Saturday morning hits you like a semi truck. 

A dark, bulky pair of sunglasses sits on the bridge of your nose as you sip an iced latte. You’re quiet as you walk beside Melissa and Barbara, signing in, grabbing a tote bag, flitting from vendor to vendor. The fluorescent lights above you send a jolt of pain through your head and you wince.

“PECSA Weekend, Jacob! Oh, my God!” 

Janine and Jacob are squealing as they jump around, eyes wide and childlike. They stop in front of the three of you and you lift your pointer finger to your lip, shushing them quietly.

“Are you hungover?” Janine asks.

“We checked in early last night,” you mumble. “PECSA Pregame.”

“I wish I had a Time-Turner, ‘cause like Aerosmith I don’t wanna miss a thing!” Janine beams, flipping through her binder. “Although, I might have to miss this big party.”

“Oh, you’re not missing PECSA-geddon!” Melissa snaps. “Who’s supposed to watch our purses?”

Barbara nods. “The party is the one thang you don’t wanna miss.”

“Barb, cover us,” Melissa mumbles, pulling your attention to a table behind you where snacks and bottles of water sit.

“But I have to find time to see the Living Classroom–the one the Philadelphia Flower Show made.” Janine scrunches her eyebrows as the two of you begin shoveling water and snacks into your tote bags while Barbara guards you. “Anyway, so, it’s this classroom, and it’s all made out of flowers a–”

“Janine,” Barbara sighs, eyes darting around the room, “we are only here to show face so that people remember they saw us. Then we kick it into spa mode”

“And my spa mode is happening à la mode,” Melissa grins, and pops up from behind Barbara, “‘cause I’m gonna eat ice cream in the hot tub.”

“A lot of things happen in that hot tub,” you mumble, sipping on your latte as Melissa nods solemnly. 

Before the three of you leave the room, you stop at the doors. Your head throbs as Melissa calls out to the crowd, grabbing a man’s lanyard and briefly reading it.

“I, Melissa Schemmenti of Abbot Elementary, am enjoying connecting with my peers!” she shouts. “Including this guy–Derrick, from some other school in Philadelphia!”

Barbara smiles brightly beside you. “And I, Barbara Howard, have already mentored seven young teachers! Huzzah!”

You grab her hand with your free one and raise your arms in the air. “And I, Y/N L/N, have had the honor and privilege of being mentored by Barbara Howard.” You drop your arms and unlink your hands, face dropping. “Alright, let’s go,” you mutter. “I need a nap.”

After a Benadryl and two over-the-counter migraine pills, you’re waking up from your nap in the evening with drool on your pillow and your hangover mostly gone. The room is quiet after Melissa went down to the pool with Barbara earlier, leaving you with a kiss on your head as you mumbled incoherent words into your pillow.

You quickly slip a bathing suit on with a cover-up over top of it and make your way down to the lobby–with a quick trip to the bar for what was listed as a “P. E. Colada”.

When you walk through the door of the indoor pool, you see Melissa’s face immediately light up.

“Mornin’ Sleeping Beauty,” she grins. “How was your nap?”

You kiss the top of her head before taking a seat in a lounge chair. “Well, I woke up with drool on my pillow, so I guess it was good.”

“Those are the best kind of naps,” Barbara smiles, and the three of you clink your glasses together. “To PECSA Weekend!”

At six, Barbara leaves the two of you to check and see if the mini bar in her room has been restocked.

With your second Piña Colada in hand, you slowly descend the steps into the pool, knowing full well that Melissa is watching you every step of the way.

“Careful, hon,” she says. “There’s no lifeguard on duty…Wouldn’t wanna have to resuscitate you if something happened.”

You grin, facing her and resting your arms on the edge of the pool. “Oh, I dunno…I wouldn’t mind some mouth-to-mouth from you.”

She snickers. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“So, are you going to join me?” you ask. 

Melissa sets her drink down on the table beside her. “Well, when you look at me like that, how can I say no?”

Biting the inside of your lip, you watch as she removes her cover-up, going so slowly that it might as well be a strip tease. 

Your arms immediately wrap around her neck when she’s in the water, pulling her in close and kissing her hard. “Thank God we’re the only ones here.”

“Jesus, what do they put in those Piña Coladas?” she murmurs before you pull her back in.

“Sweet Jesus!”

You pull apart quickly at the sound of Barbara announcing her presence.

“I’ve been gone for ten minutes!” she says.

“What are you doin’ back here, Barb?” Melissa huffs. 

“I forgot my room key,” she answers pointedly, swiping it off the table. “And I’d suggest you get yourselves together, ‘cause I just saw a couple Addington teachers with their bathing suits on their way over–and the last thing we need at Abbot is a scandal.”

The two of you laugh all the way back to your room. You wipe a tear away and giggle as Melissa unlocks the door. “Did you see her face? Poor Barbara…”

You’re fresh out of the shower with your dress on and a face full of makeup. You crouch down and raid the mini bar while waiting for Melissa to finish in the bathroom. 

You unscrew the cap on a mini bottle of rosé and down half of it in one go.

“You started without me?” Melissa comes out of the bathroom with her hair in curlers and dressed in nothing but a towel.

“There’s plenty to go around, honey,” you say, watching in delight as she bends over to dig through her small suitcase.

By the time she’s ready, it’s nearing eight and you’re meeting Barbara in the lobby. 

“Well, don’t you two look lovely,” she smiles, and her finger swipes at her chin as she lowers her voice. “Both of your lipsticks are smudged, by the way.”

After you and Melissa fixed your lipsticks (and almost ruined them yet again), you find Barbara at the bar with her first “Matharita” of the night. She hands the two of you your drinks and you make your way into PECSA-geddon, where it seems like every table is taken.

By the time you’re finished with the first lap around the room, you’re getting your second round of drinks from the bar. Melissa stands beside you, hand around your waist and elbow resting on the bar countertop. She wears a lopsided grin, eyes darting down at your lips every now and then as you go on a tangent about the ending of the latest book you’ve read.

“Oh, my God–Melissa?” The bartender–no more than 27 or 28–stands across from you, martini shaker in hand and his eyes wide. 

You stop talking as she stands up straight as a board, mouth open as she tries to speak. “I–Um–Hey…”

The bartender relaxes, but you don’t. “Who’s this?” you ask.

Melissa swishes her lips side to side as she comes up with an answer. “Um–”

“Oh, we hooked up a couple years ago during PECSA weekend,” he shrugs. 

“Oh?” you say, turning toward her as you pick up your cosmo and take a sip. Your lips are tight and your eyebrows raise as you study her. 

The bartender glances down as immediately sees her hand on your waist. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, bro! I didn’t know you two were–I never would’ve brought it up–!”

“It’s alright, honey,” you say, not looking at him and keeping your lips curled and eyes trained on Melissa as she tries to not look at you. 

Through thick tension, another bartender hands Melissa her drink and she downs it immediately, handing the glass back. “Can I have another?”

The tension has simmered down and Melissa’s hand is on your lower back as she escorts you back over to where Barbara waits for you both. She’s quiet, sipping on her drink, but you’re almost smug as you walk beside her.

“What’s got you lookin’ like that?” Barbara asks.

“Oh, Melissa had a run in with a previous PECSA hook up–the bartender,” you say.

Barbara’s eyes widen and Melissa huffs. “Can we just find a table?”

You can’t control how much you gravitate towards her now–and it’s more than usual. Yes, one of your love languages is physical touch–hers is too–but after that run-in with her little bartender, you can’t hold yourself back.

And now you’re at a table, seat pulled close to hers as she has a proper conversation with her sister for the first time in almost ten years. You’re on your third Cosmo now, and you’ve lost count how many drinks you’ve had at this point. With Melissa’s hand on your thigh, you laugh with Dawn Nichols, trying so hard with Barbara to get the in with her.

You’re just about to throw your head back at one of Dawn’s jokes when a young woman, maybe a few years older than you, approaches the table.

And Melissa’s cheeks grow pink.

“Mel, is that really you?” she asks, eyes bright and a drink in her hand. “Oh, my gosh! I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you?”

“‘Mel’?” you repeat.

And as soon as the woman’s hand rests on Melissa’s shoulder, you feel like you see green.

“Who’s this?” you ask–again–and your voice is tight.

“Oh, sorry!” the woman chuckles, clearly intoxicated by the way her words slur. “I’m Nina!”

“How do you know Melissa?” you ask. “Since she doesn’t want to join in on the conversation…”

“We had a brief fling,” Nina says simply. “What was it? PECSA 2020? Then Covid happened and we basically spent lockdown together.”

You laugh with her–a performance that should earn you an Oscar–but your fingers dig into Melissa’s thigh as you take a long drink from your glass. “So how long were you two together?” you ask with a voice sweet as sugar, and Melissa gives you a warning look.

“Not too long,” she shrugs. “Maybe until August. Oh, Mel, guess who I ran into?”

“Who?” she asks, becoming noticeably disinterested.

“Xander!”

“Xander?” you chirp. “Who’s that, honey?”

“No one,” she says quickly.

Nina giggles. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous! He’s the concierge–I think. I dunno,” she slurs, “but he’s cute. He’s the guy from PECSA 2019, right?”

“Wow!” you beam. “PECSA 2019?”

“Yeah,” Nina says. “Anyway, I’ll let you guys be! It was great seeing you again, Mel!”

You bring your glass to your lips, “You sure do get around at PECSA, huh?” 

Melissa can see your demeanor slowly change throughout the night. You have to admit, you do feel silly feeling this jealous over past flings and one-night stands, but it still eats away at you.

As the night progresses, Melissa is challenged to a ‘Matharita’ chugging competition. You sit there in the dress you wore for her, fingers fidgeting with your necklace as you bite your lip and cross your legs. 

And you can’t take your eyes off of her as she downs every drink.  

After the final one, she tosses you a wink and is crowned the victor. A feeling of warmth spreads through you and–

It turns into a fire of jealousy and uncomfortable anger as a guy–maybe in his 40’s–gets a little too close to Melissa. So, you down the rest of your drink and leave the room, going straight to the bar in the lobby. 

On your way, you make eye contact with the concierge at the front who wears a bright, shining nametag that says XANDER. And once again, he can’t be more than 35-years-old. You don’t say anything, quickly walking past with a clenched jaw and tightly crossed arms. 

“Cosmo or Piña Colada?” the bartender asks, grinning as she dries a glass.

“Neither,” you huff, and take out your wallet, digging out cash and setting down a fifty and a ten. “However many tequila shots this can buy–I want that many. And keep the ten, that’s yours.”

“PECSA weekend rough?” she asks, taking the money off the counter and pocketing it before taking four shot glasses and lining them up.

You sigh and take a seat. “I don’t know,” you grumble. “Just…stupid jealousy. I’ve felt it before, but not this bad.” You take one of the shots the bartender hands you and down it in one go, grimacing. “I hate this feeling. I shouldn’t even be this jealous–she wasn’t obligated to wait for me. And I knew she had previous partners. I mean–have you seen her?”

The bartender leans against the counter, smiling softly with an amused look. “Nope–Oh, is that her?”

When you turn your head, you sigh. “Yes.”

“Wow…yeah, I wouldn’t turn her down,” the bartender says, and you shoot her a look before she snickers and walks off to another customer.

As Melissa takes a seat beside you with her drink, you down another shot of tequila. “Hi,” you murmur.

“Haven’t seen you like this since the Capitals lost the playoffs last year,” she quips.

“Haha, very funny,” you say, but you feel yourself holding back a smile–very poorly as your numerous drinks catch up to you. “It was a home game too,” you mumble. “Embarrassing…”

There’s a long stretch of silence between the two of you.

“Y’know, I haven’t thought about any of those people in years,” Melissa says quietly. “I don’t even remember that bartender’s name from earlier. And I only remember Nina because we had Covid together.”

You exhale and shake your head, unable to hide your amusement.

“I love you,” she says quietly. “You know that, right?”

You sigh, looking at her tiredly. “I do…I love you too.” You look down at your hands where they fold and pick at a straw wrapper. “I don’t know why I get so jealous. Just–when she called you ‘Mel’ something snapped in me, made it personal. But I guess I’ve never been as close with any other girlfriend as I am with you. Most of them would leave when they realized they didn’t, in fact, want someone like me, and that abandonment issues aren’t as hot as they’re made out to be. Too much to handle…” 

You let out a giggle, “I had one girl tell me that she thought she could ‘fix me’–like I’m some hot villain with a tragic backstory.”

“I don’t wanna fix you,” Melissa says, taking a sip of her drink. “I’ve known you since–what? 2016? 2017? Somewhere around then. I knew what I was getting myself into. And you are hot, by the way–don’t think I haven’t seen that dress you’re wearin’.” She takes another drink from her glass and sets it down, sighing. “You don’t need fixin’, hon, ‘cause you’re not broken. I love you the way you are–my hot, hypersexual, jealous girlfriend. And I don’t mind reassurin’ you that when needed.”

You smile softly, resting your head in your hand. “So, why didn’t you tell me about your PECSA exploits?”

“I dunno,” Melissa shrugs. “I guess I was just tryin’ to forget them, y’know? I’m not ashamed, but I was goin’ through stuff, filled the void with sex–I mean, there’s only so much you can do with a vibrator,” she mumbles.

You giggle and feel your shoulders relax. “How many people in this hotel have you slept with?” you ask carefully.

“Sweetie, when I answer this,” she says, “I want you to keep in mind that I’ve been goin’ to PECSA for almost thirty years.”

“Just tell me,” you say.

“Off the top of my head, at least two bartenders, a few front-desk people, I dunno how many teachers,” she rambles on. “Mostly hotel staff, though–less likely to run into them, especially at district budget meetings.”

You giggle. “Jesus, Mel, did you get our room for free from your Hilton points or from various favors the staff owes you?”

You both laugh and you can feel the tension in your body dissipating as you rest your head on her shoulder. She places a kiss on your head and sighs. “I promise, not a single person I’ve been with can compare to you. You’ve got more personality than all of them combined.”

You let out a heavy sigh as you sit up. “You’re right. I don’t know why I felt so threatened by Gary, though–because you clearly have a type.”

And with a grin, you stand up and down another shot of tequila. You set the glass down and you lean into her ear, voice low and fingers brushing her thigh. “If you’re not upstairs in ten minutes, I’m starting without you.”

“Like hell you are,” she mutters as you walk away, and she downs the last shot of tequila and sets the empty glass on the counter. 

Melissa catches up in the hallway quickly, hand grabbing yours and spinning you to face her. Your lips crash together with a mixture of laughter, teeth, and tongue as you’re pushed against the wall.

Your hand runs over the smooth paint and lands on a door handle. When you push down you trip backwards into a dimly lit room, smelling strongly of flowers, and Melissa catches you by the waist.

“Oh, my God!” You giggle as she begins kissing down your neck, and when you turn your head, you gasp. 

Janine and Gregory stand in the Living Classroom, awkwardly looking at the two of you.

“Oh, shit,” Melissa mutters. “Oops!”

As she giggles and pulls you away, you apologize to them quickly and shut the door. The next thing you know, she has you pinned against the wall of the elevator, lipsticks beyond ruined as her hands grab at every inch of you.

When the elevator dings, your hearts are racing as you watch someone with a very red face quickly exit before you. 

“When the fuck did she get on?” Melissa huffs.

You let out an airy laugh and drag her down a few doors. With her lips on yours, you manage to unlock the door. It slams loudly when Melissa kicks it shut, before she pins you against the counter of the mini bar.

Her lips trail down your neck and her hands quickly pull down the zipper of your dress. Your chest heaves as your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, quiet moans slipping out from you as her teeth nip at your neck. 

Your dress pools at your ankles and Melissa’s hand runs up your neck, stopping to grip your jaw softly as she forces you to look her in the eyes.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” she murmurs, kissing you softly. 

You slowly drop to your knees, eyes up and trained on her face as you lift the skirt of her dress. You kiss up her thighs and take in her scent as your fingers hook around the waistband of her underwear and pull them down.

Melissa’s fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently as hums. “Good girl…I didn’t even have to tell you.”

Your tongue swipes through her folds and you can’t help the moan that escapes you. You watch her lean forward, one hand on your head and the other clutching the edge of the countertop as her eyes close.

As your mouth works, you feel your knees beginning to ache. A whimper escapes you and her fingers tug on your hair tightly. 

“Keep goin’,” Melissa breathes, and a quiet gasp follows shortly after. “Right there–don’t stop! Fuck!”

Her legs tremble as you lick her through her climax, only pulling away when she forces you to. She tugs you up by your hair and as her lips crash into yours, you feel the edge of the counter dig into your lower back.

“Good–fucking–girl,” she says in between kisses.

Melissa turns you around and you manage to trip over your dress before she pushes you onto the bed. You land on your front, crawling on your hands and knees until you’re in the center of the bed. 

She begins to remove her dress and you turn your head to look at her, biting the inside of your lip in anticipation. But she stops abruptly with a raised eyebrow. “No peeking,” she drawls. “Turn that cute face back around, hon.”

You huff, but obey–even when you hear the sound of her suitcase unzipping. The feeling of her cold hands on your hips makes you shiver, and you can hear a low chuckle behind you. Her lips skim over your spine before she sits up, bringing your hips into a raised position.

A quiet gasp escapes your lips when Melissa’s nails scratch down your thighs, gripping them tightly. “Spread your legs, baby,” she says, and when you do, she lets out a low chuckle. “Good girl…”

Your eyes are trained on the headboard in front of you, until you feel the soft caress of her tongue through your folds. Your head drops onto the pillow and you take in a sharp breath, curses slipping from your mouth as she hums into you.

Melissa’s tongue continues slowly, never giving you more than you want. When your legs begin to tremble, you can hear–and feel–her chuckle into you. She sits up, kissing over your back as she reaches down and slips a finger inside. “Look at that,” she gasps quietly. “You’re so wet for me already…” As she curls her finger, she leans down into your ear, pressing a kiss just below it. “Good girl…Now, turn over for me.”

Melissa slips out her finger and you watch as she positions herself between your legs and licks her finger clean. She leans down, kissing up your chest and neck until she reaches your lips. When she pulls away, her hand holds your face, fingers digging into your cheeks. “You are absolutely adorable like this.”

“Like what?” you ask, voice airy as Melissa kisses the corner of your mouth.

She chuckles as you raise your hips in a desperate attempt to seek friction. “Like this–desperate and shaking,” she mutters into your jaw, lips skimming over the surface. “I could keep you like this forever and it’d never get old.”

“You might as well keep me like this forever,” you breathe. “I–Oh!” Your back arches as her fingers circle your clit.

“Finish what you were saying,” she says, lips brushing your neck.

“I think I’m–” You struggle to get through your words. “I’m in this–position in bed more than I am asleep–fuck!”

Melissa gets lower and lower and soon she’s smirking into your pussy. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her tongue is just as slow as it was when you were on your knees. She takes immense delight in the way you squirm beneath her, breath quick and hands looking for something–anything– to grab onto.

Melissa makes the decision for you and grabs your hand tightly, lacing her fingers with yours. With her other, she holds your leg open and ravishes you. Your head falls back into the pillow as you drift into that fuzzy, floating feeling, clinging to her hand to keep you grounded. 

You choke on air and your hand clasps over your mouth before reaching to brace against the headboard. As you get closer and closer, your hips jerk and falter, succumbing to the force of her hands holding them down.

“Do you wanna cum?” she asks.

“Mmhm…” You nod your head and a moan slips from your lips.

You feel Melissa squeeze your hand. “I need to hear a ‘yes’, baby.”

It takes everything in you to get out the proper words–to beg her to let you cum after keeping you on the brink for the past who-knows-how-long. But you do find those words, you do let out a pathetic whine, and your legs shake in her grasp as your entire body tenses.

“Good girl…” Melissa’s voice is soft as she talks you through it, hands roaming over your blazing skin and the scent of sex and perfume engulfing your senses as she kisses you softly. You feel her smile against your lips as you gasp and jolt when you feel the tip of the strap brush against you.

A chill runs through her as your nails dig into her skin. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask,” she says softly, lips peppering kisses over your cheeks and down your neck.

Your mind is fuzzy as your body jolts through the overstimulation of the strap running through your folds. Mindless words are mumbled and none of them are coherent.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Melissa mutters just beside your ear, and you can feel her nose brush your hair. 

A pitiful moan escapes you as the strap presses against your entrance. 

“I know, baby, but I need to hear you say it,” she insists. She sits up and her hand goes to your face, holding it steady. “Look at me–good.” She teases you, the strap just barely sinking into you as you whine. “If you want more, you need to tell me.”

The emotional and physical intimacy as Melissa teases you, chokes you with tears. Your eyes water and your voice wavers. “I want more, please–!” You gasp as she pushes in more, but not nearly enough.

She leans down, kissing away the tears that drip down your temples. “Again,” she mutters.

“Melissa, please!” you sob, pushing your hips up to meet her halfway. “Please, I want you to fuck me! Please!”

She lets out a pleased hum when you pull her down for a kiss in a haze of desperation, love, and lust. 

“Please,” you murmur into the kisses. “Please–fuck me–Oh, my God!” Your head falls back as she rewards your begging with a sharp thrust.

One hand holds yours, pinning it above your head as she uses you for balance, and the other grips behind your knee tightly. You cling to her desperately with your nails digging into her shoulder as she kisses you hard. Melissa swallows every moan and every cry that you let slip.

Without thinking, your free hand snakes down, fingers running over your clit quickly. 

“You touchin’ yourself?” she says, huffing out a laugh as you whimper and nod. “Good girl…Just like that.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your back arches off the bed and into her front. A loud moan escapes from you and the sound of it seems to invigorate Melissa as she speeds up, and an endless stream of moans and cries slip from your mouth.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” she asks, her pace never faltering.

You nod and tears drip down your temples as your eyes squeeze shut. “Yes–fuck–yes!” A kiss is pressed hard to your lips and you whine into it. “Oh my god–I love you–I love you–!”

Melissa kisses you, both of you panting, chests rising and falling rapidly. “Fuck, I love you too,” she huffs. “Keep goin’…That’s it, baby…”

It’s like an out of body experience, the way you shake and moan beneath her. Your legs tremble and your breathing is ragged as she leaves soft kisses over your body, easing you down from your climax.

The next time you check the time, it’s nearing five in the morning. You lay there, out of breath and basking in the post-sex haze. 

Melissa’s hand rests on your high, thumb stroking over the skin as she kisses the side of your head. “I’m sorry if any of those people made you feel like you weren’t good enough…”

You pull away just enough to look at her. “No, it’s okay,” you mumble, eyelids heavy. “You weren’t obligated to wait for me, Mel. It’s just stupid insecurities that I’ll learn to get over…”

“Okay,” she mumbles, eyes soft in the low lamplight as she scans your face briefly. “Y’know, I wasn’t lyin’ earlier. I do love you the way you are. You aren’t too much to handle–not one bit.”

The teachers’ lounge is quiet come Monday morning. 

You sit across from Melissa and Barbara, who drink their coffees silently, and you’re fairly certain you’re still hungover from Saturday; the fluorescent lights seem far too bright and just the sound of the coffee maker makes you want to rip it out of the wall and chuck it across the room.

The door swings open and Ava struts in, her grin turning into a grimace. “Damn, what’s happened to her?” she asks, looking at you cautiously.

“Day two of a hangover,” Melissa grumbles.

“Might as well be three,” you sigh, enjoying the cold feeling of the table on your cheek. “I was hungover Saturday morning too.”

Ava continues flippantly, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “So, this weekend was juicy…” she says expectantly. “That’s right…I got the tea and the cup. So, I heard about a very interesting hookup this weekend, involving someone in this very room.” No one’s responding and she’s becoming annoyed as she walks around to each of the tables. “They were teachers…I heard someone made out…In the elevator!” She huffs and spins around to face the pair of you. “Melissa, I know it was you two!”

But ever since she gave birth three months ago, there’s been something even hotter about her. 

Maybe it’s the way she’s always exhausted but still finds time to smile at you when she sees you. 

Maybe it’s her nurturing side on display that’s tapping into some unresolved mommy issues you have. 

Or maybe it’s the way her breasts are huge and full and she makes no effort to hide her cleavage. 

You feel like a gross guy every time you find your eyes drifting down, but who can blame you? 

You’re pretty sure Agatha has seen you staring a few times, too. But every time, she just gives you a smirk with an imperceptible shake of her head, like she’s scolding you because she knows that she should, not that she wants to.

Her kid, Nicholas, is cute enough. You don’t really know enough about babies to have an opinion, but he gurgles and giggles when he sees you sometimes. When you hold out your finger to him, he’ll grab it with his entire fist and it makes you smile. 

Your mom had been named Nicky’s godmother and you had tagged along with her to the baptism. You can still remember how it felt when Agatha had hugged you, pressing her breasts against your chest. You had been able to think of very little else during the ceremony. 

Agatha had the two of you over to her house a lot after her son was born. Your mom was all too happy to help out, as Nicky’s father was barely ever home and Agatha was exhausted. You kept the older woman company while doing homework for your college classes in the kitchen while she prepared a light snack or in the living room while she caught up on the newest episode of the show she was watching. 

But it was inevitable that Nicky would start crying and Agatha would have to take him into her bedroom to feed him. 

Is it weird that you wanted to know what it was like?

Never before had you been so transfixed by the thought of that, and you had been around several of your mom’s and older sister’s friends who had given birth. 

But everytime, when Agatha could come back out of the room, holding Nicky with her shirt unbuttoned more than it had been, you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. 

There is something especially different about today. 

It’s Thanksgiving, and every year Agatha has a lunch where she invites people from the neighborhood over. Her husband has taken Nicky to his parents’ house to give her a break and it seems like she is back to her normal self.

But Agatha has decided to wear a short, tight, navy dress with a very low cut, reminding you that something was still not normal. 

You’re practically drooling over her. There are several times that someone says something to you that you don’t even hear because you’re too busy staring. 

Is she wearing a push-up bra? How are they that perky? You’ve never wanted to suck on something more. 

You physically shake your head to get rid of those thoughts. 

She is your best friend’s mom. She just had a baby. She is married. 

You repeat those sentences like a mantra as you finish helping cook the food. You’ve been tasked with making mashed potatoes, which is a pretty easy job. 

Finally the meal is ready, and while you’re setting the table with your mom and another friend of hers, you notice that Agatha is nowhere to be found. You frown and check back in the kitchen. She’s not there. 

“Mom, did Agatha go to the bathroom?” You ask, hoping she doesn't ask why you care so much. Your mom shrugs absentmindedly, too focused on balancing the plate of cranberry sauce with the bowl of casserole so she doesn’t drop either. 

You glance at the hall bathroom to find the door open. Spurred on by something, you head up the stairs, just to make sure Agatha’s alright. It’s not like her to just disappear. 

“Agatha?” You call out and you hear a muffled sound coming from her bedroom. You can hear the front door open downstairs and you assume more guests are arriving. You tentatively walk into her room, the floor creaking. 

And that’s where you find her sitting on the bed, her back to you. 

“You okay?” You ask, not really sure what’s going on or how to explain what you’re doing. 

She sniffs and turns around and your jaw falls open. 

There’s two damp spots on her chest, visible on the navy material. 

“Uh–” You have no idea what to say. 

“I’m such an idiot, I had all the nursing stuff in Nicky’s bag and it’s with my husband, and I thought I would be okay,” she mutters angrily and you walk over to where she’s sitting, as if in a trance. You think you can smell it. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You ask breathily, falling to your knees in front of her. It sounds like you’re on something and she looks at you with surprise and maybe a little of something else. 

“You want to help me?” Her eyebrow raises like she’s daring you, but you don’t back down. You nod and her lips part. You think her pupils are dilating. “I see you staring, you know. You’re not subtle.” 

You shrug shamelessly, hands coming up to rest on her bare thighs. She gasps as the touch. You think she must be so sensitive. “Let me help, please,” you beg, staring up at her. 

She holds your gaze for a second and then obliges, reaching behind her to drag the dress zipper down. Your heart stutters in your chest when the front of the dress loosens and more and more of her pale skin is revealed. She’s wearing what looks like a special kind of bra and you move to touch without even realizing. 

You cup her swollen breast and run your thumb over her nipple through the fabric. Agatha’s breath hitches and she bites her lip, eyes watching you through hooded lashes. 

“Baby,” Agatha says, silently communicating what she needs, and you pull her right breast out over the bra, sit up on your knees, and take her leaking nipple into your mouth. 

Her head falls back and you moan at the taste. It’s so warm and rich and you start suckling, just wanting to bring her some relief. 

“Fuck,” she says sharply and you feel a spark of heat grow inside you. You keep drawing out the milk and her hand comes down to grab your left one and bring it to her other breast. You scrabble with her bra and she eventually gets fed up and reaches behind her to take it off. You have to take your mouth off of her for a second and she whines at the loss of the stimulation, but you quickly make up for it by sucking her other nipple into your mouth. 

The spark has become an ache, but you’re too caught up in the taste of the older woman to care. 

You use your teeth and tug and her fingers bury into your hair, holding you close. You can hear her making small noises and you switch your mindless lapping to a slow, steady rhythm of deep sucks. She brushes your hair out of your face so she can see you better and is perfectly content to watch you like that. 

You move back to the right nipple, but play with the left with your free fingers. She whimpers when you’re particularly rough with a suck and her hips jerk. 

You freeze around her breast and meet her eyes, which are completely glazed over with lust and desire. 

“Please touch me,” she whispers, hands moving down to hike up her dress. “I need it so bad.” 

Who are you to say no? You reach up under her skirt and feel her underwear and you gasp, her nipple dropping out of your mouth. 

She is soaked. Her underwear is dripping. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a puddle on the bed under her. You almost cum on the spot. 

You slide them to the side and push two fingers in easily, eyes widening at the feeling of her warm and wet walls clenching around you. Agatha inhales above you and drags your mouth back to her nipple. You latch on, resuming your sucking, and you start moving your fingers. You curl with every thrust, teething harder on her nipples and drinking her milk, and she bucks her hips up every time. You rub her clit with your thumb and her moans are getting louder with all the stimulation. 

“Fuck, baby, so good, so close,” she pants. You can feel her getting tighter around you and you increase the pace of your fingers, sucking rougher. 

She cums and it’s explosive. There’s a gush of milk into your mouth and the hand on her other nipple gets drenched. You fuck her through her orgasm, still sucking the remaining milk out of her, until it gets too much and she pushes you off. 

You’re both breathing hard. You can feel how sticky and wet you’ve become between your legs, but you know better than to ask Agatha for help with that now. You're not sure what this even was.

“Feel better?” You joke and she chuckles, ruffling her hair. 

“Yes, thank you, dear. You seemed like you enjoyed that.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Yeah, I didn’t really know I was into that. Anytime Nicky isn’t around, just call me up.” It’s meant to be a jestful quip, but her eyes darken. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She muses and the blush on your face gives you away. “Okay, go back downstairs now and rejoin the party. We’ve both been gone long enough. I need to change clothes.” You start to move but she stops you. “Oh–and sweetheart?” 

You pause and look back at her. Agatha swipes her thumb across your chin and holds it up, milk droplets coating it. Before thinking, you take it into your mouth and suck, much like you had just been doing to her nipples. Her low groan excites you, but she’s right. At the very least, your mom is wondering where you were. 

“Thank you,” she says with genuine gratitude in her voice and you smile. “Now, go.” She playfully swats your shoulder to shoo you away and you bite back the urge to ask if it’ll happen again. 

You glance back when you get to the door just in time to catch a hint of her naked body and you have to force yourself out of the room so you don’t accidentally go back in for more. 

When you go downstairs, your mom immediately finds you. 

“Where have you been?” She asks. “The food is all ready, we’ve already started eating.” 

“Oh, I had to help Agatha with something.” Technically not a lie. 

She purses her lips but can’t complain. “Well, come get some food before it’s all gone.” 

There’s footsteps on the stairs and you look up to find Agatha walking down in a maroon suit and your mouth runs dry. She sees you staring – like always – and gives you a wink. 

It’s late. The kind of late where the TV is just flickering shadows now, the pizza box is empty on the coffee table, and Señor Scratchy is asleep in his little bed by the fire, his little nose twitching every now and then like he’s dreaming.

You’re curled into Agatha on her old sofa, legs thrown across her lap, her hand tucked under the hem of your shirt, warm on your skin. She’s been stroking your side absentmindedly for the past hour, too tired to be handsy but not tired enough not to touch you.

You sigh and shift a little, craning to glance at your phone on the table.

“Mm,” you murmur reluctantly, “I should go soon. I’ve got an early surgery in the morning and all my scrubs are at home.”

Agatha makes a quiet, displeased noise. She tightens her grip on your waist, like she could keep you from moving with just the pressure of her palm.

“You could stay?” She suggests.

You smile sleepily, nose nuzzling into her neck.

“Baby,” you giggle, “I’ve been here three nights already. I’m running out of panties. I need to go home.”

Her hand stills on your skin. There’s a long pause before she speaks and when she does speak, it’s low, half under her breath.

“Then why don’t you just move in?”

You freeze. Your breath catches, and you lift your head slowly to look at her.

She’s clearly not joking. Instead she’s looking at you like she already knows what she wants and it’s you. In her house. In her bed. In her arms every morning for the rest of her damn life.

“You…” you blink. “Wait, you mean… you actually want me to move in?”

Agatha shrugs a little, like she hasn’t just detonated a small emotional bomb between you. Her voice is gruff, her fingers giving your side a soft squeeze.

“I mean… yeah. I don’t like you leaving. This place,” she gestures vaguely around the living room, the old hardwood, the fireplace with the empty mantle. “Feels too fuckin’ quiet when you’re not in it.”

Your heart kicks up in your chest. You’ve dreamed about this, daydreamed about it during long shifts and while folding laundry. But hearing it from her? You feel like you’re in a dream.

You breathe out, a little stunned. “Agatha…”

She doesn’t let you spiral, just nudges her nose against yours, soft and affectionate, her voice quiet now.

“Move in, baby. Bring your stupid little mugs and your throw pillows and whatever else makes you happy. Just… live here. With me.”

You blink fast, trying not to cry. “I… yes,” you breathe, and then nod, breaking into the softest, giddiest smile, “yes please.”

And Agatha grins, gruff and gorgeous and a little awed, and kisses you hard.

She tastes like home.

~

It starts with boxes. They are scattered across your bedroom floor, some already taped up neatly with your name scrawled in black marker, others stubbornly waiting for decisions you haven’t quite made.

Agatha sits cross legged on your rug, her faded t-shirt riding up her back as she sifts through your drawer with the seriousness of someone decoding evidence. She holds up a novelty mug that says Pup Doctor in pink glittery font.

“This is a crime,” she mutters. “You’re seriously bringing this?”

You snatch it from her, indignant. “That’s from my first year of vet school. It’s sentimental!”

She snorts, already moving on. “You own six hundred socks.”

“Different socks!” you argue. “You never know what kind you’ll need!”

She peers up at you from where she’s crouched, smirking. “Baby. I have a toaster.”

“And mine’s better,” you shoot back, holding up your sleek white one. “Yours has like… one heat setting and smells like burnt toast.”

Agatha stands, brushing her hands on her jeans, and leans in. “My toaster’s vintage.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your toaster’s a fire hazard.”

She leans closer, voice lowering teasingly. “You a fire marshal now, sweetheart?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the smirk tugging at her mouth, and the fact that she’s so close, her stupid warm detective energy radiating off her like heat.

“No,” you mumble. “But I care about my toasted bagel.”

That makes her laugh, a real, throaty chuckle as she plucks the toaster from you. “Fine. Yours comes. But only ‘cause I don’t want my baby eating burnt toast.”

You beam, victorious, and go back to packing books into a box labeled TO READ (which, judging by the number of paperbacks, might as well be labeled WISHFUL THINKING).

The rest of the afternoon unfolds in the same kind of rhythm: domestic, bickery, and intimate. She folds your t-shirts weirdly and you refold them when she’s not looking. She says absolutely not to the faux-fur rug until you sit on it like a princess and pout, and then somehow it ends up in the KEEP pile. She tries to lift a box of your books and immediately groans. “Jesus Christ, baby, are you building a fortress with these?”

“No,” you chirp. “A library.”

She’s grumbling the whole time, but she keeps carrying boxes out to the U-Haul anyway. She keeps brushing her knuckles along your back every time she walks past, looking at your things like she’s slowly recalibrating what her life’s going to look like now.

The last box is taped shut with a satisfying rip of packing tape. You heave a theatrical sigh of victory as you plop it on top of the stack near the door.

Agatha’s crouched beside one of the bigger boxes, tying down the flaps with a practiced tug. Her sleeves are shoved up, and her flannel is hanging off her waist like she’s been doing this for hours (which she has). You watch her, heart aching with a sweetness so big it feels like you might burst.

She glances up just in time to catch you staring, and her mouth quirks into a lazy grin.

“What,” she drawls. “You gettin’ soft on me again?”

You shrug, cheeks warm. “You’re just hot when you’re all domestic and dusty.”

Agatha snorts, but before you can react she’s rising smoothly, stepping over the clutter and grabbing you by the waist making you squeal, legs swinging, arms flying around her shoulders as she picks you up like you weigh nothing at all.

“Agatha!” you giggle, grinning as she hoists you easily into her arms.

“Final box is done,” she says, nosing at your cheek like she can’t help it, “and I’m stealin’ you now. You ready to go, baby?”

You look around the empty apartment. The walls are bare, the rug’s rolled up, the shelves that once held your books and knickknacks now stand hollow and plain. It’s not home anymore, not really. Home’s waiting with the grumpy woman carrying you out the front door.

You grin, eyes a little misty. “Bye apartment,” you say softly, nuzzling into Agatha’s neck. “Thanks for being a good one.”

Agatha huffs a quiet laugh, shifting you higher in her arms. “You are so fucking cute, y’know that?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “And you love it.”

She kisses your temple. “Course I do.”

She carries you down the hallway bridal style, muttering about nosy neighbours and how she doesn’t care who sees. You cling to her, legs swinging, heart full. You don’t need the apartment anymore. You’ve got a home, and she’s holding you.

Agatha pulls the U-Haul into the drive with one hand on the wheel and the other resting possessively on your thigh. Her sunglasses are still perched low on her nose, and her hair’s all tousled from having the windows down, but the way she looks over at you with a mix of satisfaction and awe makes your stomach flip.

“All moved out,” she says, voice low and smug.

You’re grinning already, bouncing a little in the passenger seat. “We’re officially the U-Haul lesbians of the street.”

Agatha snorts at that,“Jesus Christ, baby.”

“It’s true!” you say, shrugging innocently as you unbuckle. “Not even a whole year in and I’m movin’ in with my hot older girlfriend. That’s peak stereotype.”

“Girlfriend?” she teases, hopping down from the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut. “I thought I was your sugar mommy.”

You hop down after her, hands on your hips. “You wish. You eat my leftovers, remember?”

That earns you a playful swat to the ass as she heads to the back of the U-Haul to open the doors to all of your boxes. Boxes, bags, three pastel crates filled with throw pillows and blankets and all the framed art wrapped in bubble wrap. So much bubble wrap.

Agatha freezes and whistles low. “That’s a lot of boxes.”

You fidget. “I mean. You knew I had stuff.”

“Yeah, I just…” Agatha stops herself for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck. “Didn’t realize how much stuff.”

You glance up at her, trying to read the line between teasing and tense. “You okay?”

She blinks, then smiles too quick. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, I’m fine.”

But you can tell she’s not, not fully at least.

Because suddenly it’s real. These aren’t just boxes, they’re your life. They’re your pink storage bins filled with all of your worldly possessions and they’re about to invade her space, the one she’s had just how she likes it for years.

And Agatha Harkness, a grumpy set in her ways older lesbian, is just now realizing this isn’t her house anymore. It’s yours too.

You lean against the U-Haul and nudge her gently with your shoulder. “We can take our time unpacking, y’know.”

She looks down at you, brow furrowed, fingers flexing against her thigh like she’s resisting the urge to bolt or pull you into her arms.

“I’m not trying to… steamroll your space,” you add quietly. “We can keep some stuff in storage. I just want to be where you are.”

Her jaw works, and for a second you think she’s going to say something gruff. But then she exhales slowly and softens.

“No storage,” she says. “It’s not just mine anymore. This is our place now. Even if it smells like… peach scented witch shit.”

You laugh, relieved. “It’s called ‘Soft Enchantment.’ And you love it.”

Agatha rolls her eyes but she reaches out and pulls you into her arms anyway, burying her nose in your hair.

“You can bring as much shit as you want, baby,” she murmurs. “As long as you stay here with me.”

“I think I can do that,” you beam up at her.

She says it’s fine.

She kisses your head in the driveway and tells you to go ahead and start bringing things inside while she gets the dolly down.

But the second you swing open the front door and step into her house, her half-lit den of flannel throws, dark wood, and years of solitary comfort, Agatha starts to realize that oh fuck. This is really happening.

Agatha sets her jaw, following you in with the next load of boxes. She’s got her baseball tee rolled to the elbows, sunglasses perched in her hair, boots heavy on the hardwood as she watches you flit from room to room like a nesting bird. A very pink nesting bird.

She swallows. “Uh hey, sweetheart… maybe we should… just, like, plan out where everything’s gonna go first?”

You don’t even pause, just beam at her as you unwrap a bubble-wrapped ceramic mushroom and place it on her mantle. “I did plan it! I knew the vibe I wanted the second I saw your living room. Rustic cabin but fairycore.”

She stares. “Fairy… core?”

“Rustic witchy lesbian fairycore!” you clarify brightly. “It’s a thing I saw on Pinterest one night and it fits really well.”

Agatha lets out a breath through her nose. Rustic witchy lesbian fairycore is not a thing she’s ever heard of. Not in her entire life.

You pad past her, already pulling another blanket from your “Throws & Layers” box. It’s blush pink and impossibly soft. You toss it gently over the back of her armchair, then step back and tilt your head, satisfied. “Better, right?”

Agatha squints at the chair. The one she’s eaten microwave mac and cheese in for a decade. The one that now has fringe.

“Sure,” she says, tight.

You pause, looking at her. “You okay?”

She forces a smile. “Of course, baby. Just adjusting.”

You nod slowly. But you can see the way she’s standing, her arms crossed, weight braced like she’s about to have to defend herself.

You step a little closer, soften. “We can change anything you don’t like.”

Agatha shakes her head immediately. “No. This is your home now too. You can hang a disco ball in the goddamn kitchen if you want.”

You bite your lip, eyes warm. “Really?”

She groans. “Don’t make that face.”

But of course you make the face. Big eyes. Sweet smile. The look that always turns her to mush.

She wraps her arms around her waist. “But if I trip over one of your rainbow rugs on the way to the bathroom, I’m kicking it into the yard.”

You laugh, snuggling further into her arms. “Deal.”

And for a minute, she lets herself relax, letting your warmth sink in. But when you flounce off to unpack your crystal moon lamp for the bedside table and she notices your fuzzy pink slippers by the front door parked right next to her muddy boots, Agatha’s left standing there feeling just a little off-kilter. It’s not a bad feeling, not wrong, just different. Because this isn’t her house anymore, it’s yours too.

~

It starts small.

Pink gingham sheets on her bed, so soft it’s embarrassing how good they feel. She groaned the first night you put them on , “This is a fucking picnic blanket, baby” but she didn’t protest when you curled up next to her wearing nothing but panties and fuzzy socks. She just sighed grumpily and wrapped her arms around you anyway, hands wandering the second you settled.

Now it’s been four nights.

Four nights of slippery smooth bedding and the lavender scent from your linen spray, four mornings of her tripping over your slippers at the edge of the bed, knocking your heatless curling rod off the bathroom counter, burning her toast because the new toaster has 7 settings and she doesn’t know what any of them mean.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, jaw tight.

The bedroom is full of you. Trinkets on every shelf. A heart shaped mirror hanging above the dresser. One of your bras draped on the doorknob. Your pink satin robe on the hook where her flannel used to go.

She bumps her hip against the dresser and knocks over a ceramic cat.

Agatha curses, catching it just before it hits the floor.

She’s still holding it, this goddamn stupid smug little spellcat, when she turns and sees you waking up in the bed behind her, bare chested beneath the sheets, all sleep warm and pretty in the morning light.

You blink, slow and sweet. “Baby?”

She closes her eyes, trying and failing to breathe steadily through her nose.

“Why’d you look so stressed?” You ask softly.

And she snaps.

“Because you’ve taken over my fuckin’ house!”

The words hit the air like a slap.

You blink again, harder this time, like you’re trying to make sure you heard her right. Then she watches your whole expression crumble.

“Oh.” You pull the sheets tighter over your chest in embarrassment, sitting up slowly. “Sorry.” Your voice is small

Agatha freezes when she realises that you’re not arguing back, you’re not yelling or pouting or throwing something like she is used to with her previous relationships. Instead, you just sound small, like you’ve been shoved back into your place.

The worst part is she doesn’t even know what she meant by it. She invited you here. She wanted you here. She asked you to move in. But now her house smells like your pillow spray and the fridge is full of oat milk and she hasn’t been able to find her keys in two days because they’re not on the hook she always used, they’re in a little ceramic dish by the door that says ‘have a great day!’.

She wants to take it back. She wants to say something, anything. But instead, she grumbles something inarticulate under her breath that resembles ‘gotta go’ and storms out of the room.

She leaves you sitting there, clutching the bedsheet to your chest, your skin once warm from sleep now suddenly cold with shame.

And just like that, she’s gone.

The precinct is loud today, full of phones ringing, radios buzzing, boots on tile, and Agatha is in no mood for it.

She barks at Phil when he asks for a case update. Grunts at Herb when he offers her coffee. Slams her locker closed with a little more force than necessary, the metal clattering like a warning bell.

It’s not just the noise. It’s the buzz in her own head, the guilt, the shame, the echo of your quiet little ’sorry’ replaying on a loop.

She’s staring down at a half-written incident report, pen tapping angrily against the desk, when Alice appears in the doorway with a lazy lean and a brow raised.

“You look like someone stole your lunch money.”

Agatha doesn’t even look up. “Fuck off.”

Alice tsks, stepping inside. “Rude. What happened? Your cute little girlfriend finally get tired of your charming attitude?”

That makes Agatha glance up sharply. “She didn’t leave me.”

“Oof. Trouble in lesbian paradise then?”

Agatha glares. “It’s none of your business.”

Alice just shrugs and flops into the chair across from her. “You keep glowering at your paperwork like that, you’ll set it on fire. What happened?”

Agatha exhales, long and harsh. “She moved in.” She finally mutters.

Alice blinks. “Oh. Oh... and?”

Agatha tosses her pen down. “And I lost my goddamn mind because now my fuckin’ sheets are pink and the bathroom smells like vanilla cupcakes and the toaster’s too smart.”

Alice laughs. “The toaster’s smart?”

“It has 7 fucking modes, Alice.”

That only makes her laugh harder.

Agatha grits her teeth. “It’s not funny.”

“No, no you’re right. Sorry.” Alice smirks. “So what, you bit her head off about it?”

Agatha looks down, jaw flexing. “…Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence before Alice asks, “Isn’t she like… twenty?”

Agatha looks up, eyes sharp. “She’s twenty five.”

Alice raises both hands. “Okay, okay. Still… sounds like this is her first time moving in with someone right? Of course she’s gonna be excited. She probably wants to make it feel like home.”

Agatha doesn’t respond.

Alice continues, more gently now. “You’ve lived alone for what, fifteen years?”

“… Seventeen” Agatha admits.

“Right. So… maybe you just forgot what it’s like to share your space. But she’s never done this before, she’s probably trying to build a life with you. And you what? Yelled at her for making herself comfortable?”

Agatha groans, dragging a hand down her face. She leans back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling like it might spare her from the weight pressing on her ribs.

“I’m a fucking asshole.”

Alice snorts. “Well. Yeah.”

Agatha flips her off but there’s no heat in it.

She slumps forward again, burying her face in her hands. “She looked so small when I snapped at her, like I kicked a puppy. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Alice tilts her head. “You love her?”

“…Yeah.”

“You wanna keep her?”

Agatha looks up slowly. “Obviously.”

“Then fix it.” Alice shrugs. “Go home and apologise. Tell her to keep the stupid toaster. Hell, ask her to teach you how to use the toaster. Say ‘thank you’ for bringing softness into your life, you grumpy old dick.”

Agatha sighs.

“Yeah alright.” Agatha stands, grabbing her coat. Because she’s not losing her baby girl over her own stubbornness.

~

Agatha’s heart is pounding before she even gets her keys in the door.

The drive home was a blur, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, Alice’s voice in her head on a loop.

When she walks into the house it’s quiet, too quiet. Senõr Scratchy’s curled in his bed, but there’s no music playing, no sweet candle scent trailing from the kitchen, no soft throw blanket draped over the couch, just Agatha’s old, threadbare one.

And worse, there’s no trinkets anymore. No little glass mushrooms on the windowsill. No floral stitched pillow on the armchair. No coasters shaped like pressed flowers. No pastel ceramic mugs drying on the rack.

Her whole body goes cold.

No. No. No…

She bolts up the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping on the landing, breath catching in her chest, until she skids to a halt outside the bedroom door to find boxes.

Boxes labelled in your handwriting, all stacked neatly, tidily. Packed.

Her chest cracks wide open.

“No…”

She barely thinks, just stumbles toward the ensuite, the sound of the shower like a distant drumbeat. She pushes the door open hard, steam curling out like a veil, her voice breaking as she calls out “Baby?”

You yelp in surprise, turning mid rinse, blinking water out of your eyes as Agatha steps into the shower… fully clothed. Boots on, jacket soaked instantly, mascara smudging under her eyes as she stares at you like she’s just watched a building collapse.

“Don’t leave me,” she breathes. “Please, I-I know I was a dick, I know I yelled, I didn’t mean it like that, I love your throw pillows… fuck, I mean I don’t, I hate them, but I love you and I don’t care, I’ll sit on twelve of them if that’s what it takes, just don’t… Don't leave me, sweetheart, please?”

“What?” you blink, drenched and stunned, clutching your loofah to your chest.

“I saw the boxes,” she croaks. “You packed all your ceramic cats, I thought… I thought I pushed you out… but baby, I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Agatha,” you take a step toward her. “I’m not leaving.”

She stares at you, wet hair clinging to her cheek, her boots in a puddle, jacket dripping, and you can see the panic still in her eyes. She moves to you instantly, hands cupping your cheeks.

“I thought you were gone,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I came home and everything was gone.”

“I just….” you whisper back, chest tight. “You said I’d taken over. So I figured… I’d pack up the things you didn’t like. I wasn’t moving out, baby, I just I didn’t want to ruin your space.”

Her face falls. A groan of guilt leaves her chest and she leans her forehead against yours, water soaking through her clothes, her hands cradling your dripping body.

“No, no, baby, no I’m the one who fucked up. Not you. I was mean, and grumpy, and too old and stupid to see you were just trying to make this our home. You were being sweet and excited and I crushed it.”

“Agatha…” you try.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy’s sorry. You didn’t ruin anything, you make everything better. I don’t give a shit how many throw pillows you have, how many pink bedsheets or trinkets or mugs, I want it all. I want you. I want your things next to mine. I want your toothbrush next to mine. I want to trip over your shoes and hang your coats and drink out of your girly mugs and wake up every morning knowing you live with me for the rest of my life.”

You blink up at her. She’s soaked, her boots are ruined, hair slicked to her temples. And yet she’s still the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

“You’re not too grumpy,” you whisper.

Agatha exhales shakily. “I yelled at my girlfriend for having a fancy toaster.”

You can’t help but snort. “It is a really good toaster.”

Then she kisses you like she’s starved for it, her hands firm on your waist, breath mingling in the steam.

“Unpack everything,” she murmurs against your lips. “All of it. Pillows. Trinkets. Weird mugs. I don’t care. Make it ours, sweetheart. Please?”

You nod, nose brushing hers.

“Okay,” you whisper, pulling away to look at her properly.

Agatha keeps her arms around you, your bare chest pressed to her dripping shirt, the whole bathroom misty and wet, your breath catching as she kisses your temple. Her voice is low, ragged from the crash and burn of that panic.

“You were really gonna store your trinkets because of me?”

You nod meekly. “I didn’t want to be too much.”

“Oh, baby,” she breathes. Her hands slide down your waist, over your ass, curling around the tops of your thighs. “You’re never too much. You hear me?”

You nod again. But her gaze darkens, hungry now, jaw tight as she exhales a sharp breath, her voice dropping lower as she presses her forehead to yours. “I thought I lost you for a second there.”

“You didn’t Aggie I promise.”

“No, I know. I know.” Her hand cups your cheek again, thumb stroking beneath your eye as if she’s still checking you’re real. “But for a second, I thought you were gone. And then I walk in here and you’re naked and wet and looking up at me like that and I just…” she groans, visibly restraining herself, “fuck, baby.”

You flush.

Then her mouth crashes against yours.

This kiss is hotter. Hungrier. Her hands find your ass, pulling you close, wet fabric clinging to her body as she walks you backwards against the cool tiled wall, your back arching, a whimper escaping your throat as she groans against your mouth.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmurs, kissing your jaw, your throat. “So soft. So fuckin’ good for me.”

“Agatha…”

“You packed up all your things ‘cause I got pissy about pink sheets,” she grits. “And you’re still looking at me like I hung the damn moon. My needy girl.”

“I love you,” you whisper, breath hitching as she grinds her hips against you, her soaked jeans no match for the thick, hard press of her cock against you.

“Say it again.” She groans.

“I love you.”

Her mouth crashes back to yours, one hand cupping your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. You gasp and she moans like she’s starving for it.

“God, you’re my fucking dream,” she growls. “I’ve got a hot little twenty five year old in my arms, beggin’ for me to love her forever… shit, sweetheart, I do. I will. You’re mine, baby.”

“Yours,” you whimper, fingers clutching her soaked shirt, your hips rocking without meaning to. “I’m yours, Agatha.”

Her hand drops between your thighs and you let out a sob, pleasure shocking through you as her fingers brush your clit.

“I know you are,” she grits. “So fuckin’ good for me. Always so wet, baby, fuck look at you.”

You whimper as she strokes you, slow and reverent and needy, her mouth hot on your throat, her body pressing you harder into the wall.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” she breathes. “You live here now. I want your pink sheets on the bed and your stupid toaster in the kitchen and your pretty mouth on me whenever I get home.”

You moan as her fingers circle you teasingly.

“I want your mess, baby. All of it. The trinkets. The throw pillows. You.”

And you gasp as her fingers finally push in, your body slick and trembling and so ready for her again.

“You’re mine,” she growls.

“Yours,” you whimper, eyes glossy, mouth parted in desperate pleasure.

“Say it again.”

“Yours. Always.”

Your hands are on her soaked shirt, fumbling at the buttons, your lip caught between your teeth as she grins, wicked and breathless.

“Go on then,” she murmurs. “Take it off for mommy.”

You blush but obey, your fingers trembling as you unfasten each one, peeling the wet fabric from her shoulders, your eyes darkening as her bra comes into view, the lace clinging to her flushed skin. Her tits are perfect. She’s still so solid, built like she was made to ruin you, every inch soaked and flushed and hers.

She reaches behind herself, unhooks the bra with practiced ease.

Your breath catches.

She’s fucking beautiful. And she’s staring at you like she wants to devour you whole.

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

You nod, stunned.

Agatha chuckles low in her throat and kicks off her boots, her fingers tugging at her belt, her cock so hard beneath her jeans she winces as she undoes the fly.

“I’m so fucking hard for you baby,” she groans as she pushes her jeans down, boxers damp and clinging, her cock heavy and leaking, and when she steps free, fully bare, you gasp.

“See what you do to me?” she breathes. “You take off your trinkets and I lose my mind. You kiss me once and I’m ready to bend you over the fuckin’ bathroom sink. You’re such a good girl, what the hell are you doing with someone like me?”

You blink up at her, teary-eyed and needy. “Loving you.”

She lets out a moan, like it hurts to hear that.

And then she’s on you. Her hand cups your face, kisses greedy and rough, the hard press of her cock against your lower belly as she pins you back into the steam warmed tile. Her tongue slides into your mouth, and you whimper, hips rocking desperately against her.

Her hands find your thighs to lift you. You gasp as she picks you up with ease, your back against the shower wall as your legs wrap around her waist.

“Fuck,” she groans. “So wet. This pussy missed me, huh?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Oh, baby.”

She grinds against your slit, cock sliding through your folds, teasing your clit, making your head fall back with a sob. “Please, please!”

“I thought you were gone,” she rasps. “I came home and your little throw pillows were gone… I was gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” you breathe.

“You do,” she growls. “You do, baby.”

She pauses, her forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling as she whispers softly to you.

“Let mommy make it up to you, yeah?”

You whimper as you nod in agreement. And then she’s lowering you, just enough to line herself up. You gasp, sobbing as the thick head of her cock presses against your entrance, already twitching, already leaking for you.

“Still so tight,” she grits. “Still so good for me.”

You cry out as she pushes in slowly, inch by inch, your nails dragging down her back, your whimpers turning to gasps.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Let mommy in. Let me make it all better.”

She kisses you hard, holds you closer.

“God, look at you,” Agatha groans, holding you up with strong arms, her cock buried so deep inside your tight, clenching cunt. “Fuckin’ gripping me like you were made for it.”

You whimper, head tipped back against the tiles, thighs trembling around her waist. “You’re so big,” you whisper, your voice cracking, soft and helpless.

Her hand slides up to cradle your cheek. “Atta girl,” she breathes, kissing along your jaw. “You’re takin’ me so good baby. So good for mommy.”

You sob a little at the praise, overwhelmed and so full, your cunt stretched wide around her thick cock. “Agatha!”

She groans, her hips shifting just enough to make you squeal as she slides half out, then presses back in, slower, deeper. “That’s it. Cry for it baby, show me how good you can be.”

“I’m trying,” you whimper. “M’trying to be good..”

“Oh, you are,” she pants, kissing your mouth hungrily. “You’re so good, baby. My best girl.”

You clutch at her wet shoulders, slipping a little as she holds you tighter. The water rushes over her back, soaking you both, but you don’t care. You’re clinging to her, desperate for her mouth, your soft lips finding hers over and over between sobs and gasps.

“You’re so big,” you whisper against her lips, “and I’m so full… I just wanna be good for you mommy…”

“You are,” she growls, thrusting deeper now, slow but rough, the tip of her cock brushing that sweet spot that makes you keen. “You’re my baby. My soft, sweet girl.”

You nod against her neck, panting, crying and mouthing at her throat.

“I missed you,” you whimper, and she kisses your wet cheek, her hand gripping your thigh.

“I thought you were gone,” she admits, voice raw. “I thought I lost my baby girl.”

You shake your head fast. “No. Never.”

Her rhythm falters, and she moans into your shoulder, cock twitching inside you. “You’re mine,” she growls. “Gonna make you come on mommy’s cock, yeah? Want you to soak me, sweet girl.”

“Agatha!” You sob as she angles her hips, deeper, her pelvis grinding into your clit.

“That’s it, my love. Let go. Let me feel it.”

Your whole body shudders, nails digging into her back as you cry out, your pussy fluttering around her cock. She holds you tight as you come, kissing your open mouth, whispering sweet filth against your lips.

“Good girl. That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

You’re shaking in her arms, arms wrapped tight around her neck, head buried in her shoulder, your cunt fluttering around her cock in slow, trembling aftershocks. The water pounds against her back, steam curling around both your bodies, but all you feel is her inside you. Still thick and hard and pulsing inside your messy little pussy.

She loves how soft and needy you get when she fills you like this. How desperate you are for kisses, for praise, for her.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours. “My sweet little baby. Gonna let me fuck you in bed next, yeah? Want you soaked and spread out just for me.”

You murmur her name, voice all soft and dazed, as Agatha kisses the side of your face with a low groan, her hand sliding gently up your back, over the curve of your spine.

“Fuck,” she mutters. “You don’t wanna let go of me, huh, baby?”

You nod faintly, lips brushing her neck, your voice a broken whisper, “don’t want you to pull out…”

“Oh, sweet girl,” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as your cunt clenches again around her. “You want me to keep you full?”

You nod again, helplessly.

She grins and lifts you from the tile wall with a grunt of effort, her arms firm around your back and under your thighs. You squeak at the shift, at how her cock nudges something even deeper in this new position.

“Shh, I got you,” she murmurs. “I got my baby.”

You cling to her, wet and open and needy, your breath catching in your throat. She carries you out of the shower, dripping and still connected, leaving a trail of water and steam behind her as she walks both of you toward the bed.

You’re whimpering against her neck as she lowers you down to the mattress still throbbing inside you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, overwhelmed. “Agatha!”

“I know,” she says hoarsely, looking down at you. You’re splayed beneath her now, your pretty pink nipples peaked, your thighs shaking, your breath catching in little gasps. She brushes your soaked hair back from your face, her cock twitching deep inside you. “Look at you, baby. All stretched out for me. So fuckin’ wet, and I barely even moved in you.”

Your hands come up to clutch her shoulders. “Please,” you whisper. “Please!”

“Oh, I know what you need,” she growls, and kisses you hard.

She starts moving slowly at first, dragging her hips back just enough to feel your cunt flutter around her, clenching around the loss and then pressing forward again with that same thick, needy groan in her throat.

“God, you’re perfect,” she says into your mouth. “My good girl. My soft, needy baby. You were made to take me.”

Your nails claw at her back, as her hips rock into you slow and steady, grinding deep. You sob, overwhelmed, clinging to her.

Her voice is rough and adoring. “I’m sorry your mommy is such a fuckin grump,” she grunts, pulling back and slamming in again, “but you’re mine. You hear me? Mine.”

“Yes,” you cry out. “Yes, yes, yes!”

She moans low in her chest, and kisses your cheek, your lips, your throat. “You scared me, baby,” she murmurs, fucking into you harder now, pace building. “You scared me when I saw those boxes.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “Didn’t wanna upset you- shit!”

“You could never,” she says hoarsely. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.”

You’re sobbing now, overwhelmed, stretched full, and kissed within an inch of your life, her cock hitting so deep you can barely breathe. And she’s kissing your tears away, telling you how pretty you look crying on her cock, how much she loves you, how good you are.

“You’re my good girl,” she growls. “Say it.”

“I’m your good girl,” you sob.

“That’s right,” she pants, thrusting deeper. “And this is your house. You hear me? My house, your house. Ours.”

You nod fast, crying as your legs wrap tighter around her.

“I wanna come with you,” you whisper. “Please, Agatha, please let me please.”

“Come, baby,” she groans, “soak me. Show me how much this cock’s yours.”

You scream, body locking tight as you come, soaking her. Her name spilling from your lips. Her hand wrapped under your spine, holding you through it, whispering praise as her own orgasm builds.

Your eyes are wet, flushed cheeks glowing as your thighs twitch and spasm around her.

Agatha groans as she feels you flutter around her again, aftershock rippling through your messy little cunt. She grits her teeth, breath ragged, jaw flexing as she stills deep inside you, trying to hold on.

“Oh my god,” she pants, bracing herself above you. “You’re milking me, baby fuck, you want it that bad, huh? Want Mommy’s cock this deep all the time?”

You whimper and nod, still tearful, still shaking. “Please don’t stop, don’t leave me empty…”

Then something in her snaps.

With a low growl, Agatha slides out just enough to make you whine and then flips you onto your belly, manhandling your hips up as she moves to slot in behind you.

You’re crying out softly, instinctively reaching for her, hands fisting the sheets. She’s about to take you again from behind, thick cock poised at your entrance when you sob, frantic and desperate.

“No, no, I want kisses… please Agatha…”

She freezes.

You’re breathless and trembling, your voice wet with tears. Your head turns toward her and you look back, lip trembling. And Agatha melts.

Her mouth parts in something between a grin and a groan, and then she’s reaching for you, pressing herself down over your back, dragging you up into her chest so she can wrap you in her arms. Her cock slides right back into your sloppy, dripping cunt as she pulls you upright, letting you sit in her lap now, letting you cling.

“Fuck, fine,” she breathes, grinning into your neck. “How could I say no to that, huh? My sweet little baby wants kisses while I fuck her full.”

You nod frantically, turning to catch her mouth. She kisses you deeply, tongue dragging against yours while her arms cage you close.

Then she starts moving again. Her cock drags through your fucked out pussy at a punishing angle, but the rest of her is soft. Her lips are on your jaw, her hand splayed over your belly, the other gripping your tit while she rocks up into you with a broken moan.

You’re gasping against her lips, kissing her desperately, body slack in her arms, taking it. Her cock hits just right, just deep enough to make your vision blur, and all you can do is let her have you.

“Love you,” you whisper between gasps. “Love you, love you…”

She groans into your mouth, voice shaking. “Love you too baby, fuck you’re gonna make me come…”

“Please,” you beg. “Come in me please!”

She grits her teeth as she presses her forehead to yours. “You sure?”

You nod, crying. “Want it inside. Please wanna feel you.”

She growls gutturally and drives up harder, faster, her thighs flexing as she holds you down on her cock.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” she pants. “Gonna come so fucking deep, fuck, you’re gonna feel it for days.”

You moan loudly for her, your cunt tightening around her so tight it pulls a shout from her throat.

Then she slams into you and holds, every muscle locking tight as she comes. Hot spurts of come flood your sore pussy, and you both cry out as your bodies lock together in a mess of sweat, teeth, and desperate whimpers.

She’s still inside you as you both collapse sideways onto the mattress, her arms wrapping around you tight from behind, still kissing your shoulder, your spine, your hair.

You’re crying again, but they’re happy tears this time. And she holds you like you’re the most precious thing on earth.

~

The room still smells like soap and sex. After thoroughly wrecking your soft pink gingham sheets, Agatha had no choice but to swap them out with her old flannel sheets, grey and worn and definitely not as soft as yours.

Agatha groans as she settles in, wrapping her arms around your naked form from behind.

“These sheets are shit,” she mutters into your shoulder, voice gravelly from moaning and kissing and losing her fucking mind over you. “I already miss the stupid pink ones.”

You giggle sleepily as you turn to curl up into her chest, bare legs tangled with hers. “Told you they were softer,” you murmur.

She groans again, burying her face against the curve of your neck. “You’re soft,” she breathes. “Softest thing I’ve ever touched.”

Her hand slides gently over your tummy to cup your tit again like she can’t help it. And she can’t. She’s feral for you, every inch of you makes her throb with affection.

“You’re obsessed,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to her forearm where it cages you close.

“Mmhmm,” she says, grinning into your shoulder. “Fully, tragically obsessed. Gimme a break. You’re so pretty and naked in my bed and keep crying when I make you come, what do you expect me to do, huh?”

You blush furiously and hide your face in the pillow.

Agatha just chuckles and kisses the back of your neck.

Her eyes wander lazily across the room. A few cardboard boxes are still stacked in the corner, half unpacked, but then the mantlepiece catches her attention.

Right in the centre, next to her old Stephen King collection sits the framed picture you’d unpacked. The one from a night out a few months ago, your lipstick smeared, her hand in your hair as you kissed under neon bar lights, both laughing into each other’s mouths.

Agatha stares at it and smiles. She tightens her grip around you, breathing you in.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

You turn your head just enough to look at her, eyes soft and sleepy, a dopey smile on your kiss swollen lips. “I love you more.”

She growls affectionately and flips you onto your back, dragging the sheets down as she leans in to kiss your chest again. “Not possible. I’ve loved you since the first time you showed up in scrubs and held my rabbit.”

You giggle again and tug her into another kiss.

The morning had started innocently enough.

Agatha had woken first, as she always did, her internal clock set to some ungodly hour that you'd never quite understood. You'd felt her slip from the bed, felt the loss of warmth immediately, and had burrowed deeper into the sheets that still smelled like her expensive perfume and something indefinably her. Through the haze of half-sleep, you'd heard her moving through the house: the coffee maker gurgling to life, the soft pad of her feet on hardwood, the rustle of papers as she sorted through whatever work awaited her attention.

When you'd finally emerged an hour later, hair a disaster and one of her oversized shirts hanging off your shoulder, she'd looked up from her laptop with that smile. The one that made your stomach flip even after all this time. The one that promised trouble.

"Good morning, beautiful," she'd murmured, and before you could even reach for your own coffee mug, she was there, hands on your hips, pulling you close. Her lips had found that spot just below your ear, and you'd felt her smile against your skin when you'd shivered.

"Agatha," you'd protested weakly, "I haven't even had coffee yet."

"Mm, you're right. Can't have that." But her hands had lingered, thumbs tracing small circles on your hipbones through the thin fabric of her shirt, before she'd finally, reluctantly, released you.

That had been the first moment.

The second had come while you were trying to answer emails at the kitchen table. She'd walked past, ostensibly to refill her coffee, but her free hand had trailed across your shoulders, fingers tangling briefly in your sleep-mussed hair. The touch had been fleeting, almost absent-minded, but it had sent electricity racing down your spine.

"Agatha."

"Hmm?" She'd looked at you with those impossibly blue eyes, all innocence, as if she didn't know exactly what she was doing.

"Nothing," you'd muttered, trying to refocus on the screen in front of you, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where she'd touched you.

By the time she'd announced she needed to run out, "Just a quick errand, darling, I'll be back in an hour," you'd been wound tight as a spring. Her goodbye kiss had been thorough, possessive, her fingers curling in your hair as she'd backed you against the counter. When she'd finally pulled away, you'd been breathless, and she'd looked entirely too pleased with herself.

"Behave while I'm gone," she'd said, voice low and amused.

"You're the one who needs to behave," you'd shot back, but she was already heading for the door, car keys jingling in her hand.

The house had felt too quiet without her.

You'd tried to settle, tried to focus on the tasks you'd been neglecting, but restlessness had thrummed under your skin. Finally, you'd grabbed your book. The novel you'd been trying to finish for weeks, and headed outside. The backyard was your sanctuary, especially on days like this when the weather was perfect, warm but not hot, with a breeze that carried the scent of the garden Agatha had been cultivating.

You'd kicked off your shoes without thinking, letting your bare feet sink into the cool grass. Your hair had been bothering you, so you'd twisted it up into a messy bun, not caring that half of it was already falling down around your face. The long cotton skirt you'd thrown on that morning pooled around you as you settled into the oversized chair under the oak tree, tucking your feet underneath you.

The book was good, you'd been enjoying it, but even the compelling prose couldn't quite hold your attention. Your mind kept wandering back to Agatha, to the way she'd been touching you all morning, casual and constant, like she couldn't help herself. Like she needed the contact as much as you were beginning to realize you did.

You were three chapters in, finally starting to lose yourself in the story, when you heard the car in the driveway.

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did when you knew she was home. You forced yourself to keep reading, to not look up like an eager puppy, but you were hyperaware of every sound: the car door closing, her footsteps on the path, the soft rustle as she approached.

"There you are."

Her voice was warm, affectionate, and you felt the smile tug at your lips before you could stop it. You still didn't look up from your book, though you'd stopped actually reading the words.

"Here I am," you agreed.

You felt her settle behind you, the chair big enough to accommodate both of you if she pressed close. And she did press close, her body warm and solid against your back, her arms coming around you loosely. She shifted, getting comfortable, and then her head was on your shoulder, her breath ghosting across your neck.

Every nerve ending in your body suddenly stood at attention.

"What are you reading?" she asked, her lips moving against your skin as she spoke.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the page in front of you. "It's, um. It's a mystery. Sort of. There's this woman who—" You lost your train of thought as Agatha nuzzled closer, her nose brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"Sounds interesting," she murmured, clearly not interested at all.

"Agatha." Your voice came out more breathless than you'd intended. "You're making it hard to focus."

You felt her smile against your neck. "Am I?"

"You know you are."

She hummed, a low sound that vibrated through you, but she didn't move away. Instead, she seemed to settle more comfortably, her arms tightening around your waist. "Don't mind me. Keep reading."

As if that were possible. As if you could concentrate on anything with her this close, with her breath warm on your skin, with the weight of her against you making you want to forget the book entirely and turn in her arms.

You tried. You really did. You stared at the page, attempting to pick up the thread of the story, but the words might as well have been in another language. All you could think about was Agatha. The way she smelled like expensive perfume and coffee, the way her thumb was tracing absent patterns on your stomach through your shirt, the way her breathing had slowed and deepened as if she might actually fall asleep right there.

You'd just started to relax into her, your own eyes growing heavy, when her phone buzzed.

She sighed, the sound ruffling your hair. "That's my two o'clock."

"Your what?"

"Client meeting. I forgot I'd scheduled it for home today." She pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck, lingering. "I'll be quick."

"You better be," you muttered, but you were already missing her warmth as she extracted herself from behind you.

She paused, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "Try to actually read this time."

"Shut up."

Her laugh followed her back into the house, and you were left alone again, your book forgotten in your lap, your skin still tingling from her proximity.

This was getting ridiculous.

You did manage to read after that. With Agatha safely occupied inside, you could actually focus on the story, and you lost yourself in it for the better part of an hour. By the time your stomach started growling, you'd made significant progress, and you felt accomplished as you headed back inside.

The house was quiet. Agatha's office door was closed, and you could hear the low murmur of her voice, professional and authoritative in a way that always did things to you that you refused to examine too closely.

You padded into the kitchen, still barefoot, and surveyed your options. Lunch needed to be something simple, you weren't in the mood for anything elaborate. Sandwiches, maybe. You pulled out bread, cheese, the good deli meat Agatha had picked up earlier in the week.

On impulse, you wandered to the record player in the corner of the living room, visible from the kitchen through the open floor plan. Agatha had been collecting vinyl for years, and you'd developed your own appreciation for it. There was something about the ritual of it, the intentionality, that appealed to you. You flipped through the collection, finally settling on something mellow and jazzy, and set it spinning.

The music filled the space as you returned to the kitchen, and you found yourself humming along as you assembled sandwiches. This was nice. Domestic. The kind of quiet afternoon you'd never imagined wanting before Agatha, before this life you'd built together.

You were so lost in thought, in the simple pleasure of the task and the music, that you didn't hear her approach.

The first indication you had that you weren't alone was her hands on your waist, warm and sure, and you jumped slightly.

"Easy," she murmured, and then her lips were on your neck, pressing a gentle kiss just below your ear. "Thank you, baby."

The endearment, combined with the kiss, combined with her hands still resting on your waist, sent heat flooding through you. This had been going on all day. All. Day. And you were reaching your limit.

You turned in her arms, putting your hands on her chest, and shoved. Not hard, but enough to make your point.

"Go sit down, clingy."

Agatha laughed, that low, delighted sound that made your stomach flip. "Clingy? Me?"

"Yes, you. You've been all over me since this morning." You pointed at the table. "Sit. I'm making lunch."

She held up her hands in surrender, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. "Yes, ma'am."

You watched her settle at the table, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing, trying to focus on finishing the sandwiches. But you could feel her watching you, could feel the weight of her gaze like a physical touch.

When you brought the plates over, she caught your wrist gently, tugging you closer. "Sit with me?"

It wasn't really a question, and you found yourself sinking into the chair next to her, hyperaware of how close she was, of how her knee pressed against yours under the table.

Lunch was a quiet affair, comfortable in the way that came from knowing someone deeply. She asked about your book, and you found yourself telling her about the plot, about the characters you were invested in. She listened with genuine interest, asking questions, and you were reminded all over again why you loved her.

But there was an undercurrent to it all, a tension that had been building all day. Every casual touch felt charged, deliberate. Her hand on your knee, her fingers brushing yours as she reached for her water.

When you stood to clear the plates, she stood too, following you to the sink. You were rinsing dishes when you felt her behind you again, her presence a warm weight at your back.

"Agatha—"

"Shh," she murmured, and then her hand was on your waist, fingers splaying across your hip. She wasn't doing anything, really. Just standing there, touching you, her thumb tracing slow, innocent circles through the fabric of your skirt.

But there was nothing innocent about the way it made you feel.

Your hands stilled in the soapy water. Your breathing had gone shallow. That simple touch, those maddening circles her thumb was drawing, were unraveling you completely.

"Agatha." Your voice came out strained. "Good gods."

You felt her smile against your shoulder blade. "Yes?"

"You're—" You couldn't even finish the sentence. You set down the dish you'd been holding, gripping the edge of the sink instead. "You've been doing this all day."

"Doing what?" Her voice was all innocence, but her hand hadn't moved, was still resting on your waist, thumb still tracing those devastating circles.

"Touching me. Constantly. Everywhere." You turned your head, trying to look at her over your shoulder. "You're driving me insane." Hands reaching back for her waist, an arm, something.

Her expression shifted, something heated and intent replacing the playful amusement. "Am I?"

"You know you are."

For a long moment, she just looked at you, and you could see the exact moment she made her decision. Her hand on your waist tightened, pulling you back against her, and her other hand came up to cup your jaw, turning your face toward her.

"Good," she breathed, and then she was kissing you.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was hungry and demanding, and you melted into it, your hands coming up to tangle in her hair. She made a low sound in her throat, and then she was turning you, pressing you back against the counter, her body flush against yours.

When she finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard.

"Bedroom," she said, her voice rough. "Now."

You didn't need to be told twice.

She followed you through the house, her hand finding yours, fingers lacing together. The walk to the bedroom felt both too long and too short, anticipation coiling tight in your belly.

Then she was on you again, backing you toward the bed, her hands everywhere. She kissed you deeply, thoroughly, until you were dizzy with it, until your knees felt weak.

"I've been wanting to do this all day," she murmured against your lips. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you looked out there? Barefoot in the grass, your hair falling down, completely lost in your book?"

"Agatha—"

"Let me," she said softly, her hands going to the hem of your shirt. "Let me take care of you."

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and she smiled, soft and affectionate and heated all at once.

She undressed you slowly, reverently, her hands gentle as she lifted your shirt over your head, in the way she tugged at your skirt and let it pool at your feet. Every inch of skin she revealed, she touched, her fingers tracing patterns that made you shiver.

"So beautiful," she murmured, and the way she said it, the way she looked at you, made you believe it.

When you were finally bare before her, she guided you back onto the bed, following you down. She was still fully clothed, and something about that disparity made your breath catch.

"Agatha, you too—"

"In a minute," she said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Right now, I want to focus on you."

And she did.

Her mouth traced a path down your body. Your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. She took her time, lavishing attention on every inch of you, her hands and lips mapping your skin like she was memorizing you.

When her mouth closed around your nipple, you arched into her, a gasp escaping your lips. She hummed in satisfaction, her tongue circling the sensitive peak before she moved to give the other the same treatment.

"Agatha, please—"

"I know, baby. I know." Her hand slid down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip. "You've been so patient today. So good for me."

Her praise made you whimper, made you spread your legs in invitation. She settled between them, her weight a comfort, and kissed you again. Deep and slow and devastating.

When her fingers finally, finally slid between your legs, you both moaned.

"God, you're so wet," she breathed, her forehead resting against yours. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, all day, you've been—"

"I know." She kissed you again, swallowing your moan as her fingers found your clit, circling slowly. "I could tell. Could see it in the way you looked at me, the way you reacted every time I touched you."

She was taking her time, her touches maddeningly gentle, and you were already so wound up from the day's teasing that you thought you might come apart at any moment.

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, Agatha, I need—"

"Tell me," she murmured, her lips against your jaw. "Tell me what you need."

"More. Faster. I need—" You couldn't form coherent sentences, not with her touching you like this, not with the heat building in your core.

She smiled against your skin, and then her fingers were moving faster, the pressure increasing, and you cried out.

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice low and rough. "Let me hear you, baby. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Her other hand came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, and the dual sensation was almost too much. You were climbing fast, your hips rocking against her hand, chasing the pleasure she was giving you.

"You're so beautiful like this," she murmured, her eyes dark as she watched you. "So responsive. So perfect."

"Agatha—" Her name was a plea, a prayer, and she understood.

"Come for me," she said softly. "Let go. I've got you."

And you did.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath, making your body arch and shake. She worked you through it, her fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were boneless and gasping beneath her.

When you finally came back to yourself, she was pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

"Beautiful," she murmured. "So beautiful."

You pulled her down into a kiss, deep and grateful, your hands finally finding the buttons of her shirt. "Your turn," you managed, your voice still shaky.

She laughed softly. "Greedy."

"You've been teasing me all day," you pointed out, making quick work of her buttons. "I think I'm entitled to a little greed."

"Fair enough."

You helped her out of her clothes, your hands less steady than hers had been but no less reverent. When she was finally bare, you pulled her back down, needing the skin-to-skin contact, needing her close.

She settled beside you, one leg thrown over yours, and you turned into her, your hand sliding down her body.

"I wanna feel you," you murmured, and the way her breath hitched made you smile.

You took your time, just as she had, earning the sounds she made, the way her body responded to your touch. When you finally slid your fingers inside her, she gasped, her hand fisting in the sheets, the other tanging in your hair.

"Yes," she breathed. "Just like that."

You found a rhythm, your thumb circling her clit as your fingers moved inside her, and watched in fascination as she came undone. She was always so composed, so in control, and seeing her like this, vulnerable and open and completely yours, never failed to undo you.

"Look at me," you said softly, and her eyes fluttered open, hazy with pleasure. "I want to see you, I need to."

She held your gaze as you brought her closer, her breathing growing ragged, her hips rocking against your hand. When she came, your name on her lips, you thought you'd never seen anything more beautiful.

After, you lay tangled together, her head on your chest, your fingers carding through her hair. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting everything in gold, and you felt utterly content.

"I love you," she murmured, pressing a kiss over your heart.

"I love you too," you replied, smiling. "Even when you're being clingy."

She laughed, the sound vibrating through you. "I wasn't being clingy. I was being affectionate."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at you with mock offense. "I was! Is it my fault you're irresistible?"

You pulled her down into a kiss, soft and sweet. "No," you admitted. "I suppose it's not."

She settled back against you, and you held her close, thinking about the day, about all the small touches that had led to this moment. About how lucky you were to have this, to have her.

"Hey, Agatha?"

"Mm?"

"You're a menace."

But you were smiling as you closed your eyes, perfectly content to stay right here, wrapped up in her, for as long as she'd let you.

Outside, the music had long since stopped, the record spinning silently. Your book lay forgotten in the grass. The dishes sat half-washed in the sink.

None of it mattered.

This, her warmth, her breath evening out as she dozed, the weight of her in your arms, this was everything.