Landing heavily in a glade surrounded by maple trees, Agatha exhales roughly. Scanning her surroundings, her jaw jutting defiantly as a wet tear streaks her cheek.
Finding the wood to be quiet, she unconsciously rubs her thumb over the embossing of her mother’s pendant. Gazing at the white maiden, mother and crone figures in the moonlight, Agatha flares her eyes in disgust, a twitch of thrill and satisfaction pulling at the corner of her mouth, wiping away the tear with a small mirthless laugh.
Steadying her breath, she shuts her eyes and rolls her neck, listening to a stream trickle in the woods nearby, the enormity of what she has just done to her coven settling upon he-
Her thoughts are interrupted by the rustling of autumnal leaves being crushed under foot.
Her heckles raising, looping the pendant over her neck and tucking it under her collar, Agatha twirls to face the moonlit wood. Hands poised, conjuring her purple warningly, Agatha’s eyes search the shadows.
“I surrender”, says a buttery playful voice from the shadows, a woman’s Agatha is sure.
Not in the mood for games, Agatha snarls, emotion still thick in her voice, “Who are you?”
“Just a fan”, mischief laced in the response, as their feminine silhouette begins walking towards Agatha.
Weary, Agatha does not drop her hands, her purple radiating, she offers a malicious laugh, followed by a look of mock humble acquiesce.
As the silhouette takes another step towards her, Agatha takes a cautious step backwards. Â
“What you did back there… I’ve never seen anything like it…”, the slick voice says, genuine admiration and wonder dripping from every word, strutting closer, “…and to your own mother. I mean don’t get me wrong, Evanora was a real piece of work. I have no doubt she deserved it. Good for you.”
“I don’t know what you are talkin-” Agatha breathes out sharply as her back hits a tree, cursing herself for being distracted enough to be herded into a corner.
Now it is the silhouette’s turn to laugh mirthlessly, Agatha prickles in disgust at the undeniable glee the stranger emits in her cackle.
“What do you want?” Agatha spits, fixing the figure shrouded in shadows with her best glare, proud at how venomous she manages to make it sound despite the tremor of fear coursing through her as the woman stalks still closer.
“You.”
Agatha abruptly, nervously, rudely laughs, amplifying her purple, baring her teeth in a disbelieving grin and narrowing her eyes as the woman finally, intentionally, steps into the silver moonlight.
The strangers long black hair frames a young, doll-like face. Agatha estimates she wouldn’t be much younger than herself. As she takes in the woman, she notes there is something calculated, ominous behind those doe eyes. Her wily, inviting yet hungry toothy grin turns Agatha’s stomach, chills her heart, and starts a pulsing in her core which to her own irritation she does not hate.
She takes in the woman’s corseted tight body and the way it moves predatorily, closer, her jaw slackening instinctively. Coming back into herself, annoyed at her body for reacting so primally to the stranger, Agatha grits her back teeth and flares her nostrils, steeling out the deafening thrumming in her core as she holds the woman’s loaded gaze. Â
“I think we could make an excellent team.”
“You think so” Agatha snaps back brazenly, her eyes darting to every possible way out.
There was something so young and vibrant in the way this woman spoke to her, yet Agatha could feel this woman’s presence was enormous, profoundly so, her energy felt ancient.
“Oh, I know so.”
With that the woman closes the gap between them wrapping her hands around Agatha’s, dowsing her purple.
The cold that envelopes Agatha at the touch of the stranger sends her eyes rolling back in her head, her breath quickening as she watches the woman turning over Agatha’s hands in her own, looking at them with that ravenous grin.
Her instincts telling her to escape, Agatha reignites her purple.
Having anticipated this obvious reaction, the woman grasps Agatha’s wrists forcefully, easily with one hand and pins them above her head against the tree. She grabs Agatha’s throat with her other hand emitting a black, dark, sickening power in return. Agatha’s blood solidifies, her heart freezes, her lungs screaming in tension unable to expand or contract, the pain inescapable and excruciating.
A power unfamiliar to Agatha, a power she would love to wield, and a power she would like to avoid feeling ever again if possible.
Extinguishing her power, the stranger watches Agatha splutter and pant as her blood moves again, her heartbeat jolts back to life and her lungs desperately draw in the air.
Before she was just annoyed, now Agatha is feral, she violently pushes and pulls against the woman’s grasp on her hands and her throat, her face twisting into a disgusted scowl.
The woman holds her in place completely unaffected by Agatha’s thrashing, wearing an expression Agatha could only describe as what a spider would look like if it could smile.
As Agatha starts to slow her gasping, she notices the woman is also panting, but it is clearly not out of effort of restraining Agatha as she had barely moved a muscle since pinning her against the tree.
No, Agatha’s concedes, her power was completely inconsequential in comparison to the strangers. Bitterly, Agatha realises this woman was enjoying watching her writhe in her grasp.
“If you saw what I did, you know the power I have, what I can do to you”, Agatha spits warningly, her voice quivering at the end giving away her own doubt in her power.
The woman laughs lightly, a soft smile on her lips, she raises her eyes from brazenly watching the white fabric of Agatha’s chemise tighten over her breasts as she breathes heavily, meeting Agatha’s glare with a sultry teasing look.
“You cannot kill what is already dead, Agatha Harkness”, the woman quips.
The woman’s flesh evaporates to reveal her skull for a moment before returning to that somehow more unnerving doll-like face.
Breathing out sharply, her bottom lip quivering as she licks at it. Terror fills her mind, but she cannot shake the undeniable, unadulterated pull which courses through her veins, a carnal attraction to power of this magnitude. Agatha has only ever heard of witches capable of this magic. To be in the presence of a cosmic entity, let alone have one want to team up with you…well Agatha had to admit she was interested.
Softening as the familiar electricity of dysregulated impulsivity waves through her, Agatha’s lip’s part as she gazes back at the woman’s full pink lips, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and an eyebrow quirking.
“Now that’s not fair, you know my name and I don’t know yours.”
“You can call me Rio”, the dark-haired witch says, the rise and fall of Rio’s breath syncing with Agatha’s as she continues to pin her by her throat and her wrists firm against the tree. Â
“Pleased to meet you, Rio” Agatha drawls, tugging slightly at her arms, still challenging the witch’s strength.
“Uh uh” Rio tuts as she effortlessly holds Agatha still, flaring her eyes at Agatha’s gumption who let’s out a strained laugh shaking her head with feigned coy impatience.
“What is it you would like from me, exactly?” Agatha asks with an air of agitation, but the undisputable notes of excitement licking at the edges of her voice.
Rio’s eyes drop to Agatha’s mouth.
Leaning in Rio pauses, her lips so close to Agatha’s she can feel Rio’s breath against her mouth, her lips part welcoming, unconsciously.
“I want you, to do exactly what you just did, over, and over, and over agai-”
Only slightly aware of her breath getting louder with each repetition from Rio, Agatha can’t take it, capturing Rios lips with her own. Their mouths tangle, wet and hot. Hungry and breathless.
Agatha wants this.
Agatha wants this.
Matching Agatha’s fervour, Rio lashes her tongue against the witch’s, dropping her hand from Agatha’s throat and tearing open her chemise as she does to expose her mother’s pendant nestled in her cleavage. Rio presses her body wholly against Agatha’s, positioning her thigh between Agatha’s legs.
Feeling Rio press her thigh thickly, intentionally against her, Agatha’s breath catches.
Rio’s self-satisfied smiling mouth moves to Agatha’s throat, biting and sucking as Agatha’s head rolls back against the tree, her mind delirious as Rio drags her lips and teeth along her collarbone.
Lifting her head, Rio takes in Agatha’s swollen and raw lips, and her (if it was possible) even more so untamed mane, pinning the brunette witch with a cocksure grin.
“What are you smiling about”, Agatha says impatiently, more as a warning than a question.
“I’ve not met a mortal before who gets off on death”, Rio goads, glowering at the ever so slightly shorter witch, her head tilting side to side.
Agatha rolls her eyes, puckering her lips and exhales contemptuously. This response only seems to enthrall Rio more, somehow, that grin gets bigger and those eyes wilder, she leans back in, whispering,
“I love it”
Their mouths meet again, Agatha bites Rio’s bottom lip hard, mainly in an attempt to chastise the raven haired witch. Rio laughs with joy at the feeling of the pain, she bites Agatha back, drawing blood. Tasting the metallic tang of her blood passing between their mouths, stirs something ferocious, animalistic in Agatha. Rio pulls back smiling hauntingly at Agatha as her bleeding lip drips blood down her chin.
Cupping the brunette witch’s chin Rio licks up the trail of blood before kissing delicately on Agatha’s cut lip, instantly healing it.
“I wouldn’t want you to get blood all over your dress”, Rio chimes charismatically and practically, to Agatha’s dumbstruck face, Agatha wrenches one of her arms from her grip above her head, or more accurately Rio allows Agatha to free her hand.
Agatha absentmindedly rubs her index and middle finger over her perfectly healed lip. Her gaze settling on those doe eyes, horror and desire shivering through her body. Â
With her free arm Agatha wordlessly grabs a handful of Rio raven locks and pulls her stupidly smiling mouth against her own, before beginning to clumsily hike up her skirts pulling Rio’s body against her again. Â
Thrill taking over her at the way Agatha is grabbing at her, and positioning herself, Rio drops Agatha’s other arm, lifting Agatha easily by her thighs, the brunettes legs wrapping around Rios waist. Rio presses herself firmly between Agatha’s legs pulsing pressure into her so firmly against the tree she’s sure she will have to heal her back after this as well.
Her long fingers coiling in Rio’s hair, Agatha’s breaths become rhythmic and ragged. Still holding Agatha in place with one arm, Rio runs a hand up Agatha’s leg, two fingers grazing the wet fabric over her centre, Agatha moans into Rio’s mouth in response.
Rio’s hands now full and distracted, her mouth busy moving to bite and suck on the swell of Agatha’s cleavage, the brunette witch smiles maliciously at the top of Rio’s head, her mane cascading over her face. Canines bared, Agatha ignites her purple sending out a blast, firing Rio backwards off her.
Lowering the arm she used to deflect Agatha’s purple, that shit eater grin plastered on her face, Rio says unaffectedly, dryly, “You could have just said we were going too fast.”
“What can I say, I’m old fashioned”, Agatha teases in return, her hands still conjuring purple, inflated with pride that she was able to distract this witch long enough to take back the advantage.
“Well, I can be a gentleman” Rio says straightening herself up, doffing and donning an invisible top hat, eyeing Agatha’s power with smug intrigue, as though looking at a toddler wielding a sword, clicking her neck.
“I’ll see you after your next power up sesh, I guess”, Rio jibes, winking at Agatha flirtatiously, “maybe we can pick up where we left off?”
And with that Rio disappears back into the shadows of the woods.
Dropping her offensive, extinguishing her purple, and gasping heavily, Agatha leans back against the tree, waiting to be certain Rio had left, relief washing over her.
Catching her breath, Agatha shuts her eyes and inhales deeply, the phantom feeling of Rio’s hands on her thighs, her fingers on her centre, her lips mingled with her own igniting a pulsing of chaotic fire in her core which she swallows down through gritted teeth and a self-deprecating laugh.
Her mind wondering if she was in over her head with Rio.
Her heart telling her she didn’t care even if she was… which irked Agatha enough to scoff audibly at herself.
Agatha smooths the fabric of her dress and arranges herself with what dignity she can scamper together, sighing tetchily at her torn chemise, before turning on her heel and striding in the direction of the closet coven she knew of.