Daughter of a Witch

Sunday Pancake Mornings

The kitchen brimmed with sunlight and warmth, golden rays spilling across the countertops. Agatha Harkness stood at her post by the counter, flipping through her trusty old recipe book-a thick tome filled with carefully curated spells and recipes for everything from hexes to pancakes. She didn't need it; she had the recipe memorized. But something was grounding about sticking to the old traditions, especially on Sunday mornings.

Sundays were sacred in their household, marked by the smell of sizzling batter and syrup-soaked plates, the sounds of laughter and gentle bickering, and the shared, messy joy of pancake breakfasts.

Agatha was measuring flour into her bowl when she heard slow, familiar footsteps padding into the kitchen. She didn't bother turning around. "Good morning, Rio."

"Good morning, my darling wife," came Rio's teasing reply, her voice warm and slightly raspy with sleep.

Before Agatha could react, Rio's arms wrapped around her from behind. She leaned against her wife, her face tucked into the crook of Agatha's neck, her touch equal parts grounding and distracting.

"Do you really have to hang off me while I cook?" Agatha asked though the edge in her voice softened when Rio planted a kiss on her temple.

"Yes," Rio murmured, tightening her grip slightly. "It's tradition."

Agatha sighed but made no move to push her away. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you married me," Rio quipped, her grin audible.

Agatha finally turned her head to give her wife a look, but her sharp retort was interrupted by the sound of heavy, uneven footsteps.

"I'm here!" Y/n announced, dragging herself into the kitchen. Her hair was an unholy mess, her pajamas rumpled, and her mismatched socks threatened to slide off her feet with every step.

"Finally," Agatha said, arching an eyebrow at her daughter. "Did you have to fight off a dragon to get out of bed?"

"Something like that," Y/n mumbled, flopping onto a stool on the island. "Morning."

"Morning, sweetie," Rio said brightly, detaching herself from Agatha long enough to ruffle Y/n's hair.

Y/n groaned, ducking out of reach. "Ugh, Mom, stop. My hair's already a disaster."

"You don't say," Agatha muttered, setting her bowl down and pulling a hair tie from the kitchen drawer. "Come here."

Y/n huffed but obediently leaned forward, letting her mother gather her tangled curls into a quick ponytail. Agatha worked with gentle efficiency, smoothing down flyaways before tying it off.

"There," Agatha said, kissing the top of Y/n's head. "Now you look almost presentable."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Thanks, Mama."

Rio leaned on the counter, smirking. "She gets the hair treatment, and I don't?"

"That's because your hair is a lost cause," Agatha shot back, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

Rio clutched her chest dramatically. "Wow. The betrayal."

"Stop being so dramatic," Agatha said, brushing past her to grab the eggs.

"She's always dramatic," Y/n said, grinning at her mother.

"Hey, whose side are you on?" Rio asked, her tone mock-wounded.

"Mine/Mama's," Y/n and Agatha said in unison, their voices perfectly deadpan.

Rio stared at them for a moment before breaking into laughter. "You two are impossible."