaning back. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a menace who hasn’t had sex in twenty three days and is about to combust.”

“Oh my god.”

“No,” she says, rising to her feet with a stretch, robe falling open at the thigh again. “Oh me. You should be saying oh me, moaning it into a pillow while I-”

“Agatha.”

“Just saying,” she mutters, sauntering toward the stove. “If I was allowed to touch you, you’d be glowing even brighter.”

You sit there for a minute after she walks away, one hand on your belly, the other still warm from where she touched it. Your tea’s gone cold and your hormones are rising in your throat like a tide.

You love her. Hecate, you love her.

But you also kind of want to punch her in the teeth.

Because she’s right. You haven’t let her near you in weeks. You’ve been avoiding eye contact, changing in the bathroom, faking sleep when she gets in bed. And she’s been so good. So gentle. So patient. And this morning? With her kissing your belly and calling you an altar?

You should be in her lap right now.

You should be letting her worship every inch of your soft, swollen body.

Instead…

You sigh. Loudly.

Agatha cranes her neck from the stove. “That’s not a sexy sigh.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is it a sad sigh? Or a ‘you’re right and I hate it’ sigh?”

You press your palms into your thighs and groan. “It’s a ‘we forgot to go to the store and the coven’s coming tonight’ sigh.”

She stops stirring whatever she’s doing and turns slowly, like you just said the most offensive thing imaginable. “You’re worried about snacks right now?”

“It’s a gathering!”

“It’s a full moon ritual. There will be fire. And incense. And probably group chanting. No one’s gonna care if we’re out of what, chips?”

“Lilia cares,” you mutter, hauling yourself up with the speed of a hungover tortoise. “She acts like it’s a personal insult if there aren’t honey roasted almonds in the offering bowl.”

Agatha throws her head back and groans, a long, theatrical wail like she’s trying to summon the dead.

You smirk as you pass her. “You okay?”

“No,” she snaps. “No, I’m not okay. I’m in a house with the most divine, glowing, breathtaking creature who’s ever walked this Earth, and she’d rather go to Whole Foods than let me put my face between her thighs.”

You snort so hard you nearly fall over.

She’s behind you in a second, one arm around your middle, the other steadying your hip as you wobble. “Careful,” she murmurs, her voice suddenly velvet sweet against your neck. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my altar.”

“Agatha…”

She presses a kiss just below your ear. “Can’t I come with you? Help you pick out your sacred coven trail mix? Touch you inappropriately in the produce aisle?”

You bite back a grin and step away from her hold. “You can come. But no fondling me near the plums.”

“Ugh,” she mutters, dragging her feet as you head toward the bedroom to change. “You’re lucky I love you more than I love my dignity.”

You glance over your shoulder, smug. “You lost your dignity the day you tried to hex the barista who spelled my name wrong.”

She grins, eyes dark with mischief. “And I’d do it again.”

~

The thing about being heavily pregnant and going grocery shopping with Agatha Harkness is that you will not be left alone for longer than six seconds.

You try.

You really do.

You give her a list. You give her a basket. You send her to the spice aisle. But five seconds later, she’s back, pressing up behind you.

You sigh. “You were meant to be getting drinks.”

“I was,” she says. “But then I looked over and saw you standing here all round with my baby and gorgeous and I thought I was gonna pass out.”

You don’t turn around. You keep inspecting almonds.

“Agatha,” you mutter.

“What?” Her voice is casual, but it’s tight at the edges. She’s trying to sound normal. She’s failing. “I’m just making an observation. I’m in a public place. I haven’t said anything obscene. Yet.”

You turn and meet her eyes. She’s standing very close, one hand on the cart, the other twitching like she doesn’t trust it not to wander. She looks wrecked and beautiful and so very hungry.

You clear your throat. “We’re getting snacks for the coven. You promised to behave.”

“I am behaving,” she mutters. “You should hear what I’m not saying.”

You shoot her a look, and she softens, just slightly.

Her hand brushes your lower back. “Look, I get it,” she says, voice quiet now. “You don’t feel like yourself. You’re tired. You’re uncomfortable. I’m not trying to push.”

You exhale. “I know.”

She’s quiet for a beat. “But you’re still… you.”

You look up at her.

“I still see you,” she says. “And I still want you… badly. All the time.”

You smile, a little sad. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shrugs. “I can wait. I’ve waited before. Just… don’t shut me out, okay?”

You nod.

She gives your back one more gentle stroke, then sighs. “Okay. Back to juice duty.”

“Pick something Billy won’t spill all over the carpet.”

She grins. “So, nothing red.”

“Or sticky.”

You’re nearly done.

You’ve got hummus, crackers, fruit, three kinds of weird gluten free pastries for Jennifer, three kinds of not gluten free pastries for yourself, and an entire armful of curated coven trail mix. Agatha’s managed not to grope you in public for a solid ten minutes. You’re tired, your ankles ache, and the waistband of your pants is somewhere in your ribcage, but you’re managing.

Until the checkout line.

There’s a kid standing in front of you. Maybe five. Possibly six. All limbs and missing teeth, clutching a tiny plastic pumpkin bucket while his mom argues with the cashier about expired coupons.

He turns, stares up at you.

Then squints at your belly.

Then, in that brutally honest kid voice that could slice through steel, he points, delighted. “Is that your costume? Are you pretending to be a giant pumpkin lady?”

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Because something about the word giant and the innocent way he says it and the fact that your spine feels like it’s cracking in half just breaks you clean open.

Your face crumples.

And you burst into tears.

Not a gentle, dignified tear down the cheek kind of cry. No. This is sobbing in the grocery store. This is a hands over your face, gasping, full body meltdown.

Agatha freezes.

Then turns to the child.

And hisses.

It’s low and sharp and entirely feral, the kind of sound that makes even the automatic doors stutter. The mom snaps her head around, eyes wide. The kid flinches back, visibly confused.

“Agatha,” you choke out, tears streaking down your cheeks. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s a loud kid,” she mutters, stepping in front of you, blocking the view. “And he made you cry.”

“He didn’t mean to,” you sniff, wiping your face on your sleeve.

Agatha doesn’t look away. “He should learn to think before he speaks.”

You tug her sleeve, and finally she looks at you, her eyes dark, jaw clenched, trying to keep it together. When she sees your face, everything softens.

“Hey,” she says gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head.

She steps close and wraps her arms around you, ignoring the people watching. “Come here. It’s alright.”

You let yourself sag into her chest, breathing through it. She kisses your temple, then your cheek. “You don’t look like a pumpkin. You look like my girl. You’re carrying our baby. You’re doing something incredible and hard and you’re beautiful, okay? Even if some random six year old doesn’t know how to shut the hell up.”

You laugh wetly, sniffling. “Don’t be mean to kids.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m actually being very controlled.” She lowers her voice. “Controlled enough to not set fire to seasonal candy display while defending your honor.”

That makes you smile, just a little.

She presses her forehead to yours. “Let’s get out of here. You’re done shopping. I’ll finish the rest. Go sit in the car and I’ll bring you snacks.”

You nod, still a little wobbly.

She kisses your knuckles and mutters, “stupid little jackass.”

~

The house smells like cinnamon, aged wood and something vaguely magical you can’t place, probably one of Billy’s half made incense bundles. He’s already let himself in with the spare key again. You can hear him moving around the kitchen as soon as you step inside, humming to himself and opening every cabinet like he owns the place.

Agatha lets out a sharp sigh behind you as she closes the front door behind you. “Unbelievable.”

“He does this every single time,” she growls, dropping the grocery bags on the nearest chair. “One of these days I’m putting a ward on the house. His eyebrows will never recover.”

You don’t answer. You’re already waddling past her, slow, sore, and worn out, your hand on the wall for balance, your other arm cradling your belly.

You don’t even glance at Billy when you pass the kitchen.

You make a straight line to the living room.

And there he is, right where he always is, curled up like a little prince on the armchair in the corner.

Señor Scratchy.

Agatha’s adorable, cuddly, magically suspicious bunny. He blinks once when he sees you, but doesn’t hop away.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper.

And then you lower yourself onto the couch with a wince and a grunt, kick your shoes off, and gather him carefully into your arms.

You stroke his fur slowly, rhythmically, and feel yourself start to relax.

From the kitchen you hear Billy’s voice.

“I brought cider! And those weird little moon cookies Lilia likes!”

“Billy,” Agatha calls, already peeling off her coat. “Why are you in my house?”

“You gave me the key!”

“For emergencies,” she says. “This isn’t an emergency. This is you reorganizing my cupboards.”

“I’m just getting things ready!”

“Without permission.”

“I’m setting up!”

“I don’t need you to set up!”

“You clearly do,” he mutters.

“I have it handled!”

You let out a soft sigh and curl further into the couch, gently stroking Señor Scratchy’s head. He makes a faint, grumpy snuffle, but doesn’t move. Your belly shifts, a little kick pressing against your ribs, and you close your eyes for a moment and breathe in the quiet of the house beneath the bickering.

Agatha storms into the room a second later, still mid argument, and freezes when she sees you on the couch.

You're all curled up, holding her bunny like a lifeline. Your eyes are tired, your face blotchy from crying earlier.

She exhales like someone’s punched the wind out of her.

She doesn’t say anything, just crosses the room slowly and kneels beside the couch, one hand gently smoothing your hair back from your face. Her fingers are warm and careful.

“You alright?” she murmurs.

You nod, slowly.

She looks at you for a long moment. Then at the way you’re curled around the rabbit. Then at your face, tired, puffy, worn out.

“You want me to ask him to go?”

You shake your head. “He’s trying.”

Agatha sighs and pushes her fingers through her hair, clearly biting back another complaint. “He just… doesn’t know when to stop.”

You manage a tiny smile. “Neither do you.”

She huffs out a quiet laugh. “Fair.”

She reaches up and brushes your hair back from your face, then leans in and kisses your temple.

“I’ll bring you some water,” she says, standing up. “And something cold for your feet.”

You nod again.

As she walks toward the kitchen, you hear her say in a flat, sharp voice, “Billy. If you knock over one more thing, I’m revoking the key.”

“I didn’t knock it!”

“You did, I heard it!”

The moment Agatha settles back on the edge of the couch beside you Senõr Scratchy gives an offended little grunt, wiggles free of your lap, and hops off with all the disdain of a centuries old familiar who’s had enough of human drama.

You let out a tired laugh as he disappears behind the armchair.

Agatha watches him go, then turns her eyes back to you. “Traitor,” she mutters, half under her breath. But her focus remains on you.

You can feel her looking.

You don’t need a mirror to know how you look right now. You feel huge and sore and a little emotionally hungover from crying in public.

But she’s still looking at you like she’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“I adore you.” She breathes. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your throat tightens.

“Hey,” she says gently, and her hand comes up to cup your jaw. “You are. You always are. But right now? Like this?” Her voice dips, low and breathless. “You’re killing me.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you look away.

But not before she sees the pain in your face when you shift your weight.

She frowns. “Where?”

“My back,” you mumble. “Just between my shoulders. Feels like someone stuck a knife there and twisted it.”

Without asking, she moves behind you on the couch, careful not to jostle you too much, and slides both hands onto your shoulders. You tense at first, it’s been weeks since you let her touch you like this. But her hands are gentle and you begin to relax under her touch. She starts to knead the muscles at the base of your neck in slow circles, releasing pressure. You breathe out through your nose.

And then it slips out, not a moan exactly, but a breathy, needy sound that makes Agatha freeze up.

Her thumbs dig in again just slightly, not enough to hurt but just enough to make sure she heard it right.

You let out another sound and Agatha lets out the tiniest groan.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs behind you. “Do that again.”

You turn your head. She’s right there, eyes half lidded, lips parted.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” you whisper.

“I don't care, just do it again,” she groans.

You lean in.

And she meets you halfway, her kiss hungry but slow, like she’s scared you’ll change your mind. Like she’s not sure this is real.

You whimper into her mouth, and her hands tighten on your shoulders like she’s holding back a month’s worth of want. You feel her shift behind you, knee pressing into the couch, the warmth of her body bracketing yours. Her hand starts to slide down…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You both freeze.

You hear another knock. Then the creak of the front door swinging open without permission.

“Hello?” comes Alice’s calm voice from the foyer. “I brought extra lanterns!”

Agatha breaks away from your mouth with a guttural noise of pure agony.

“I am going to kill her,” she whispers.

You cover your face with your hands, half laughing, half horrified. “Don’t.”

“I’m going to hex every traffic light between here and her house.”

“She brought lanterns.”

“I was finally getting somewhere…”

“She knocked.”

“She always knocks. And then she walks in anyway.”

You laugh harder. Your heart is pounding. Your lips are tingling. You’re out of breath and still aching and a little stunned that you even wanted that just now.

Agatha sees it.

And underneath all her frustration, her mouth curves into the tiniest smile.

Agatha kisses you one more time before standing.

She lingers a moment, eyes scanning your face like she’s not ready to let go before she clears her throat and murmurs, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

You nod, still breathless, trying not to think about the way her mouth felt on yours and the heat still humming under your skin.

She disappears down the hallway with a kind of tense urgency that tells you everything: she needs a second. You got to her, even with how soft and short it was. You can feel it in the air she left behind.

You’re trying to gather yourself when you hear Alice walking over to you. “Hey,” she says gently. “Can I sit with you for a minute?”

You nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

She lowers herself into the seat across from you and rests her arms on her thighs, watching you carefully. She’s not prying. Just… checking in.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod again, then pause. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t press, just raises an eyebrow and waits.

You exhale. “It’s just been a long day.”

Her eyes flick briefly toward the hallway where Agatha disappeared. She says nothing, but you know she noticed the tension.

“She needed a minute,” you mutter.

Alice nods once. “Figured.”

“She’s being really good.”

“She loves you.”

You bite your lip, suddenly unsure where to look. You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “I’ve been… avoiding her. I didn’t mean to. I just… I don’t feel good in my body right now. And then today…” You stop.

Alice’s gaze doesn’t waver. “What happened?”

You swallow. “At the store. A kid pointed at my belly and said I looked like a Halloween pumpkin. Asked if it was part of my costume as a great big pumpkin.”

Alice’s brow furrows, quietly pissed on your behalf.

“I cried,” you say, voice small. “In front of everyone at the checkout.”

Alice doesn’t laugh. She nods slowly, like that makes complete sense.

“I know it sounds stupid,” you add quickly. “He didn’t mean anything. But I just… I feel like this massive, swollen thing. I don’t feel like me. And Agatha keeps looking at me like I’m the most beautiful creature on earth, and I can’t even see myself.”

There’s a pause before Alice says, softly, “You know… I know you don’t feel like yourself right now, so maybe you should let the people who love you remind you of the parts you’ve forgotten.”

You feel the tears prick again, sudden and sharp.

“Agatha wants you,” Alice adds. “That hasn’t changed.”

“I kissed her,” you whisper.

Alice nods, but doesn’t react beyond that.

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. And she… she had to go to the bathroom.”

Now she smiles. Just slightly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You let out a soft, wet laugh, swiping under your eyes. “She’s trying so hard not to push,” you say.

“And you’re trying so hard not to fall apart.” Alice adds.

That makes you go quiet again.

Alice leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re allowed to need space. You’re also allowed to need her. Even if it’s complicated right now.”

You nod slowly. “I think I really do. Need her, I mean.”

She smiles, warm and certain. “Then let her show up for you.”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You just sit there, eyes wet, fingers absently rubbing your bump.

“She almost hexed the six year old over that pumpkin thing,” you murmur.

Alice smiles. “Sounds about right.”

You barely have time to compose yourself before you hear the front door creak open again.

“I brought wine,” comes Jennifer’s voice, loud, and deeply unimpressed. “Even though no one here deserves it.”

“Where is she? Where is my radiant little mother to be?” Lilia calls.

You don’t even get a chance to stand up.

They’re in the room within seconds, Jennifer in a chic oversized coat, a scarf half falling off her shoulder, with a bottle of something blackcurrant looking clutched in one pink gloved hand. Lilia, sweeping in like a high priestess descending from the mountaintop, draped in layered velvet and silver necklaces, carrying a massive canvas tote that definitely says LiliasLeggings.com in sparkly vinyl letters.

“Look at you!” Lilia cries, taking you in with a gasp, hands already hovering like she’s about to cast a fertility blessing. “You’re glowing. Agatha must be completely deranged.”

“She is,” Alice says calmly from her chair.

Jennifer smirks, “she’s been vibrating like a tuning fork since the equinox.”

You snort, but the laugh turns suspiciously watery at the edges.

Lilia kneels delicately at your feet, reaching into her tote bag. “I brought something for you. I’ve been developing a maternity friendly line as part of my brand expansion. Organic cotton, elastic waistband, no weird seam lines. You’ll never go back.”

You blink down at the neatly folded black leggings she pulls out, soft, stretchy, and embroidered with a subtle silver crescent moon above the belly panel.

“They’re…” you swallow. “You made these?”

“I sell these,” Lilia corrects, eyes twinkling. “There’s a difference. These are the prototype batch. You’re the first to try them. I sewed those protection runes on the waistband myself.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

Alice shifts slightly in her chair, probably sensing what’s coming.

Jennifer glances at you, then at the leggings. “She’s crying.”

“I am not crying,” you sniff, blinking fast. “I’m just… I’m hormonal and I haven’t had leggings that fit since August and these have a moon on them.”

Lilia beams, absolutely delighted. “See? Everyone mocks my side hustle until they cry with gratitude in a circle of women.”

Jennifer rolls her eyes. “I don’t cry over pants.”

“You should,” Lilia says, “it’s very healing.”

You press the leggings to your chest, tears properly falling now, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “Why are you all being so nice to me today?”

“Because you’re a walking miracle,” Lilia says, smoothing your hair with her long fingers. “And you’re ours.”

Just then, Agatha reappears in the doorway looking flushed, trying to act composed, holding two mugs of something steaming.

She looks at the leggings in your lap then your face. She stops in her tracks. “What did I miss?”

“Lilia made her cry,” Jennifer says.

“I gave her pants,” Lilia says proudly.

Agatha blinks. “Did you enchant the pants?”

“Obviously.”

Agatha sighs and hands you your mug. “This coven is a disaster.”

But she’s smiling.

Because you’re smiling.

The living room’s filled with the golden flicker of lantern light. Lilia’s already directing everyone like some kind of general. “No, the black candles go on the eastern altar, Billy, eastern. You always get that wrong.”

Jennifer is muttering to herself while carefully placing a bowl of salt into position.

Alice is adjusting the perimeter wards with quiet precision.

And you’re watching Agatha across the kitchen.

She’s pouring cider into mismatched mugs, jaw tight, hands a little too careful, clearly trying to stay grounded after the whirlwind of the last hour. Her curls are falling loose from where she pinned them up, and the soft glow from the stove light paints her in gold.

You move before you can overthink it.

She looks up just as you reach her, her eyes flicking to yours, mouth parting like she’s about to ask something. But you don’t give her time.

You grab her hand and lead her a few steps out of sight of the coven, just around the corner near the back counter.

“Baby?” she murmurs, already reading something on your face.

Then you kiss her. Your lips press to hers in apology for holding back for so long. You whimper against her mouth before you even mean to, and that’s it, Agatha melts.

Her hands are on your waist instantly, then your back, one sliding up under your sweater like she needs to feel skin just to believe you’re real. She kisses you like she’s drowning, like she’s been waiting weeks for this. Which she has.

When you pull back, breathing fast, she doesn’t move far. Just rests her forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“You…” she starts, then swallows. “You can’t just do that to me.”

“I needed to.”

She exhales shakily. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

Her voice is low and wrecked and full of awe. She brushes her thumb over your jaw, then down to your collarbone, careful but desperate to touch more.

You press your hands against her chest, still catching your breath.

“I still don’t feel like myself,” you whisper. “But… I wanted to kiss you.”

She opens her eyes. And they’re so full of love you can barely take it.

“You can kiss me whenever you want,” she murmurs, brushing her lips over your cheekbone, then the corner of your mouth again. “You don’t owe me anything. But god…” her voice drops, “you do that again and I’m gonna forget we have company.”

You smile a little. “Promise?”

She growls low in her throat. “Don’t tempt me.”

A loud crash comes from the living room.

Then Billy shouting, “It’s fine! I fixed it!”

Agatha doesn’t even turn around. She just closes her eyes and sighs, forehead still resting on yours. “I hate everyone.”

“No you don’t.”

She kisses you again.

“Okay,” she mutters. “I don’t. But I want them to leave.”

You giggle into her mouth. “Soon.”

The living room has transformed. Candles line the perimeter, short pillars of black, white, and green wax. Herbs hang in bunches from the curtain rods, rosemary, mugwort, lavender. The lights are low, just a soft amber glow from the lanterns Alice brought. Jennifer’s salt lines have been swept into a perfect circle on the wooden floor. Billy, for once, is sitting cross legged like a proper initiate, eyes closed, palms up. Lilia presides at the eastern point of the circle, voice low and steady as she guides everyone through the opening invocation.

You’re sitting on the couch just outside the circle, wrapped in a loose shawl, your belly heavy in your lap. They didn’t make you sit on the floor, they built the circle around you.

You watch as they pass the bowl clockwise, each adding a pinch of herbs, whispering blessings for protection, for safe passage, for new life. When it comes to Agatha, she takes a long moment before she adds her pinch. Her eyes flick to you. There’s a tremor in her fingers, but her face is steady.

Then the chant begins.

You close your eyes. For a moment, the ache in your back recedes, replaced by the pulse of the sound, the smell, the heat of all of them focusing on you and the life you’re carrying.

When the chant fades, Lilia lifts her hands and murmurs, “Blessed be,” and the circle echoes it softly.

The room exhales. The energy drops from sacred to familiar in an instant, your witches stretching, uncrossing their legs, murmuring about snacks.

You shift, trying to stand.

But your body says no. The weight of your belly, the pressure on your bladder, the stiffness in your hips is all too much. You try to push off the arm of the couch, but your wrist slips. You grunt, try again. Nothing. It feels like your body has turned to stone.

You blink hard.

“I-I need to pee,” you whisper.

No one hears over the chatter.

You try again, louder. “I can’t get up.”

Now Agatha’s head snaps toward you. She’s on her feet in a second, crossing the room, crouching at your side. “Hey, hey-”

Your face crumples. “I can’t even stand up. I’m stuck.”

Her hand cups the back of your neck, thumb rubbing slow circles. “You’re not stuck. You’re tired. That’s all.”

“I feel-…” your voice breaks. “I feel useless. I can’t even get off the couch by myself. I’m huge and slow and-”

“Shhh.” She’s already sliding an arm around your back, another under your knees, testing your weight. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I just want to go to the bathroom,” you whisper, tears starting to spill.

“Okay,” she says softly. “We’re going to the bathroom.”

She just pulls you gently up, steadying your weight against her, hands firm but careful. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “I always have you.”

You bury your face against her shoulder for a second, trembling. “I’m sorry,” you sniff.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, brushing your hair back. “Your body’s doing everything it’s supposed to. Let me do the rest.”

You nod, still crying.

She kisses your temple and whispers, “C’mon. Bathroom.”

You’re still in the bathroom when Agatha walks back into the living room slowly, her hands still warm from where they’d held you. She’s calmer now but still resigned, like someone who’s trying really hard to act normal while their soul is falling out of their chest.

Lilia’s back on the couch with a glass of wine. Alice is curled into the armchair with Señor Scratchy asleep on her lap. Jennifer and Billy are sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, eating salted dates straight from the offering bowl.

No one says anything at first.

Agatha slumps into the seat next to Lilia with a quiet sigh. She runs a hand through her hair, leans back, and stares up at the ceiling.

It takes less than ten seconds.

“So,” Jennifer says, not looking up, “you’re losing your mind.”

Agatha doesn’t answer.

Lilia tilts her wine glass, watching the swirl of red inside. “You look like someone who’s been edging for thirty days straight.”

Billy nearly chokes on a date.

“Jesus,” Agatha mutters.

“I’m not wrong,” Lilia adds. “I saw that kiss in the kitchen.”

Agatha covers her face with both hands and groans. “She whimpered.”

“Oh no,” Alice says gently, stroking the rabbit. “Not a whimper.”

“She didn’t mean to,” Agatha says from behind her palms. “It just slipped out, and then she looked up at me with those fucking eyes and I thought I was gonna combust on the spot.”

“Tragic.” Jennifer says in a deadpan tone.

Agatha drops her hands and glares. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that your wife is heavily pregnant and probably feeling like her body isn’t hers right now,” Alice says calmly. “And you’re doing the right thing. You’re waiting.”

“I am,” Agatha insists. “I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. But it’s torture.”

Lilia raises a brow. “She said you’ve been patient.”

Agatha laughs, dry and a little unhinged. “Because I have been. I’ve been so good. So careful. I haven’t rushed her, haven’t cornered her, haven’t even touched her without asking. But I want her so badly it hurts.”

The room goes quiet.

She swallows. “It’s not just sex. You know that, right? I mean, yes, I want her under me. I want her moaning in my mouth. I want to worship every inch of her swollen, perfect, aching body until she feels the way I see her.”

Billy makes a quiet noise of panic and turns pink.

“But it’s more than that,” Agatha says, quieter now. “She’s pulling away. I can feel it. She thinks she’s not desirable. And I don’t know how to make her see how beautiful she is, how much I still ache for her.”

Alice looks up. “Then tell her.”

Agatha leans her elbows on her knees. “I don’t want to scare her off.”

“She kissed you tonight,” Lilia points out.

“She whimpered into your mouth,” Jennifer adds helpfully.

Agatha closes her eyes, jaw tight.

“She’s coming back,” Alice says gently. “Give her the space. But don’t hide what you feel. She needs that.”

“I think if she asked, I’d drop to my knees right now.” Agatha admits.

Lilia grins. “Good. That’s where you belong.”

Agatha’s still leaned forward, elbows on her knees, trying to act like she hasn’t just confessed to her entire coven that she wants to drop to her knees and beg for you.

And then she hears your footsteps.

“Hey…”

She lifts her head fast to find you in the doorway, backlit by the low lantern glow, swaddled in your shawl again and wearing Lilia’s enchanted leggings. Your hair’s a little messy, your face still a little flushed, and you’re gently rubbing your lower back with one hand as you shuffle in.

Agatha’s mouth goes dry.

You glance around at the circle of witches and tilt your head, smiling faintly. “What’re you all talking about?”

Billy immediately looks at the ceiling. Alice clears her throat. Jennifer picks up a date and eats it like she didn’t just hear everything. Lilia smiles like a cat.

“Nothing,” Agatha says too quickly, sitting up straighter, trying to fix her face. “Just… coven things.”

You blink at her. “Okay...”

Then your eyes land on the armchair, and you beam.

“Ohhh, baby,” you murmur, crossing the room in your soft, uneven waddle, arms already reaching out. Señor Scratchy blinks at you from Alice’s lap like he’s seen this coming.

You scoop him up with a little grunt, cradling him against your chest like a hot water bottle. “Did you miss me?”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t fight it either.

You smile down at him, already swaying a little on your feet like you’re instinctively rocking something. You press your cheek to his fur and close your eyes for a second, visibly relaxed.

Agatha can’t breathe.

The way you look, all flushed and soft, full of her and glowing with candlelight, cuddling her cranky, ancient rabbit is devastating to her. She digs her nails into her knee to keep from grabbing you and kissing you in front of everyone.

“I needed this,” you murmur into Scratchy’s fur. “I feel better now.”

She exhales, slow and shaky.

“Good,” she says, voice hoarse. “That’s… good.”

You look up at her with those eyes, tired, shining, and beautiful. “I was only gone for like ten minutes. You all look like you had some deep life talk.”

“We were discussing cauldron storage,” Lilia says smoothly, sipping her wine.

You narrow your eyes. “Liar.”

Agatha stands. “You should sit down. Your feet are probably-”

“I wanna sit with you.” You demand.

And Agatha almost drops dead on the spot.

Lilia smirks behind her glass.

Alice just says, “Mmm,” like this is all going exactly as it should.

You shift Señor Scratchy in your arms and shuffle across the room until you’re standing in front of Agatha where she’s still perched on the edge of the couch, trying to act normal.

You look at her, soft and a little unsure. “Can I…?”

Her eyes flick up, wide and dark. She nods immediately. “Yeah. Of course.”

She shifts back to make room, and you lower yourself carefully beside her with a tiny grunt, one hand still bracing your back. Scratchy is squished gently between your arms and your belly, but he doesn’t complain.

You settle into her side, exhaling.

Then slowly, you lean in. Your head tucks into the curve of her shoulder. Your body curves toward hers. You let out a soft little sigh, one hand curling into the folds of her sleeve.

Agatha forgets how to breathe.

You haven’t snuggled up to her like this in weeks, not voluntarily or without hesitation. And now here you are pressing into her, relaxed and vulnerable and so trusting it makes her ache.

Her arm slides around you immediately and pulls you closer possessive, like if anyone tries to take you from her right now, she’ll set them on fire without blinking.

You’re still holding her bunny like a baby. You smell like sage and your shampoo and something warm and sleepy. She can feel the heat of your body along hers, your curve, your weight, the pulse of life between your ribs. Her hand rubs slow circles into your hip. Protective. Possessive. Starving for you.

You murmur, eyes closed, “You’re warm.”

Her throat works. “So are you.”

Your breath evens out a little as you nuzzle into her neck. Her hand tightens slightly on your side, her jaw clenched, her body screaming with how badly she wants to touch more just to feel you again. It’s not even about sex, it’s about closeness, about you letting her in again.

Lilia watches from across the room over the rim of her wine glass, a knowing little smirk on her face. Jennifer leans over to Billy and mutters something too quiet to hear.

Agatha doesn’t care. You’re in her arms and that’s all that matters.

She leans her head against yours. Whispers low, “Missed this.”

You hum in response. “Me too.”

And that’s the sound that nearly breaks her. Because she knows you mean it and you’re starting to come back. And she knows, when the time comes, she’s going to make it so good for you you’ll never forget it.

The house is finally quiet.

The candles have burned down, smoke thinning in the air. Empty mugs are scattered across the coffee table, a few crystals still glittering in the center of the circle like forgotten offerings. The coven is gone, Billy trailing after Jennifer, Lilia sweeping out like a queen, Alice offering you one last soft smile before disappearing into the night.

Agatha closes the door with a soft sigh.

And when she turns back, you’re already moving, waddling around the living room, collecting stray plates, muttering to yourself about wax drips and the throw pillows being out of order.

Agatha watches you for about twelve seconds before her hands twitch at her sides.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

“I know,” you mutter, bending carefully to pick up a napkin someone left on the floor. “But it’s a mess, and everyone left so fast, and I just want it to be tidy.”

“You just did a full moon ritual with half your organs rearranged inside you.”

“I’m pregnant, not dying.”

“You’re pregnant and stubborn.”

You don’t look at her, you’re focusing too hard on trying to pick up a mug without dropping it.

Agatha exhales slowly.

And then?

You feel it.

A warm, familiar shimmer, electric yet soft, buzzing through your spine like a hum in the bones.

“Agatha,” you say, warning in your voice.

Too late.

The magic wraps around you before you can argue, Agatha’s soft violet light gathering at your feet, rising like smoke, and then lifting. You let out a startled yelp as both feet leave the ground and the mug vanishes from your hand, floating back to the counter without a sound.

“Agatha!”

She’s already walking toward you, calm, smug, and entirely unrepentant.

“Put me down,” you say, trying not to laugh.

“No.”

“I am a grown woman!”

“You are a tired, beautiful, stubborn creature who needs to lie down,” she says, guiding your floating form through the doorway, down the hall like you weigh nothing at all. “So we’re going to bed. I’m putting on that stupid werewolf movie you like, and you’re going to lie there and let me hold you like a normal person who isn’t possessed by the spirit of domestic martyrdom.”

“I wasn’t cleaning that much!”

“You were groaning while picking up a spoon.”

“It was on a very low table!”

She huffs a laugh, opening the bedroom door with one hand and guiding you inside with the other.

You float gently down onto the bed, the blankets already turned down, the pillows fluffed. As soon as you land, the magic dissolves with a warm, whispering spark.

You blink up at her, still breathless, a little stunned.

She grins down at you. Her curls are messy, her sleeves half rolled, her whole body humming with pent up energy and love.

“You’re obsessed with me,” you mutter.

She leans down, brushing her lips just barely over your cheek. “Fully. Absolutely. Tragically.”

You shiver.

She kisses your temple, then reaches for the remote. “Movie?”

You nod, a little dazed. “Movie.”

But as she sits beside you, tugging the blankets over your legs and pressing a glass of water into your hand, you can feel her eyes on you, her gaze heavy and warm, so turned on she’s twitching, but holding it back like she promised she would.

The old horror movie plays softly on the TV in grainy black and white, something vintage with a lot of shadows and dramatic violins. You’re curled into the bed now, back propped against the pillows, Agatha sitting beside you with one leg tucked under the other, trying to act normal while her entire soul is trying to crawl out of her body.

You shift beside her, trying to get comfortable, and sigh. “I need to change.”

She glances over, carefully neutral. “Okay.”

You nudge her gently with your knee. “Help me?”

She freezes.

You lift the hem of your top slightly, looking down at the maternity bra you’ve been stuck in all day. “My back’s killing me. And the clasp is weird.”

Her breath catches. “Yeah. Of course. Let me-… here.”

She sets the remote down, her movements suddenly too precise, like she’s concentrating way too hard. She shifts to kneel beside you on the bed, fingers reaching for the clasp at the back of your bra with that same spellwork steady care she uses for runes and ward circles.

Her fingertips brush your skin.

You shiver.

So does she.

“You okay?” she murmurs, voice gone low and gravelly.

“Mhm,” you breathe.

She gets the clasp undone with one smooth flick. The fabric slips down your arms.

She doesn’t look. Well… she tries not to.

You catch the way her eyes flicker. Then she clears her throat and reaches for the silk nightdress you’d laid out earlier, soft and forest green with thin straps, a little lace trim, and short. Very short.

Agatha swallows.

“You sure you want this one?” she asks, already holding it up like it’s made of sin.

You nod. “It’s soft.”

She kneels in front of you, helping you out of your clothes, moving slowly, reverently. Her hands skim your arms, your ribs, your waist, careful of your belly.

Then she bunches the fabric of the nightdress in her hands and lifts it, guiding it over your head, down your arms, smoothing it over your body inch by torturous inch.

It settles high on your thighs. The lace clings. The hem barely covers your softest curves.

Agatha doesn’t speak, she can barely move, just kneels there in front of you, her eyes wide, lips parted, visibly suffering.

You shift slightly, fixing the straps on your shoulders. “Thanks.”

She lets out a breath that sounds pained.

“You okay?” you ask, blinking down at her.

She meets your eyes, slow and stunned. “No. Not even a little.”

You smile, a little shy, a little smug. “Why?”

Her jaw clenches. “Because you just let me undress you. You’re glowing. You smell like lavender and sweat. Your thighs are right there. I’ve been good for weeks and now you’re just sitting here in this thing like it’s not going to ruin me.”

You tilt your head. “So you like it.”

“Baby,” she says hoarsely, reaching up to brush her thumb along your thigh, just once. “I could fall to my knees right now.”

Her hands are resting lightly on your thighs. Her eyes are on your skin. Her breath’s gone shallow and uneven, like she’s trying not to let anything slip, not her desire, not her voice, not the weeks of ache sitting in her chest.

You bite your lip.

“Then why don’t you?”

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide. She's stunned, in total shock like you’ve just spoken in tongues.

“What?” she breathes.

Your heart is pounding. You feel warm all over. But you keep your eyes on hers, nervous, yes, but sure.

“Touch me… please.”

Agatha exhales like it’s been punched out of her and moves fast. Hands sliding up your thighs, palms rough and reverent, mouth open like she’s about to start praying right there between your legs.

“You’re sure?” she rasps, voice so wrecked it’s barely sound.

You nod, trembling. “I’m sure.”

And then she’s kissing you, your thighs, your belly, the inside of your knees. She’s shaking with how badly she wants you and how careful she’s trying to be.

You reach for her, your breath catching. “Agatha…”

“Tell me what you need,” she whispers, lips brushing just above your hem. “Tell me everything. I’ll give you all of it.”

You don’t know where to start.

It’s too much, her hands on your skin, her breath on your thighs, the way she’s kneeling there like she’d crawl into your chest if you let her.

You can’t think.

You just feel.

“Kiss me.”

She looks up like you just said something sacred.

“Where?” she asks, eyes dark, voice wrecked.

You swallow. “Anywhere.”

Agatha surges up before you can blink, one hand bracing the mattress beside your hip, the other cupping your jaw, and kisses you slow and deep as if she’s afraid you’ll change your mind and she wants to memorize the taste of your mouth before you do.

You gasp against her lips, your hands sliding into her hair as you tilt your head and kiss her back, greedy for more. Her tongue brushes yours, her body pressed just close enough to make you ache.

Her fingers drift down, slow and careful, to your thigh, tracing just beneath the hem of your nightdress. She moans into your mouth when she feels the tremble in your legs.

“You’re shaking,” she breathes.

You nod. “I can’t-… I want…”

“Shhh,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, down your jaw. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just let me.”

Her hand slips higher over your hip and between your thighs.

She doesn’t touch your bare pussy yet, just cups you gently over your panties and moans.

“Oh, fuck.” She gasps. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper. “I-I can’t help it,” you whisper, thighs twitching.

“I don’t want you to,” she says, voice sharp and reverent. “I want this. I want you like this.”

She kisses you again, this time dirtier, hungrier, while her fingers stroke slow circles through the fabric. You can’t stop squirming, can’t stop kissing her back, tugging at her shirt, gasping when her thumb brushes just right.

Your hips lift.

She growls into your mouth. “More?”

You nod frantically. “Please.”

And she gives it. Her fingers press firmer, her mouth never leaving yours, her whole body shaking with the effort of not tearing your panties off and burying her face between your legs.

“You’re everything,” she whispers, kissing your throat. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You moan for her, soft and desperate, and she loses it.

Her mouth is still on yours when her fingers slide beneath the waistband of your panties.

The first brush of her fingertips against your bare skin makes you jerk and moan into her mouth, high pitched and helpless. All the tension you’ve been carrying for weeks comes spilling out in a sound you didn’t know you were holding.

Agatha groans low in her throat, forehead against yours. “Oh baby…”

She strokes you again, just barely there, and you’re already soaked. Her thumb circles your clit, feather light at first, testing, then a little firmer as you whimper against her lips.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, kissing you again, her breath hot and uneven. “Just let me… just like that…”

You can’t answer. All you can do is hold onto her shoulders and make those small, high, needy sounds that keep falling out of you with every stroke of her fingers.

She drags one finger slowly down, finds your entrance, slides just the tip in, then out, slick and slow. Her eyes squeeze shut; her jaw flexes. “You’re… fuck, you’re so wet for me…”

Your hips roll up into her palm without you even thinking. “Please…” you gasp, the word coming out broken, breathy.

She moans at the sound. “Say it again.”

“Please…”

Her finger slides in deeper, her thumb circling you at the same time. You’re trembling, thighs twitching, making little noises into her mouth between kisses.

She presses her forehead to yours, still moving her hand. “I’ve been dreaming of this for weeks,” she whispers. “You have no idea…”

Another stroke, deeper this time, her thumb flicking just right, and you let out a high, needy whine, clinging to her shirt.

“That’s it,” she breathes, kissing your jaw, your cheek, back to your mouth. “Give it to me. Don’t hold back…”

Her fingers slide deeper and your whole body arches.

“Agatha….” It comes out as a whimper, high and thin, like you’re on the edge of something that’s about to snap.

She shushes you gently but doesn’t slow down. Her fingers curl just right inside you and her thumb never stops moving, circling you in wet, steady strokes that make your thighs tremble. “That’s it, baby. You’re okay. Let me have it. I’ve got you.”

You’re soaked, it’s so much, too much, and your hips keep bucking into her hand like your body’s begging for it without you even telling it to.

You bury your face in her shoulder, moaning brokenly. “I- I can’t- I’m gonna-…”

“Let it happen,” she breathes, kissing your temple, her fingers fucking you harder now, her whole voice wrecked. “Come for me. Show me what I do to you.”

You cry out, loud and sharp, and snap.

Your thighs seize.

Your whole body locks.

And then you squirt.

Your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, hot and wild and violent with release, soaking her hand, her wrist, the sheets beneath you. You’re gasping, moaning, shaking, trying to clamp your thighs together as your whole core pulses and pulses and pulses.

Agatha freezes for a second like you just shattered her brain.

“Oh my baby,” she says, staring down at you with her mouth open, hand still buried between your legs. “You-… you just… oh baby…”

You can’t even answer.

You’re limp, panting, tears in your lashes, thighs twitching uncontrollably as little aftershocks keep rocking through you.

She moves her hand away gently, wet and glistening, and just stares at it for a second, then at your soaked panties and the mess on the bed, and then back to your face, glowing with awe.

“You just squirted,” she says, breathless, stunned, obsessed.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, dazed.

“Don’t you dare apologise.” Her voice cracks. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I-… fuck, I’m so in love with you I could die.”

You blink up at her, flushed and still shaking. “You’re hard.”

She blinks. “What?”

You glance down.

Her whole body jolts. “Oh my god.”

You giggle softly, barely able to lift your head. “You’re obsessed.”

“I am,” she whispers, kissing your mouth like she’s starving. “I’m ruined.”

Agatha stares at you like she might pass out.

Then, without a word, she shifts down between your thighs, lifts your leg over her shoulder, and licks you. Long. Slow. Deep.

You sob, high pitched and overwhelmed, your body still twitching as her tongue laps up the mess she made of you, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you still.

You can feel her moaning against you. She’s shaking.

“Agatha.” Your voice cracks. You reach for her, grab at her hair, your voice breaking like glass. “I need- I need you, please?”

She pulls up, mouth glossy, panting hard. “What do you need, baby?”

“You,” you whimper. “Inside. Please. I- I can’t-… I need it.”

Her pupils are blown wide. She kisses your thigh. Then your belly. Then she crawls up over you, grabbing her cock where it’s already flushed and achingly hard, slick with her own need and your slick still shining on her face.

“No condom?” she whispers, voice hoarse.

You shake your head, tearful with how much you want her. “You’re already in me, Agatha. You’re everywhere. Just, please, fuck me.”

She groans like you just ripped her soul out.

Then she lines up, no teasing this time, and slides in.

Bare.

Hot.

Thick.

You both cry out.

You’re so wet she doesn’t stop until she’s buried all the way inside, your legs trembling around her hips, your hands clawing at her back.

“Holy fuck, you feel-… you’re perfect, fuck!”

You’re clinging to her, gasping, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your body locks around her. She’s deep. So deep. Stretching you just right. Pressed to your belly. Inside you in every way.

She starts to move, slow at first, rolling her hips with desperate control, but it’s not long before she loses it.

You’re whining beneath her, biting her shoulder, moaning please over and over as she fucks you with raw, slow, obsessed strokes.

“Look at me,” she pants.

You blink up at her.

She kisses your mouth like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

“I love you,” she whispers against your lips. “I love you. I love you. You’re mine.”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “Yours. Yours.”

Agatha groans deep in her chest, her hips slamming into yours now, fast and needy, her forehead against yours as she fucks you like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

You’re clinging to her shoulders, gasping, body bouncing with every thrust. Your breath is hitching, so soaked she can’t stop sliding in to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, baby,” she pants, voice cracking. “You’re so tight, fuck, you’re melting around me. I can’t…”

Her voice breaks completely.

She pulls back to look at you, flushed, fucked out, crying just a little, and her face twists like it hurts how beautiful you are. How good you feel.

“I’ve been dreaming about this, fuck, I’ve been dreaming about you every night… your face, this body, your fucking moans.” She drives into you harder. Deeper. “And now I’m inside you and I can’t… I can’t stop.”

You cry out, back arching. “Don’t. Don’t stop, please, please!”

That ruins her.

Agatha loses it. She grabs your hips, fucks you hard and fast, sweat slipping down her chest as her thighs slap against yours.

“Mine,” she growls. “You’re mine. All of you. Inside and out.”

You’re sobbing, overstimulated and totally blissed out. “Yours, I’m yours, Agatha, please, don’t stop!”

“Say it again,” she begs, rutting into you bare, every stroke hitting so deep you feel it in your soul.

“Yours,” you cry. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m- ah!”

“Fuck!” She gasps, her whole body going rigid, still buried deep.

“Agatha,” you whimper, breath hitching as your body trembles in her arms. “I- it’s just-… I feel…”

“What’s wrong, my love?” she whispers, instantly gentle. One hand brushes over your belly, the other still cupping your hip, steadying you.

You shake your head, lips trembling. “Just… uncomfy.”

She softens. Her whole body melts with love.

“Oh, baby…”

She moves you slowly and carefully until your thighs are astride hers, your belly resting between you, her cock still buried inside.

She settles you in her lap. You moan softly and sweetly as your arms go around her neck. She’s so deep like this. So close.

“This better?” she asks softly, lips against your jaw.

You nod, tearful again. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She rocks up into you, gentle at first. “Let me make you feel good, sweet girl. Just lean on me. You don’t have to do anything. Just feel it.”

You cling to her.

Your belly shifts between you. Your breasts press together, bare and soft, nipples brushing, both of you letting out tiny gasps as they slide with every thrust.

You bury your face in her neck. “Oh Agatha…”

Her hands cup your ass, guiding you, rocking you down onto her cock as she thrusts up, deeper and deeper, slower and rougher with each roll of her hips.

“You’re my heaven,” she breathes. “You’re my everything.”

“Please don’t stop,” you whisper. “Don’t stop, please!”

“I won’t,” she swears, moaning. “I’m gonna keep you right here. Gonna fuck you slow and deep until you can’t think.”

Your hips rock forward, grinding down into her lap. Her cock sinks even deeper inside you, and both of you gasp, high and helpless and wrecked.

Her hands fly to your hips, steadying you, guiding you, but she can’t stop kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder. She’s everywhere, breathless and desperate.

“Fuck,” she groans, “you’re so good. You feel so good, look at you, baby…”

You’re flushed, moaning, riding her slow and soaked. Your belly presses into hers, swollen and perfect. Your nipples brush against hers again, both of you shuddering from the friction.

“Can’t take my eyes off you,” she whispers against your mouth. “My sweet girl. My love. My fucking goddess, you’re everything.”

You whimper in response. Your whole body is trembling, every roll of your hips slick and perfect. You lean in to kiss her again, and she moans as your breasts slide together again, nipples rubbing, chests slick with sweat.

“I’ve missed this,” she gasps, voice wrecked. “I’ve missed you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Agatha…” You sob, hips jerking forward, needing more.

She grabs your ass, helping you grind down harder. “That’s it. Come on. Let me feel you.”

“Can’t,” you breathe. “I- I need…”

Her eyes find yours, dark and devoted. “Ready?”

You nod fast, gasping. “Inside. Please.”

And that’s it.

She slams into you. One hand flies to your belly, the other to your lower back as she starts fucking up into you, strong and deep, cock buried inside and pulsing as you lose control in her lap.

Your nipples slide against hers, overstimulated and aching, and she’s kissing you hard now, claiming you, as your climax hits like a fucking wave.

You fall apart around her. You sob into her mouth, gasping her name, thighs twitching, body convulsing as she keeps thrusting up into you, fucking you through it, holding you still while her own orgasm slams into her like fire.

She growls against your skin, trembling as she cums inside you, bare, buried deep, her cock pulsing inside as she keeps kissing you, fucking you slow and raw through the aftershocks.

You’re both shaking, panting into each other’s mouths.

She holds you as she whispers against your lips, “I love you.”

She stays inside you, one arm cradles your lower back, the other across your belly, her fingers splaying protectively over the place where your bodies meet.

Neither of you speak for a long moment. Her lips press gently to your skin, again and again and again. You whimper as another little wave rolls through you, smaller now, but still sharp. And her cock twitches inside you, thick and warm.

“Shhh,” she murmurs, kissing your breast, your throat, your cheek. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”

You blink at her, tearful and flushed and overwhelmed. “I can’t move.”

She smiles, not smug but so soft it breaks you again.

“Good,” she says gently. “Don’t. Stay right here. I’ll do everything.”

You nod, melting into her, arms around her neck.

“Did I hurt you?” she whispers suddenly, her brow creased, voice trembling. “Was I too much?”

You shake your head fast. “No. No, it was… I just…” you sniffle. “I love you so much its overwhelming.”

“Oh, my girl,” she breathes, and pulls you tighter to her. She’s crying too now, totally overcome as she presses her lips to your forehead.

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” she whispers into your skin. “You and this baby… you’re everything.”

You cling to her.

She stays buried inside you, gently rocking, her hands roaming your skin like she’s praying. Her kisses soften, her breathing slows, and soon you’re both drifting, full of each other, finally whole, safe in your bed with the full moon still glowing behind the curtains.

And when you finally fall asleep in her arms, you do it with her heartbeat under your cheek and her whispered love trailing you into dreams.

~

The morning light pours in soft and silver through the windows of your Westview house, casting little moving shadows from the wind chimed porch. Everything smells like October’s cold air, candle wax and the remnants of last night’s full moon magic.

You’re curled in Agatha’s lap on the couch, a sweater swallowing your body, her arms locked firm around your belly like she’s physically incapable of letting go. One hand cups your bump, fingers splayed protectively. The other is stroking slowly up and down your thigh, skin to skin under the hem.

You’re barely awake, your head tucked beneath her chin, cheek pressed to her heartbeat, but Agatha had been wide awake for a while now, holding you and soaking you in.

You feel her lips move against your hair.

“Wanna decorate the house for Halloween today, baby?”

Your voice is barely a mumble. “Mmm yeah, just… no pumpkins.”

There’s a beat. Then she snorts, her whole body shakes behind you as she laughs.

“No pumpkins?” She echoes with a grin, nuzzling into your temple.

You smile sleepily. “Too many pumpkin comments yesterday,” you mumble. “I’m emotionally compromised.”

And then she’s tilting your face up with both hands, expression melting, eyes full of something so unbearably soft.

“I love you,” she whispers.

You blink at her, nose scrunching, mouth sleepy and kissable. “Even like this?”

She presses her forehead to yours. “Especially like this.”

She kisses you slowly, like the whole world can wait.

You sigh against her lips, curling into her chest, her hands still stroking your thighs and belly with that reverent, obsessive devotion.

“Okay,” she murmurs after a long moment, “no pumpkins. Just ghosts. Bats. Maybe a severed limb or two.”

“And candy,” you add drowsily.

She smiles into your hair. “Endless candy.”

[ahintofchaos]

So much love for this fic

[theballadofharkness]

My Wicked Witch

Agatha Harkness Masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!reader

Summary: It’s Halloween and the coven all go to Jen’s Samhain skincare launch in costume to support their girl. When someone gets alittle too appreciative of your costume Agatha gets very jealous.

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: honestly this is just pure filth, GP!Agatha, as always MDNI xo

A/N: not my best best but certainly my filthiest - this is just a short little fic for spooky season hope you enjoy 💜

The October full moon bleeds silver across the windows of Agatha’s Westview home.

It filters through lace curtains like silk, catching on glass and bone, casting everything in sharp, sacred light. The air is thick with magic, the real kind, the kind that lives in your blood and hums through the floorboards. The kind that’s older than language.

The coven is gathered in Agatha’s living room with wine in their hands, boots kicked off, spells flickering like lazy candle flames above their heads.

You’re curled into Agatha’s lap, legs draped over hers, her arm wrapped firmly around your waist. She hasn’t let go of you all night. Her fingers are stroking idly along the inside of your thigh, slow, hypnotic, and claiming. Her other hand rests flat against your belly, just under your breasts, like a warning to anyone watching.

You’re wearing the engagement ring she made for you, moonstone caught in a twist of root-like silver, infused with magic laced so deep it thrums against your pulse. The room has seen it before. They’ve all blessed it. But Agatha still holds you like someone might try to take it off.

“I hope you’re all ready for Samhain,” Jen says, perched on the edge of the fireplace hearth. “The skincare launch is set. Store’s ready, potions are infused, and the branding is on point.”

“Do we need to wear something specific?” Alice asks, practical as always.

Jen grins. “Just make sure your costume is hot to go with the brand.”

“I’m wearing black,” Lilia declares. “It goes with everything: sex, glamour, death.”

Billy snorts. “That’s what you wore last year.”

“Time is circular,” she replies.

You smile, warm and soft as Agatha gazes lovingly at you.

“You’ve already thought of a costume,” she murmurs, low against your ear. “Haven’t you, little witch?”

You nod, eyelashes fluttering. “Of course I have.”

Her grip tightens. “Tell me.”

“Not a chance.”

Her smirk is dangerous. “You think I’ll survive you teasing me like that?”

“You’ll survive,” you whisper, smiling as you tilt your head back to look at her. “You always do.”

Her lips brush your jaw. “Only because you let me.”

The conversation around you buzzes on, Jen talking about moisturiser samples, Lilia and Alice discussing warding sigils for the storefront, but Agatha doesn’t join in. She only has eyes for you.

Billy clears his throat. “So… just to confirm… you two are still doing the handfasting next solstice?”

Agatha speaks before you can. “We’re already bound.”

Her voice carries across the room, velvet and violet and absolutely final.

“We may finish the ritual at solstice,” she adds, running her hand up your ribs, “but the magic’s done. I marked her. She’s mine.”

Jen lifts her glass. “To being dangerously in love.”

You raise your own. “To Samhain,” you say. “And skincare.”

Everyone laughs and the mood lightens again.

Agatha tucks her face against your neck and inhales slowly, like you’re something she conjured out of nothing and still can’t believe she gets to keep.

You reach for her hand where it rests over your stomach and squeeze gently.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I know,” she says.

“Okay, hear me out,” Billy says from the rug, wine sloshing slightly as he gestures. “Teddy and I are doing Mulder and Scully this year.”

“Oh, please,” Jen groans. “You did that last year.”

“Yes, but this time I’m Scully. Red wig. Suit. Tiny flashlight. Teddy’s gonna wear jeans that should be illegal.”

Alice gives a small, approving nod. “That’s actually kind of cute.”

Agatha barely glances up. She’s reclined in her usual throne-like chair, one leg crossed, your body draped across hers like a cat in the sun. Her hand is absently smoothing along your thigh, just beneath the hem of your sweater. Her wine is beside her untouched on her side table, her hands too busy touching you. You’re warm from the fire and her magic, glowing a little from both.

You rest your head on her shoulder, watching Billy light up with excitement at the prospect of matching his costume with Teddy, and murmur, almost to yourself, “I wish we had a couples costume.”

Everything stills for a breath. Agatha goes very still beneath you. Her fingers pause. The room quietens just slightly. No one comments, but you feel the attention tilt in your direction.

Agatha arches a slow, unimpressed brow. “You want me to wear a costume?”

You lift your head, a tiny pout forming. “Just for fun. Something matching. You wouldn’t have to do much. We could be something hot. Like… Morticia and Gomez or something, you’d be a hot Morticia.”

Billy lets out a scandalized noise. “Wait, that’s so good though!”

Agatha tsks quietly. “I’m not wearing a wig.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need one for that and you already have the cheekbones.”

Lilia smirks into her wine.

Agatha exhales slowly, the kind of long suffering sigh she usually reserves for bureaucracy or spells gone wrong. But her grip on your hip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it’s firmer now. And there’s something new in her eyes, low and glittering with calculation.

“You want to play dress up with me,” she says, voice dry as bone dust.

You give her the biggest, most manipulative smile you can manage. “Yes please.”

She stares at you for another beat then shifts, letting you sit up slightly so she can look at you properly. Her fingers trail slowly up your spine.

“Fine,” she murmurs. “But if I agree to this… I get to choose the concept.”

Jen whistles. “Oh no. She’s gonna go full 18th century Salem witch, isn’t she?”

Agatha doesn’t look away from you. “No,” she says softly. “I’ll find something… fitting.”

The way she says it, ‘fitting’, makes your stomach flutter.

Billy kicks his legs out. “God, you’re both so dramatic. I love it.”

You lean in, kissing Agatha’s cheek. “Thank you.”

She hums, low and smug. “You’ll be thanking me properly later.”

The wine is low in your glass. The fire is nothing but glowing embers now, casting soft orange light across the coven’s faces. The moonlight has shifted across the floor, and Jen’s still talking, something about product labels and glow in the dark under eye patches, but her voice is further away now.

You’re curled tighter into Agatha’s chest, cheek resting just above her heart, her fingers stroking your back in slow, lazy circles. You blink slowly, lips parting in a soft sigh as your eyes start to slip shut.

Agatha glances down the moment your body melts heavier into hers.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just slides her hand up to cradle the back of your head, guiding your cheek against her collarbone. Her touch is so gentle it almost hurts.

Jen’s still rambling. Lilia’s laughing about something Alice said. Billy is drawing nonsense sigils in his notebook. But Agatha has gone very still, her entire body tuned only to you.

She murmurs something under her breath, and her wine glass floats back to the mantle, forgotten.

“You falling asleep on me, little witch?” she whispers against your temple.

You hum, barely awake. “Mm… m’warm…”

Her chest rises with a slow inhale, and when she exhales, it sounds like something old in her finally unclenched.

She presses a kiss to your hair, barely there. “Of course you are,” she says. “You’re all tucked up in my arms.”

Her hand spreads across your back protectively. She shifts slightly, pulling you more fully onto her lap, until you’re nestled close like a secret she’s not ready to share. The coven barely glances up, they’ve seen this before. They know the difference between Agatha Harkness and Agatha with you.

“You want me to help you take her upstairs?” Alice offers quietly, her voice kind.

But Agatha shakes her head. “No. I’ve got her,” she says softly. “She stays with me.”

Your breath is slow and steady now, lashes fluttering, body so relaxed it almost makes her ache.

“Baby’s tired,” she murmurs, brushing her lips against your forehead. “She’s had a big night.”

Lilia raises a brow. “You could at least pretend to be a fearsome witch when she’s in your lap like that.”

Agatha gives her a dry look. “I’ve killed men for less than that tone, Calderu.”

But her hand is still moving gently along your spine. Her voice stays low and sweet.

“She’s been good tonight,” she adds, almost to herself. “So good for me.”

She presses her cheek against your hair and closes her eyes.

And for just a moment the coven falls quiet. All of them sensing the weight of centuries in Agatha’s bones, and the soft, vulnerable heart of her bound to the sleepy witch in her arms.

You’re barely awake now, your breath slow, lashes fluttering, fingers curled softly into the lapel of Agatha’s robe. She holds you close against her body with one hand cradling your head, the other stroking your hip in slow, possessive circles. Her mouth brushes the crown of your hair, and she closes her eyes for one long, still moment.

Then she exhales, slow and final.

“Alright,” she says, lifting her head.

The room pauses.

“Night’s over.”

Billy glances up from where he’s half-asleep on the floor. “What? But-”

Agatha cuts him a look. “Out.”

Jen snorts. “God forbid anyone witness her go full mommy mode.”

“I heard that.” Agatha doesn’t move, just curls her arms more snugly around you, voice like velvet and iron. “I want my fiancée. I want her in my bed. And I want all of you gone before she wakes up enough to get bratty.”

You murmur something incoherent against her chest, snuggling closer. The room melts.

Billy clutches his chest. “I can’t take how soft she gets.”

“Leave,” Agatha snaps, but her eyes remain playful, and her hand never stops stroking your hair.

Alice stands quietly and gathers the mugs. Jen stretches with a groan, muttering something about labeling samples. Lilia lingers longest, smirking as she crosses to the door.

“She’s made you sentimental,” she says quietly.

Agatha tilts her head. “She’s made me happy.” She can’t help the smirk. “There’s a difference.”

Lilia nods once. “May it last.”

The door closes behind them one by one. And when the last witch is gone, the wards shift softly back into place.

Agatha shifts you gently in her arms, her voice dropping to that low, molten register she saves only for you.

“Come on, little witch,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to your cheek. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You cling tighter. “M’comfy here…”

She smiles, something that is becoming less and less rare nowadays. “You’ll be comfier naked in my bed.”

You blink sleepily, a smile tugging at your lips. “Will you carry me?”

She doesn’t answer with words, just stands slowly, lifting you with ease, your arms winding around her neck. You feel the rush of her magic flicker through the house, candles snuffing out, doors locking themselves, the scent of wine and old roses left trailing in her wake.

She carries you upstairs like it’s nothing, one arm around your thighs, the other pressed firmly to your back, holding you against her chest like something she summoned straight out of her own ribs. Her mouth brushes your temple with every few steps.

And as she carries you up the stairs, close to her chest like something priceless, she murmurs into your hair, “my girl. My baby. Mine.”

The bedroom is already warm when she pushes open the door to reveal low golden lamplight flickering against dark wood and velvet sheets, the scent of her perfume and spell oils hanging soft in the air. Everything smells like her. Like home.

She lays you gently on the bed, and you make the smallest whimper of protest when she starts to pull away.

“No,” you whisper, reaching for her robe. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” she murmurs, voice low, warm, possessive. “Just getting you undressed.”

You sigh, limp and pliant as she kneels beside you. Her hands move slowly and adoringly, tugging your sweater up over your head, fingers grazing your warm skin, trailing fire as they go.

“Arms up,” she whispers, and you obey instantly, sleepy and good.

She peels your top away, exposing your bare chest to the soft air, and you hear her breath catch, quiet and reverent.

“Perfect,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Look at you…”

Her hands move lower, unbuttoning your skirt, sliding it down your thighs, pausing to kiss the inside of your knee. She’s in no rush, taking you apart like a ritual, or unwrapping her gift.

You whimper again, shifting restlessly now, thighs pressing together.

She notices immediately. Her eyes darken.

“Needy already?” she says, voice velvet and smoke. “Didn’t I just get you out of those clothes?”

You squirm, flushed. “I want you…”

Agatha hums low in her throat, something deep and ancient, a sound that curls between your legs and makes you throb.

“You want me to touch you, baby?” she whispers, brushing her knuckles lightly between your thighs, not quite pressing where you need it. “Is that it? My poor little witch can’t fall asleep without her mommy?”

You nod, desperate now. “Please…”

She leans down over you, one hand cradling your jaw, her body heavy and warm above yours.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. Let mommy take care of you.”

She presses her lips to your throat, then lower, trailing kisses between your breasts, down your stomach, taking her time as your hips twitch beneath her.

“You just lie back and keep those pretty eyes on me,” she murmurs. “Let me make my baby feel good.”

Her mouth trails lower, moving slowly like she’s spelling out a sacred spell across your skin with her lips. Her hair brushes your stomach as she settles between your thighs, kissing the soft flesh there, not yet where you need it, but close enough to make you twitch.

“Such a pretty thing,” she whispers, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “So warm and open for me already…”

You gasp as she drags her fingers gently up your leg, over the curve of your hip, and then down again, being maddeningly teasing.

“Please,” you whimper, squirming.

Agatha glances up at you and the sight of her there, between your thighs, eyes dark and hungry, mouth glistening from the kisses she’s pressed to your skin, nearly undoes you.

“You always get this needy when you’re tired,” she says, voice low and amused. “I love how your body knows who it belongs to.”

You nod helplessly, breath hitching.

“It’s yours,” you whisper.

Her smile is slow, reverent. “That’s right, baby.”

Then she lowers her mouth and licks a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, and you gasp, head falling back, fingers tangling in the sheets.

Agatha hums against you like she’s tasting something divine.

“So sweet,” she murmurs, tongue circling your clit in soft, lazy strokes. “Mommy’s favorite flavor.”

You whimper her name, your hips lifting slightly, but she lays one firm hand across your lower belly, grounding you, owning you.

“Be still,” she purrs. “Let me take care of you.”

She keeps going, slow, rhythmic, and achingly gentle. Her tongue laps at you with endless patience, never changing the pace. Just enough pressure to keep you on the edge, never enough to let you fall.

You whimper again, thighs trembling.

“Agatha please… I need-”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers slide lower, one curling into you slowly while her mouth keeps working you with steady, devastating focus. You cry out softly, overwhelmed from the stimulation, the warmth, the way her thumb strokes over your hip as if to soothe you through the pleasure.

She curls her finger just right, and your breath stutters. Then a second joins it, and she groans softly against your cunt.

“God, you’re so full for me already,” she growls. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

You can’t answer, you’re too close, too desperate. All you can do is moan, your hands grasping blindly for her hair, your hips beginning to move despite yourself.

Agatha lifts her head just slightly, lips glistening, breath warm.

“Eyes on me,” she commands, voice rough now. “Come for me, baby. Let mommy hear how good she makes you feel.”

Her fingers press deeper, mouth closing around your clit with just enough suction to send you spiraling and then you’re gone. Your back arches, mouth open in a silent cry, legs shaking as your climax crashes through you. She keeps going through it, licking and curling and whispering praises as you ride it out, breathless and broken open beneath her.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh again. “That’s my girl.”

You’re still trembling when she lifts her head, her lips slick, cheeks flushed, fingers still nestled deep inside you. She’s watching you like she might devour you. Her eyes glow soft violet in the low light, and her voice, when she speaks, is low and reverent.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “Still so fucking full… and you’re clenching, baby.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, oversensitive, but needy for her again already.

Her fingers flex gently inside you, pressing against that tender spot that makes your legs twitch. She leans forward, mouth close to your ear now, breath warm and dangerous.

“You’re not done, are you?” she whispers. “Not when you’re this wet, this open… fuck.”

She groans softly as you squeeze around her fingers again, instinctive and needy.

“You’re still ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” she purrs. “Still my good girl?”

You nod, gasping. “Yes, yes, mommy please…”

That does something to her.

Her magic crackles in the air, purple lightning fizzing under her skin as she slowly pulls her fingers free, trailing your slick down your thigh, watching it glisten.

She sits back, pushing off her robe, revealing all of her, long and lean and devastating. Her cock is hard already, flushed dark and thick at the tip, heavy between her thighs, and she’s aching for you.

You whimper at the sight of her, eyes wide, lips parted.

She smiles, slow and hungry, hand stroking along her shaft as she kneels between your legs again. Her other hand comes to rest on your thigh, spreading you open for her, gaze locked to your soaking cunt.

“This is what I do to you?” She says, voice hoarse now. “Look how ready you are for me, so needy, so fucking desperate to be filled again.”

You whine, breath stuttering. “Want you in me…”

She doesn’t move, just strokes herself slower, dragging her thumb over the head, watching your hips twitch. “Say it properly.”

You blink up at her, dizzy and ruined.

“Please, mommy,” you whisper. “Please put your cock in me. I need it.”

Her growl is low and feral. She leans forward, bracing herself above you, her cock nudging your entrance, and her fingers return to your cheek, cradling you like you’re precious.

“You’re mine,” she breathes. “Every part of you. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper. “All yours.”

And then she slides into you. She presses forward in one slow, devastating stroke, and you mown loudly, already arching, already shaking.

“Shhh, I know,” she breathes, cradling your face with one hand while her cock stretches you open. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

It’s too much and not enough all at once. You’re clinging to her, mouth open, body twitching, your walls fluttering around her length like you’re still trying to pull her deeper. Agatha curses softly, something old, in Latin, maybe, lost against your throat as she buries her face there.

“Always so tight for me,” she growls, rocking her hips just enough to make you gasp. “So fucking wet, and I’ve barely touched you.”

You can’t speak. You just moan, high and needy, gripping her shoulders like she’s the only thing holding you to the earth. She pulls back slowly , then drives back in, not rough, but deep and intentional, like she’s pressing her love into your core.

“Look at me,” she whispers, voice wrecked.

You try, your lashes flutter, tears springing at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all, but you do. You find her eyes. And what you see there almost makes you cry.

Love. Real, terrifying, all consuming love. Like you are the only thing in the world that has ever made her feel.

Her thumb brushes your cheekbone as her hips grind deep again.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged. “Take it. Let mommy fuck you full. Let me have you.”

You whimper, nodding helplessly. “I’m yours… shit I’m yours, I’m yours!”

“I know,” she breathes, thrusting a little harder now, her pace still measured but unrelenting. “You’re mine, little witch. You were made for this. For me.”

You sob her name, desperate and dizzy from the stretch and the heat and the way she won’t stop looking at you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, voice trembling with how deep it cuts. “Underneath me. Wrapped around me. You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, do you understand that?”

You nod frantically, legs trembling, thighs hooked around her waist to keep her close.

She groans, fucking into you a little rougher now, a little more desperate. “Say it again,” she growls. “Tell me who you are.”

“Yours,” you cry, hands clawing at her back. “Yours, mommy, only yours!”

She lets out a shuddering breath, forehead still pressed to yours. Her thrusts start to falter just slightly, getting rougher, messier, the way they always do when she’s about to lose it.

“You gonna come for me again?” she whispers, fucking you through it. “Come on, baby. I want to feel you squeeze my cock while you come. I want to watch you fall apart.”

Her hand finds your clit, slick from your last orgasm, and she rubs tight, perfect circles, just like you need. Her cock grinds deep with every motion, her mouth still brushing yours, breath trembling.

“That’s it,” she pants. “Let go for me. Let mommy take you there.”

You cry out as you shatter, your eyes rolling back, nails digging into her skin, your body locking around hers as your orgasm slams through you.

She feels it, every tremble, every pulse, and her own voice breaks as she fucks through your high, her cock still buried deep.

“Fuck! Fuck, that’s it, baby,” she gasps. “You’re gonna make me… fuck, I’m coming…”

She groans deep and low as she spills inside you, hips grinding hard, cock pulsing deep within your soaked cunt. Her whole body shudders against yours, her hands holding you like you might disappear if she lets go.

You’re both panting. Sticky with sweat. Hearts pounding like war drums.

She doesn’t move, just stays there, buried in you, forehead pressed to yours, whispering your name like a prayer.

“My baby,” she breathes. “My love. Mine.”

You’re already shaking, your legs weak, mouth open, whimpering against her shoulder as she keeps you close, her cock still inside you, pulsing.

You thought she’d stop after that, after filling you so deep you could feel it dripping out around her. But Agatha is still hard inside. And she’s not done.

“Such a good girl,” she breathes, hand cupping your jaw, her other trailing down between your legs again. “Still clenching around me like you want more.”

You sob, hips twitching, body oversensitive, but needing her. Needing to come again, needing to give her everything.

“I want- I want it again,” you gasp.

Her smile is pure sin.

“Oh baby,” she coos. “You don’t ask for that unless you really mean it.”

She curls her fingers around your throat, just enough pressure to make your head spin, and her hips start to move again with slow, deep thrusts, cock dragging against your raw walls, already slick with cum.

“Come again for me,” she growls. “I want to feel it this time. Milk mommy’s cock like the good little slut you are.”

You cry out, back arching, and she’s so deep, hitting that spot over and over until your legs are shaking, tears sliding down your cheeks from the overwhelming heat of it.

“That’s it,” she pants, fucking up into you now, relentless. “You’re doing so good,fuck, you’re gonna come, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Come on, then. Come while I’m still inside.”

And you do. It rips out of you, your whole body seizing around her, thighs trembling, toes curling, mouth open on a scream as your pussy clamps down around her cock, wet and fluttering and so fucking full.

“That’s it,” she moans. “Fuck, baby, you feel that? You feel how tight you are?”

You nod, sobbing, limp in her arms.

But then she grabs your waist and flips you over. You barely have time to catch your breath before she pulls your hips up, face pressed into the pillow, her hands spreading you open. Her cum leaks from your still-spasming cunt and she groans when she sees it.

“Still leaking,” she growls. “Not good enough.”

And then she slams into you from behind.

You scream.

“Gonna fuck it back in,” she snarls, cock punching deep, rough now, her hands gripping your hips like handles. “You don’t waste a drop of me, understand?”

You can’t even answer, you’re drooling on the sheets, crying, so full you can’t think.

“Say it,” she snaps, spanking your ass hard. “Say you want me to fill you up again.”

“I want it, please, want all of it, breed me mommy, please!”

Her rhythm falters after one, two more brutal thrusts, and she’s coming again, buried in you, hips jerking, moaning loud and broken as she empties herself into your already flooded cunt.

You sob into the pillow, twitching around her, every nerve on fire.

She doesn’t move, just stays buried deep, holding your hips, breath shaking as she keeps you full.

“So fucking perfect,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “So mine.”

You’re still on your stomach, boneless and whimpering into the pillow, her cum sticky and hot between your thighs. Agatha hasn’t pulled out yet, she’s draped over your back, mouth pressed to your shoulder, one hand holding your hip like she’s scared to let you go.

“Breathe, baby,” she murmurs softly, brushing your damp hair back from your cheek. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You nod, trembling, blinking away the tears of pleasure still clinging to your lashes.

“Too good,” you whisper, voice wrecked.

“I know,” she says, smiling against your skin. “You were perfect. Always are.”

She kisses the back of your neck, then shifts carefully, finally easing out of you, and you both gasp when it happens. The loss. The mess. The heat.

Her cum spills out of you instantly, and she groans when she sees it.

“Fuck…”

You roll onto your side slowly, body limp, legs still shaking. She’s already pulling you close, one arm curled tightly around your waist, her hand splayed over your lower belly like she can feel it still inside.

“Look at this,” she murmurs, stroking your stomach. “So full of me. You took it so well.”

You blush, biting your lip. “I did?”

“Oh baby,” she laughs, low and wicked, “you did so good.”

You beam. She kisses your nose. Then, her fingers spread across your stomach again, slower this time, more thoughtful. Her thumb rubs gentle little circles, and her voice lowers.

“You’d look so beautiful pregnant.”

Your breath catches.

She watches your face carefully, not teasing, not testing, just honest.

“All soft and round,” she murmurs. “Waddling around the house. Glowing. I’d never let you lift a finger.”

“Would you…” You swallow. “Would you still want to touch me?”

Her smile is feral and fond. “You wouldn’t be able to walk, sweetheart.”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together.

“I’d worship that belly,” she continues, voice rough with want and awe. “Talk to it. Cast protection spells around you so thick no one could even look at you without my magic biting back.”

You can’t look at her. You’re too flustered. But her fingers are still stroking your skin. Loving. Careful.

“You want that?” she asks softly. “Want to be all full of me, in every way?”

You nod into her chest. “Yeah. I do.”

She kisses your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your lips.

“Then you will be,” she promises. “When you’re ready. I’ll put a baby in you, and you’ll be mine forever.”

“I already am,” you whisper.

Agatha smiles. “I know,” she says. “But I want the whole world to see it.”

~

Agatha’s halfway down the stairs when she hears the click of your heels.

She’s already dressed, reluctantly, in black and purple robes with green shimmer glamoured across her skin. The pointed hat is sitting on the bannister, untouched. She’s muttering about “not being a theatre witch” under her breath, tugging at the tight sleeves of her velvet coat when she sees you.

And freezes.

You twirl once, right there in the middle of the room, beaming up at her like a starlet who’s just won the Tony for Best Girlfriend in a Leading Role.

“Ta-da!”

The dress is short. The corset is pink and sparkly, laced up tight beneath your breasts. The skirt poofs out in delicate tulle, trimmed with silver stars. Your stockings are white and satiny. Your heels glitter when you step into the light. And you’re holding a wand. A pink wand.

“Agatha?” you ask innocently. “You okay?”

She stares.

Her jaw works like she’s trying to speak, but all that comes out is a low, stunned sound from the back of her throat.

“I… what the fuck,” she mutters.

You grin, batting your lashes. “You like?”

“I… I told you to pick something subtle,” she says, but her voice is strangled, and her eyes are bugging out of her skull.

You cross the room slowly, letting your hips sway just enough to be dangerous.

“But Agatha,” you pout, dragging a fingertip down her chest, “you said I could pick anything I wanted.”

“I didn’t mean…” she chokes on her own words as you twirl again, the skirt bouncing, your thighs on full display, “…this.”

“You’re my Wicked Witch,” you whisper, stepping up onto your toes to kiss her cheek. “And I’m your good little witch.”

“Fuck,” she mutters. “Fuck me.”

“You already did this morning,” you whisper, and kiss her hard.

She groans into it, hands already finding your hips, gripping tight, pulling you close like she might drag you upstairs and ruin you again.

“You are not wearing this out,” she growls.

“Yes I am,” you sing-song.

She tries to look stern. She really does. But you’re all flushed cheeks and glossy lips and glitter and cleavage and pink satin, and she is obsessed with you.

Her hands slide around your waist, fingers digging in.

“I’m gonna hex anyone who looks at you,” she says, darkly. “I mean it. One flirtatious thought and I’ll turn their insides into rotting candy corn.”

You giggle, pulling her hat from the banister and perching it on her head.

“And you,” she adds, voice low, curling one hand around your throat with delicious control, “are going to sit on my cock the moment we get home. Still dressed like this. Wand and all.”

“Promise?” you whisper.

She kisses you again, hard enough to bruise.

“Good witches don’t tease,” she mutters. “And you’re already in so much trouble.”

~

The door to Kale Skincare Apothecary opens with a shimmer of chimes and candlelight.

You step in first, glittering pink heels clicking on polished tile, skirt swishing around your thighs, wand in hand. Behind you Agatha is in black velvet and green glamours, tall and sharp, her pointed hat low over her brow like a shadowed crown.

The second the coven sees you both, the reactions explode.

“Oh my GOD,” Billy gasps from behind the bubbling punch cauldron. “You actually got her to do it!”

Jen’s eyes go wide. “Wait, wait wait wait, no way. You’re Elphaba and Glinda?!”

You do a little twirl, holding up your skirt with both hands, flashing your white stockings and sparkly pink wand. “We are.”

Lilia, dressed like some terrifyingly glamorous Victorian medium, lifts her glass and mutters, “Blessed Samhain to us all. She got Agatha Harkness in a musical theatre reference.”

Agatha steps in behind you, her cloak swirling as she closes the door. “She was based on me, you know.”

You beam. “Isn’t she perfect?”

The store is glowing, literally. Enchanted lanterns cast purple and gold light over potion shelves lined with glow in the dark creams and charm infused serums. Dry ice fog snakes around the floor. The crowd is mostly industry people in witchy costumes or sexy cosplay, but everyone turns when you walk further inside the store.

Agatha notices every pair of eyes, her arm sliding possessively around your waist.

“You look hot,” Jen says approvingly, sipping a bright green drink. “Like a queer fairytale promo for a Broadway revival.”

“Thank you,” you chirp.

Jen eyes Agatha. “And you look… unhinged. In a hot way.”

“Wicked,” Agatha deadpans.

Billy chokes on his drink.

The music pulses underfoot, low and thumping. Skincare samples are being handed out in crystal shot glasses. Alice is near the back in all white as an angel while Lilia is already talking to someone about an exfoliant.

Agatha tugs you closer to her side, her hand flat against your waist.

“You promised to behave,” she murmurs in your ear.

“I said I’d try.”

Her smirk is sharp. “You are such a little menace.”

“Mmhm.” You kiss her cheek, glitter brushing her skin. “But I’m your menace.”

You turn to look at some skincare samples, but Agatha doesn’t follow, she lingers behind, watching the way your skirt swishes when you walk, the way your hair catches the light, the way people look at you.

She lets them look, she lets them wish. But her hand never strays far. Because you’re her good witch and she’ll burn this place to the ground before anyone forgets it.

You’ve only been apart from Agatha for a minute. She went to grab drinks, something dark and smoky for herself, something bubbly and pink for you, and you wandered to the skincare display to admire Jen’s new spell infused serums.

That’s when he shows up.

Some finance bro in costume hybrid dressed like a warlock but with the energy of someone who still says “crypto’s gonna bounce back.” You don’t know his name. You don’t want to.

But he slides in close. Too close.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking down your body. “That costume is insane. Are you, like… Glinda, but slutty?”

You give a polite smile. “Just Glinda.”

“You here alone?”

“Nope.” You hold up your ring finger slightly. “Engaged.”

“Damn. Lucky guy.”

You open your mouth to correct him, not a guy but an incredibly powerful centuries old witch, but then he leans in.

“Still,” he murmurs, “doesn’t mean we can’t talk a little. What’s your name, princess?”

You freeze. Your body stiffens before you even register it.

And across the room Agatha sees it. She’s halfway back to you already when your smile drops. When your hand shifts subtly to your skirt. When your eyes dart once, quick and uncertain, toward the bar.

She moves like lightning.

“Step back.” Her voice slices through the air, calm, cold, and lethal.

The guy flinches, turning just in time to see Agatha sweep in beside you, one hand already curling around your waist, the other gloved and glowing faintly violet at her side.

“Whoa-” he starts, throwing his hands up.

“I said,” Agatha repeats, tone like a curse, “step. Back.”

He stammers, but he does. A few onlookers glance over, Jen is smirking from across the room, Billy’s mouth is open in awe, but no one dares interrupt.

Agatha turns to you, eyes scanning your face, voice softer now. “You okay?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just… didn’t like how close he got.”

That’s all it takes. Her hand moves to your face, thumb stroking gently under your chin. “You never have to explain. Not to me.”

The guy mutters something and tries to slink off. Agatha doesn’t even look at him, she is far more focused on keeping her body between you and the world.

“Come here,” she whispers.

You fall into her arms immediately, all satin and glitter and trembling limbs, curling into her chest, your hands gripping her coat like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you,” you whisper.

She freezes, not because she’s surprised, but because she feels it, the weight of your love, the truth of it.

She wraps her arms around you tighter, lips pressed to your temple.

“I love you more,” she breathes. “So fucking much.”

Then, a little lower, darker, just for you, “I swear to the goddess Hecate, if anyone else touches you tonight…” Her magic sparks at her fingertips. Your ring pulses warm against your skin. “They’ll wake up hexed, hairless, and possibly allergic to orgasms.”

“My wicked witch.” You giggle into her chest.

She kisses your forehead. “My love.”

[evendimmer]

there's something about kissing her when she's asleep and watching the corner of her mouth curl into a small, sleepy smile

[somecutething]

Dolphins doing cartwheels with an aquarium guest.

(via Ant.Giovanni)

[luidilovins]

I'm loving this new trend of people going to zoos and participating in animal enrichment. We use to observe large exotic animals for our entertainment, but the fact is that we are now trying to make ourselves equally as entertaining for them. It's interactive, completely parpicipatory and I would argue that eventually someone's gonna come up with something new enough that it expland ethologists understanding about how some animals think, problem solve, communicate and feel and I think its fantastic.

[urbanfantasyinspiration]

Human: play?

Aquatic creature from an entirely different branch of the animal tree: play!

[urbanfantasyinspiration]

[thecryptkeeper]

two wonderful things i saw online today

[floettesblog]

Comfort

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Sevika x Reader

Synopsis: You had a bad day and your girlfriend Sevika is taking care of you.

Annoyed, you rummaged through your overstuffed handbag while the cold wind whipped around you. Your fingers searched desperately between receipts, lipstick, and random clutter—but your house key seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Even your keys refused to show you mercy today.

A frustrated sound escaped your throat as you tried to push your wind-tossed hair out of your face, only to get caught in a stubborn knot. The sting in your eyes finally gave way to tears, and with a broken sob you raised your hand to knock on the door in defeat.

But just then, it opened on its own.

Your girlfriend stood in the doorway, your keys dangling casually from her finger. She was about to speak—but you threw yourself into her arms, clinging to her waist like she was the only thing keeping you afloat.

“Rough day?” Sevika murmured, her voice gentle. You only nodded, a soft whimper slipping out.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” she said, one broad hand resting comfortingly on your back, stroking slow circles through the fabric of your coat.

You let her guide you into the living room, though not without catching sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror. The image made you groan: red cheeks and nose from the cold, tangled hair from the wind, and swollen eyes that wouldn’t stop spilling tears.

“I look terrible,” you sniffled, collapsing onto the couch like dead weight.

Sevika sat down beside you and pulled you effortlessly into her lap, as though you were her most finest treasure.

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

She reached for your favorite blanket and wrapped you snugly in it, creating a warm cocoon before asking softly,

“Want to tell me what happened?”

And so you did.

In a trembling voice, with sobs and far too many tears sliding down your cheeks.

Sevika never interrupted, only nodded now and then and held you tighter, as if she could shoulder some of the weight for you.

Even if she didn’t catch every word, she seemed to understand perfectly what had broken you down.

Later, after the two of you had ordered your favorite food and settled on the couch in the dim glow of the TV, you nestled deeper into your blanket against her side.

“I’m sorry, Sevika. I’m sure your day was just as exhausting as mine,” you whispered.

She let out a soft hum, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before leaning closer.

“Don’t worry about me, sugar. Let me take care of you—just like you do for me on my bad days.”

She pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, her rough lips unexpectedly tender.

“I love you,” you sniffled again, tears filling your eyes once more—this time from being so deeply moved.

“I love you too,” she replied with a faint smile, cupping your face in her hands and wiping away the tears as if they had never been there at all.

Sooo… this is the story I mentioned earlier. My day was awful and I really need Sevika. 🫠

I firmly believe she’s a softie for her girl! 😤

Dividers by @leilakittya

Taglist

@sevikas-whore

[adivinationwitch]

Happiness

[unstablecherries]

a short little imagine with me moment 🫧

sevika x sleepy!reader

You’re curled in Sevika’s lap, the steady rise and fall of her chest lulling you closer to sleep. Every time she shifts, the creak of leather and the warmth of her body makes you sigh softly, clinging tighter to her shirt.

Her fingers move slow, absent-minded, brushing along your arm, then down your side, tracing lazy paths like she’s sketching you from memory.

“Tired little thing,” she mutters against your hair, her voice low and warm. “Bet you didn’t even notice how heavy your eyes are getting.”

You hum, a weak protest, but she chuckles under her breath. Her hand slips under the blanket she’s thrown over you, broad palm resting heavy on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles that make your muscles melt.

“Relax,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to fight it. Not here. Not with me.”

Your lashes flutter shut. She feels you sag fully into her, your breathing falling into that slow rhythm that tells her you’re finally letting go.

For a long moment, she just watches you, your head tucked under her chin, the faint twitch of your lips like you’re dreaming. Then she exhales, softer than you’ve ever heard her, and presses the gentlest kiss to your temple.

Her arms tighten around you, metal and flesh both steady as steel, and she leans back into the couch. Outside, the world keeps turning, loud and ugly, but here, in her lap, wrapped in her hold, you sleep like nothing could ever touch you.

sevika my angel