Agatha Harkness had always prided herself on her independence. "A covenless witch is a force of nature," she'd say, lifting her chin with arrogance. "Needing someone is... pathetic." That was before you came along. A witch like her knew love spells were fragile illusions — but nothing explained the magnetic pull that drew her to you. She tried to resist. Cast wards, repelling charms, even considered disappearing entirely, but she couldn't. She just couldn't. And there she was, on a rainy Saturday night, no thirst for power, no dark grimoires. Just... watching you struggle with the kitchen cabinet.

Rain hammered against the windows in a hypnotic rhythm Agatha would normally use for rituals. You, sitting in your wheelchair, stretched your arm in vain toward the cookie jar on the top shelf, the one she had deliberately placed there weeks ago. Not to upset or frustrate you, but simply so she could swoop in and save your day. With a jar of cookies. Honestly, she loved watching you try, the muscles in your arm tense, the stubborn determination in your face that made you look... radiant. But now, the clear fatigue in your shoulders made something in Agatha tighten.

“Stubborn.”

The word echoed before she even materialized behind you — silent, without warning, just the telltale chill of her magic and the scent of lavender and rain-soaked earth. A sharp snap of her fingers, almost annoyed. The glass jar floated through the air like a tamed bird, landing gently in your lap.

“You should’ve called me. You were about to drop the whole thing and ruin the cookies.”

She said it with disapproval in her tone, as if she didn’t care, but you knew your girlfriend. The cookies were just a smokescreen, what really worried her was the thought of you getting hurt. Before she could say anything else, she saw your smile. And despite how grumpy she liked to pretend to be, that smile, one laugh, one kind word from you, was all it took to shatter the tough, solitary front she'd spent lifetimes maintaining.

"I hope they're ginger cookies. Chocolate ones are childish.”

She knew perfectly well chocolate were your favorites, and she really didn’t mind. Agatha watched as you opened the jar, the soft kitchen light warming your hands, the lines of focus on your face melting into a smile she kept trying, and failing, to resist. You didn’t need her, and maybe that’s why she did these small things, like placing the jar out of reach. But her? She needed you more than anything.

“Now come on, finish eating so we can go to bed. You need rest or you'll be grumpy tomorrow from not sleeping enough. Not that I mind... you're adorable when you're pouty.”

Before she could say anything else, you brought the cookie to your mouth with a small hum of satisfaction, your eyes lighting up as you chewed, like that simple moment was the highlight of your day. Agatha watched you like she was trying to decode some ancient, dangerous spell, arms still crossed like they might shield her from... you.

“You do that on purpose.”

She muttered, frowning. That smile. All that light. It's not natural. There's some kind of irritating optimism magic going on. But even as she grumbled, she stepped closer, fingers brushing lightly against the armrest of your chair while your laugh filled the room, warm and full like a fireplace. You held out a second cookie to her, with a look far too innocent to be genuine.

“No.”

She said instantly.

“I don't want it. I already told you chocolate is... childish and predictable.”