it's all wrong, but it's all right

“Agatha just texted. Her Uber is looking for a parking spot,” Wanda says as she returns to their table from the surprisingly clean Applebee's restroom.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

Rio isn’t typically wary when it comes to meeting Wanda’s friends—hell, she hit it off with both Sarah and Sharon the moment they fell into conversation about gardening at the neighborhood block party—but she’s heard far too much about Agatha Harkness.

Wanda waves Rio’s worries aside as she slides back into the booth.

“You’ll love her.” Wanda’s saccharine tone does nothing to convince Rio she’s not actively lying. Especially as she sips her iced tea from the plastic straw, the look on her face making it clear she doesn’t even believe what she says.

Rio squints at her best friend over the rim of her water glass before sipping. “Your eyebrows say otherwise, Wanda.”

“No, I’m serious!” Wanda defends, setting the glass back onto the napkin she’s folded into a makeshift coaster. “You two have much more in common than you think.”

Rio arches an eyebrow as she sets her cup down on the table. “Okay. Is she also a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen who enjoys her peace and quiet in the evenings?”

“Well, knowing her…” Wanda hesitates, grinning sheepishly, “probably not law-abiding or tax-paying. She’s a bit brash and impatient, and she’s kind of a menace—”

Rio opens her mouth to give Wanda every reason why she knows this won’t work, but Wanda continues.

“But I promise, once you get past all of her quirks, she’s got a really good heart.”

“That’s a lot of layers to peel back,” Rio mutters, looking down at the laminated Applebees menu in front of her.

“She’s not an onion, Rio. She’s just…” Wanda pauses, searching for the best way to describe Agatha without turning Rio off to her entirely and foiling their evening, “fortified.”

Rio glances out the window, where she spots the supposed ‘fortified’ woman in the parking lot, arguing with a middle-aged lady who is dressed like an aspiring Talbot’s catalogue model. She can’t begin to guess what the issue could be, however there is an abundance of dramatic arm-waving, cursing, and at one point, Agatha lifts her fist toward the woman in a way that makes Rio worry she’s about to start swinging.

Rio turns back to Wanda, her brows furrowed. “Yeah, she seems absolutely delightful.”

Wanda sighs, turning her head to watch the spectacle unfolding behind a car that’s clearly trying to back out of its spot. “Okay, maybe she’s a tad bit intense—”

“Intense?” Rio repeats, scoffing. “I think I just heard her threaten to ‘hex’ that lady.”

“She’s from Massachusetts, I think it’s just a figure of speech there.”

Rio tilts her head, eyes wide as she hears Agatha’s shrill voice from the other side of the window.

“She just told her that she and her bloodline will never know peace again.” 

“Maybe she means existentially?”

Rio stares at Wanda, incredulous, before letting out a drawn out, exasperated sigh. “I’m not sure why you want this to happen so bad.”

“Because I know you two will get along!” Wanda insists, folding her hands and resting them on the table. “You just have to give her a chance, I promise.” 

What Wanda wants to say—what she doesn’t need to say for either of them to understand—is that Rio needs to get out of her comfort zone, to stop setting impossibly high standards few people can meet, therefore keeping her circle of loved ones tight, small, and intentionally limited.

“I just…” Rio exhales sharply, rolling the paper from her straw into a ball between her forefinger and thumb, “if she threatens my bloodline, I’m making it your problem.”

Before Rio can air any more of her incredibly valid concerns, the front door of the restaurant flies open as if blasted by a gust of wind, and in strolls Agatha Harkness.

The restaurant’s air conditioning hums above them, but Rio suddenly feels flushed with heat.

She grabs for her water, grip so firm she swears she could crack the thick glass, as Agatha stands mere feet away from their booth. She is relaxed, entirely at ease, as if she hasn’t just threatened a woman. Her beanie—a black, cuffed Carhartt—slouches slightly off the back of her head, hardly containing her wild brunette waves. The short-sleeved button-up she wears is unfastened just enough to show the sharp line of her collarbone, the black t-shirt underneath hugging her torso. The acid-wash jeans hug her curves, clinging to her hips and thighs in a way that should be illegal.

This is not what Rio expected.

Sure, she had imagined Agatha to be somewhat attractive—she knows Wanda wouldn’t have been so pushy otherwise—but this… this is bullshit. Attractive is one thing. But this? This feels like a personal attack.

Because Agatha Harkness is hot, and Rio is entirely unequipped to deal with that on top of everything else.

It’s not just how she’s dressed, or how the way the beanie hugs her head only accentuates the sharp line of her jaw. No, it’s also the sheer force of personality cascading off of her, the immovable confidence, the way she moves like the space she occupies is hers. The kind of person who walks with the self-importance of royalty, chin up and chest out. The kind of person Rio typically can’t stand.

Fuck.

Wanda, entirely oblivious to Rio’s crisis, enthusiastically waves Agatha down.

“Hey, Agatha! Over here!”

Agatha’s eyes scan the restaurant before landing on Rio and Wanda. Her lips turn into a smirk, and—Goddess help her—Rio swears she can feel it.

She wants to sink into her seat, slide underneath the table, do anything to hide from the human equivalent of a tornado cutting a destructive path toward them. Instead, she sits up straighter, willing a friendly grin onto her face as her heart thuds beneath her breastbone.

When Agatha reaches the table, she doesn’t sit down and slide into the booth like a normal human being. No, she leans casually against Rio’s side of the table with one hip, arms folded over her chest, peering down at Rio with a look that is objectively too smug for someone who has just gotten there.

“Sorry I’m late, this dumb bitch almost nailed my Uber trying to race us to the parking lot.” 

“Oh, is that what that was?” Wanda grins, nodding toward the window. She pats the empty space on the booth next to her, sliding in to make room for their newly arrived guest.

“I guess she wanted the half-price margs, too.” Agatha shrugs. Before taking a seat, she tilts her head toward Rio, who is staring at her with a flat look, her lips pressed into an unenthused thin line. “So,” Agatha drawls. “Is this the narc?”

Rio exhales through her nose, her eyes narrowing at Wanda. So much for first impressions.

Before she can offer a retort, or even defend herself, Wanda speaks up for her.

“This is Rio,” Wanda says simply, as if it’s all the introduction Rio deserves. She doesn’t follow it up with “and she is a great friend and even greater lover, so I’ve heard,” or even “and she doesn't rat anyone out to the authorities for any crimes they may have committed, even though everything about her screams otherwise.” Just her name.

Rio silently curses Wanda’s inability to efficiently wing-woman before offering Agatha a half-hearted smile, flashing her teeth in a way that almost makes her look physically pained.

Agatha moves to sit next to Wanda, the vinyl squeaking beneath her weight as she slides. Instead of picking up a menu, or replying to Wanda’s pathetic excuse of an introduction, she props her elbows up on the table, wordlessly staring at Rio over steepled fingers.

The din of the surrounding restaurant-goers is all Rio can hear as Agatha’s eyes remain fixed on her, assessing her, looking as if she’s already decided something about her and is merely waiting for Rio to prove her right. 

“Hmm,” Agatha finally muses, fighting the smirk that twitches at the corner of her mouth. “You alphabetize your cereal boxes, don’t you? I bet you have a spreadsheet for your groceries and everything.”

Rio blinks, momentarily taken aback. “I—pardon me?”

“And you probably call the city when you find a bird shit-covered park bench.” Agatha gestures vaguely across the table. “You have that… responsible citizen vibe.”

Rio remains stoic, unimpressed yet uncomfortably aware of how warm her face is getting. It’s the same heat she feels when Wanda ambushes her with an unexpected compliment, except this time, it’s happening because some smug, unprincipled menace has waltzed into an Applebee’s on a Friday evening and called her boring to her face.

“Would you like me to apologize for that?” Rio asks dryly, tilting her head. She twists the straw in her cup between her index finger and thumb before guiding it into her mouth.

Agatha grins, finally reaching for a menu—taking Wanda’s instead of reading her own. “Nah, it’s kinda hot.”

Rio nearly chokes on her water. Across from her, Wanda’s eyes fall closed, an amused grin finding its way to her face as if she can sense the very moment Rio’s soul attempts to escape her body.

“I—” Rio wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before dropping her hands into her lap. “I’m sure you say that to all the upstanding citizens you meet.”

“Mmm, no,” Agatha assures her, waving a hand as she looks over the appetizer options. “Just the pretty ones who look like they’d call OSHA on me for fun.”

Rio exhales sharply, battling the urge to roll her eyes as Wanda stifles a giggle behind her straw.

“So,” Agatha continues, tapping the plastic-covered menu against the table. “What are we drinking?”

Wanda perks up immediately, pointing to a drink on the menu in Agatha’s hands with eager enthusiasm. “I think I’ll get the—”

“The…” Agatha interrupts, dramatically squinting at the menu. “Mucho Blue Hawaiian Long Island?” She looks up at Wanda to find her nodding enthusiastically. “Wanda, that thing is literally neon.”

“It comes in a fun hurricane glass,” Wanda says simply, entirely unfazed by Agatha’s judgment. “And it has a tiny umbrella.” 

Agatha lets out an exasperated sigh, as if physically exhausted by Wanda’s existence. “Jesus.”

“What about you, Rio?” Wanda turns her attention to the woman across the table from her, batting her eyelashes as if this is a sleepover where they’re supposed to pass around a bottle of cheap wine and talk about their crushes. “Sticking with your water?”

Rio nods. “Yeah, just water.”

Agatha smirks, and Rio swears she can read Agatha’s thoughts word for judgmental word. “Really?”

“What?”

“It’s happy hour at Applebee’s,” Agatha states, as if this alone should be a reason for reconsideration.

“I am very aware.”

“And… you’re drinking water?”

“It appears so, yes.” Rio keeps her eyes locked on Agatha as she grabs for her cup, attempting to casually guide the straw into her mouth. Instead, she awkwardly pokes herself in the chin.

Agatha looks at her in awe, as if she’s never met someone so responsible—so mundane—in her entire life. “What, on antibiotics? Training for a marathon? Participating in Dry January?” It’s April.

“I just don’t want to drink,” Rio says plainly, unimpressed by Agatha’s mocking interrogation. She sips slowly on her water, hoping it gets under Agatha’s skin just the littlest bit, before continuing. “I’m also the reason you and Wanda are getting home safely after this.”

“Oh, so the designated buzzkill,” Agatha muses, sitting back in the booth and folding her arms across her chest. “Sexy and morally upright. What a package you are.”

Wanda snickers into her iced tea, and Rio can do nothing more than sigh. “I wasn’t aware alcohol consumption was required for social interaction.”

“It’s not, but it makes it a hell of a lot more entertaining,” Agatha replies, smirking as she turns her attention back to the menu in front of her.

When their waitress stops at the table—a bubbly young woman with her beachy blonde hair in a loose braid and a name tag reading Amelia—Agatha is, predictably, a playboy.

“Well hello,” Agatha greets, folding her hands languidly on top of her menu. “How are you doing this evening, Amelia?” The way she speaks is enchanting, enticing, and Rio can’t stand it.

“Wonderful, thank you so much for asking.” Rio shakes her head slightly as she watches a blush creep into their waitress’ cheeks. “Just to let you know, our happy hour started at 9:00, if you all are interested in our half-priced appetizers and drinks.” 

Rio smiles politely at the waitress and opens her mouth to speak, but she’s cut off.

“That’s exactly why we’re here.” The way Agatha leans in slightly, a smile somehow both soft and arrogant on her face, makes Rio’s pulse pound in her ears.

“Perfect,” Amelia says, pulling the waiter’s pad from her apron pocket. “What drinks can I get started for you all?” Her eyes move toward Wanda, who’s grinning wide at the prospect of a large blue drink with tiny decorations.

“I’ll take a Mucho Blue Hawaiian Long Island, please.” Wanda sets her menu neatly in front of her. “Can you add an extra umbrella?”

Amelia scribbles away on the pad, making sure to note ‘extra umbrella’. “Extra umbrella coming right up! And for you?” She nods towards Agatha, who is sitting with what Rio can only describe as a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. 

“Can I get the largest margarita you have? Frozen.” 

“Anything for you,” Amelia grins, offering Agatha a wink before beginning to write. “What flavor?”

Agatha leans in slightly, tapping the menu. “What do you think, sweetheart? Lime or mango?”

Amelia, charmed despite herself, laughs. “Oh, mango is my favorite. It’s got a little kick to it.”

“Ooh, I do love a little kick,” Agatha says, prodding her cheek with the tip of her tongue. “You have great taste.”

Rio’s jaw tightens.

Amelia scribbles down Agatha’s order, falling victim to her charm. “And what about you?”

Rio’s voice lacks Wanda’s enthusiasm and Agatha’s playfulness, instead lying somewhere between exasperated and irritated. “I’m okay with my water.”

“Sounds good,” Amelia looks up from the waiter’s pad, smiling politely. “Anything else?” 

“Just one thing,” Agatha begins, resting her chin on her hand. “Was ‘beautiful’ in the job description when you applied, or are we really just that lucky?”

Amelia giggles again, a bit bashful, before offering Agatha a flirty, “Maybe it’s both.” 

“Oh, it definitely is.”

“Actually,” Wanda cuts in as Amelia flips the waiter’s pad closed, her finger hovering over a picture on her menu, “would we be able to get some appetizers? I would hate to drink my Hawaiian Long Island on an empty stomach.”

Rio exhales through her nose, schooling her face into neutrality as Wanda orders mozzarella sticks and onion rings for the table. She can feel Agatha’s eyes on her, undoubtedly assessing her reaction, and damn it, Rio refuses to give her anything.

Still, something about it bothers her. She knows Agatha’s just being the typical, insufferably coquettish Agatha that Wanda has described—but it’s the ease of it all, the ‘I can therefore I shall’ attitude, that gets under her skin.

Not that she really cares, of course.

“Awfully quiet, narc,” Agatha drawls once Amelia has walked away with their orders and menus. 

“I have nothing to add,“ Rio says, lifting her near-empty water cup. “I’m just enjoying the show.”

Agatha grins. “Oh, sweetheart. You love the show.”

Rio rolls her eyes, sipping loudly on her water as the contents are reduced to just ice, and Wanda jumps in before Agatha can push her further.

“You know,” Wanda says with a smile, “I think you two could really be friends.”

In response, both Agatha and Rio make nearly identical faces of disbelief and disgust. 

“No.” 

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Wanda sighs, as though this is what her entire night has been banking on. “Why not? You haven’t even given each other a chance.”

Agatha gestures toward Rio, annoyed that she even has to say it. “Wanda, she’s a narc.”

Rio gestures back toward Agatha. “Wanda, she almost assaulted a stranger in the parking lot.” 

“And I’d do it again,” Agatha says firmly.

Rio scoffs. “See?”

Wanda groans, pressing fingertips into her temples. “You’re both being so dramatic.” 

“I am not dramatic,” Rio protests.

Agatha laughs. “Sure, Miss Water at Happy Hour.” 

“Oh, go flirt with another waitress.” 

“Oh-ho,” Agatha smirks and tilts her head, eyes suddenly alight with something entirely different. “Why are you jealous, babe?“

Rio tenses, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I am not jealous.”

“Sure seems like it.” Agatha’s smirk is unmoving.

Rio glances at Wanda, hoping she’ll actually stick up for her. Instead, she nods in silent agreement, an amused grin on her face.

“I am not—” Rio stops herself, inhaling through her nose before shaking her head. She knows it’s not worth it. “You know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We are never going to be friends.”

Agatha crosses her arms identically to Rio, continuing to smirk. “Fine by me, babe.”

“Great.”

“Wonderful.”

“Perfect.”

The table falls silent. Agatha chews on her bottom lip, scrolling through her phone. Wanda watches out the window as cars enter and exit the parking lot. And Rio… Rio wants to get up from the table. To walk out of the building. To get into her recently detailed Subaru Forester, tear out of the parking lot, and abandon both Wanda and Agatha at the restaurant.

Instead, she excuses herself.

Without a word, she slides from her side of the booth, plants both feet firmly on the ground, and walks away from the table.

The bathroom is mercifully vacant when Rio steps inside, the door swinging shut behind her. She grips the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection in the near spotless mirror. 

Get a fucking grip.

This is absurd. Agatha is absurd. The entire situation is absurd.

Rio closes her eyes, inhales through her nose—one, two, three, four—and then exhales slowly though her mouth, repeating the process until the tension in her muscles slowly releases. 

She’s dealt with her fair share of frustrating people—clients at work alone have tested every ounce of patience she possesses, which is a lot—but Agatha Harkness is an entirely different ballgame.

Something about her physically grates. The smirk. The taunting. The way she acts as though she’s untouchable, nothing—and no one—able to get anywhere close to her. It’s insufferable.

And yet.

Rio squeezes her eyes, cursing away the heat crawling up her neck. She’s not jealous. She absolutely refuses to be. Agatha can flirt with every woman in this goddamn restaurant if she wants—why should Rio care?

She runs cold water over her fingertips, dabbing lightly under her eyes. She shakes her arms out. Rolls her shoulders and her neck. It’s just happy hour. Just one evening. 

She can survive it without losing her cool.

…She hopes.

When Rio returns to the table, something feels off.

Her drink—water filled just below the brim, perfectly chaste and judge-worthy—now sits next to a gigantic, neon blue monstrosity, condensation already pooling around the base of the glass. Agatha’s comically large margarita is there as well, the rim coated with sugar and arrogance.

But that’s not the issue.

The issue is that Wanda is no longer sitting next to Agatha.

She’s sitting across the table where Rio was.

Which means…

Rio slows to a halt, blinking at the woman who now occupies her seat. “Uh…”

Wanda beams at her. “Oh, good, you’re back! Have a seat.”

Rio stares at her. Then she stares harder. “That is my seat.”

“Not anymore,” Wanda grins as she sips from her drink, one of the umbrellas bouncing against her nose.

Rio hesitates, glancing toward the only vacant spot—the one next to Agatha, where Agatha was sitting before Rio left for the bathroom. And Agatha, she imagines, has never looked more smug.

Wanda gestures toward the space, all but batting her eyelashes. “Come on, sit.”

Suspicion settles like a rock in Rio’s stomach. “…Why?”

“Because,” Wanda begins, her voice as sweet as her drink, “you two are acting worse than my twins.”

Agatha scoffs, almost offended that she has just been compared to not one, but two 10-year-old boys. “We are nothing like your kids.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re right. Those boys argue less in a week than you two have in an hour. So, since I’m clearly the most responsible one here, you get to sit together until you start getting along.”

Rio’s mouth opens—because surely, surely, this is not happening—but before she can protest, Wanda shoots her a look.

A judgmental mom look.

Rio closes her mouth.

Agatha, meanwhile, reclines, lazily draping her arm along the top of the top of the booth. “I don’t mind, babe. Make yourself comfortable.”

Rio minds. She minds a lot, in fact. 

But standing there, paralyzed, while Agatha all but devours her with her eyes isn’t an option either.

With great reluctance, Rio sits.

The moment she does, Agatha shifts—only slightly, just enough that her knee presses against Rio’s beneath the table. A coincidence, Rio is sure.

Except Agatha then stretches, her arm slipping from the back of the booth to rest casually along the top of Rio’s seat, fingers barely brushing her shoulder.

“I asked Amelia to refill your water for you,” Agatha says with a grin. She doesn’t move her arm from where it rests. If anything, she lets her fingers wander, grazing the fabric of Rio’s sleeve before pulling back—a maddening game of touch-and-go Rio refuses to acknowledge.

She also doesn’t move her knee. In fact, after a few moments, she shifts once more—presumably to get comfortable, but the pressure against Rio’s knee only increases.

Rio stares straight ahead at the empty space next to Wanda, determined not to give Agatha the satisfaction.

Unfortunately, that becomes nearly impossible when Agatha exhales a soft, almost pleased hum and murmurs, “You’re so tense, narc.”

Rio stiffens, jaw tightening as if on command. “Huh, I wonder why.”

Agatha leans in just a bit, her voice lower. “No idea, I'm on my best behavior.”

Rio fights the urge to lean away. Or combust. “There is no way.”

Wanda, oblivious in her tipsy benevolence, perks up as she takes a sip of her noxiously-colored cocktail. “She never is.” 

Agatha smirks, returning her attention to Wanda, but Rio doesn’t miss the way her fingertips brush against her shoulder again—much more deliberate, this time.

And then, like an answer to an unspoken prayer, their food arrives.

Or maybe it isn’t.

“Alright, mozzarella sticks and onion rings,” Amelia announces, placing two large ceramic plates in the middle of the table. The batter-fried smell wafts up, making Rio’s stomach tighten. She had been peckish, if anything, before. Now? She’s not quite sure.

The issue is that her body hasn’t entirely caught up with her brain yet. She wants to be irritated. Frankly, she should be irritated. But her heart is still racing a little bit too fast, and her skin is a little too flushed, and she is definitely, absolutely overthinking the way Agatha drags the tip of her tongue across the sugar on the rim of her glass.

“Yay!” Wanda cheers—literally cheers—as she grabs for a mozzarella stick, dunking half of it into the small bowl of marinara. “You have no idea how badly I’ve needed this.”

Agatha plucks an onion ring off of the plate, examining it for a moment before silently holding it up. She doesn’t say anything, merely waits. And only a moment passes before Wanda realizes, sticking her half-eaten mozzarella stick across the table and banging it into the side of the onion ring. 

“Cheers!” 

“Mazel.”

“So, anywho,” Wanda begins, chewing the chunk of breaded cheese in her mouth, “do we think that guy survived?”

Rio blinks, stunned by the sudden subject change. “Wait, what?”

Agatha, unbothered, bites down on an onion ring. “Oh, yeah, he’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Wanda asks, stirring her drink with the tiny umbrella. “I didn’t think his odds were great, honestly.

Rio stares at them both. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

Wanda waves a hand. “This guy Agatha—”

“—knew,” Agatha interrupts. 

“—met,” Wanda corrects, “threw himself out of a moving car not too long ago.”

“We didn’t date or anything.”

Rio frowns. “Why?” 

“Because I like pussy.”

Rio’s brows furrow. “Not that.” 

“Oh.” Agatha shrugs, dropping the last bite of the onion ring into her mouth. “Didn’t want to go where they were taking him, I guess.”

Rio shakes her head, sighing. “That’s called kidnapping.”

Agatha smirks. “ Alleged kidnapping.”

Wanda, now giggling as she sips her drink, points at Rio. “See? This is why you needed to be here. You keep her in check.”

Rio pinches the bridge of her nose. “No one is keeping Agatha in check.”

“Aw,” Agatha drawls, grinning as she plucks a mozzarella stick from the plate. “You really do get me.”

Rio scowls, reaching for an onion ring to avoid looking at her.

That’s when Agatha, with an infuriating, theatrical slowness, pulls her mozzarella stick in half. The warm cheese stretches obscenely, a perfect, near-pornographic sight, before she lifts a half and offers it to Rio.

Rio’s head remains forward while her eyes cut to Agatha, blinking slowly as if willing her to drop dead right in the booth.

Agatha’s expression is maddeningly innocent. “Want a bite?”

Without a word, Rio lifts the onion ring to her mouth and takes a forceful, pointed bite out of the side.

Agatha, both amused and far too endeared by Rio’s display of aggression, just shrugs. “All you had to do was say no, babe.” 

Before Rio can offer her a biting retort, Agatha lifts the half she offered Rio just above her head, tilts her chin back, and sticks her tongue out as far as it will go—long, wet, absolutely obscene. She lowers the steaming string of cheese into her mouth slowly, the tip of her tongue sliding along the length of it before curling around the fried edge.

Then, with a soft hum—somewhere between satisfaction and a breathy moan—she sinks her teeth into it, lips closing around the end before pulling it back, a slow, intentional drag that’s punctuated with a stupid little smirk.

It is—objectively—the most inappropriate thing that’s occurred at the Westview Applebee’s during happy hour.

Rio grips her onion ring like she means to suffocate it. She refuses to react. Except for the way her thighs press together involuntarily under the table. And the way her mind betrays her entirely, painting vivid images that have nothing to do with half-priced appetizers and everything to do with Agatha and her mouth.

Rio is not easily flustered. In fact, she prides herself on her composure and control.

And yet, sitting in this booth, side-eying Agatha—Agatha, who still has a smug, self-satisfied smirk on her face—Rio feels very flustered. And irritated. And maybe even a little angry.

And definitely a little turned on.

Because the way Agatha dragged her tongue over that mozzarella stick, the way her lips wrapped around the breading, the way her throat moved when she swallowed—

Rio’s fingers curl tightly into a fist on her thigh.

She is not thinking about it.

She is not picturing Agatha using her tongue like that in other places with other women.

Heat spreads up the back of her neck. Her jaw tightens. She reaches for her water and takes a drawn out sip, as if the ice-cold liquid can somehow extinguish the slow burn curling through her gut.

“Oh!” Wanda, mercifully oblivious—though, blessedly, due to her inebriation—chews thoughtfully on her mozzarella stick for a moment, then announces, “Speaking of unhinged men, I got cornered in the Costco parking lot by the cart corral last week.” 

Agatha raises an eyebrow, concerned.

“It was some conspiracy theory guy. He was fully convinced that the government is putting mind-control serum in the Kirkland vodka.”

Agatha snickers, licking marinara sauce from her fingertips. 

Rio’s stomach tightens. She looks at the plate of mozzarella sticks, forcing focus.

“Naturally,” Agatha says.

“I know, right? It made me think of your one ex-girlfriend.”

Rio lifts her head, eyes narrowing.

Agatha scrunches her nose. “Which one?”

“The one who thought the moon landing was a Saturday Night Live sketch.”

Agatha hums. “Oh, Amethyst? She’s not my ex, she was just an exceptional lay.”

Wanda shoots her a look. “She definitely thought you two were dating.”

Agatha shrugs, shoving a piece of onion ring into her mouth. “Not my problem.”

Rio exhales slowly through her nose. “Why would you sleep with a moon-landing denier?”

“You don’t understand,” Agatha defends, grinning as she leans in conspiratorially, her voice dropping just enough to make Rio’s breath catch in the back of her throat. “She had the best tits.”

Rio stiffens. 

“Actually, now that I think about it,” Agatha tilts her head, almost thoughtful, “you look a lot like her.”

Her grip tightens around the cup, her fingertips squeaking against the glass.

She should not be picturing this.

Wanda hums. “What about the one who got arrested for stealing Harold’s catalytic converter? Or the girl who was in a cult?”

Agatha takes a swig of her margarita, swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing. “She was considering joining a cult.”

Rio rubs the pad of her thumb through the condensation on her cup, attempting to ground herself.

“But she had incredible stamina.”

A sharp pulse of heat flares from Rio’s core down through her thighs.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Wanda hums, rolling the tiny umbrella between her forefinger and thumb as she turns her attention to Rio. “What about Natalia? How’s she doing?”

Rio’s face drops.

Agatha arches an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden change in Rio’s demeanor. “Who’s Natalia?”

“No one.” It comes out sharper than Rio intends, but she doesn’t try to soften.

Wanda scoffs, waving a hand at Rio. “Oh, please. You two dated for, like, two years.”

Agatha tilts her head, just enough for Rio to notice the glint of curiosity in her eyes. She’s smirking, however it’s not the teasing one Rio’s seen all night.

Rio exhales slowly, setting her cup down and dropping her hands onto the table, pressing her palms against the wood. “Wasn’t the right fit.”

Wanda, entirely unbothered by Rio’s blatant unwillingness to elaborate, waves a hand, elaborating for her. “Yeah, because she took advantage of your kindness.” She pauses a beat. “And your wallet.”

Rio’s lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t elaborate. Instead, she shoots Wanda a pointed glare that finally—finally—gets her to stop.

Agatha watches the exchange with intrigue, though she doesn’t prod the way Wanda did. Instead, she leans back, dragging her fingertip along the rim of her margarita glass as she observes Rio, eyes flicking over her in a way that makes the spot between her shoulder blades tingle.

But then Wanda finishes the last of her drink, sighing in over exaggerated satisfaction before lifting a hand to flag their waitress down. “Okay, I’m getting another—”

“Nope,” Rio interrupts, already reaching for her water. “You’re drinking this.”

Wanda’s brows pinch, looking at the cup Rio slides toward her like she’s just been served a summons. “This isn’t a drink.”

“Yes, it is.” 

“No,” Wanda frowns. “This doesn’t have an umbrella.”

Rio gives her a look before plucking one of the two tiny umbrellas from Wanda’s empty hurricane glass and plopping it into the water. “There.”

Wanda stares at it for a moment, considering, then shrugs. “Okay.” She takes a sip.

Agatha chuckles, stretching her arms above her head before leaning back against the booth. “I’m getting another drink.”

Rio sighs. “Of course.”

She expects Agatha to flag the waitress down with that drawn out, languid smirk of hers and flirt shamelessly while ordering something with far too much tequila in it.

But instead, when Amelia stops to check on them, Agatha doesn’t even look at her like she wants to do obscene things with her in the walk-in freezer. She merely rests her elbow on the table, lowers her chin into her palm, and says, “I’ll have a Dr. Pepper.”

Rio blinks.

Amelia jots it down and turns her attention to Rio, who realizes she’s still staring at Agatha like she just witnessed a fundamental law of the universe disintegrate in real time.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” Amelia asks.

Rio blinks again, shaking herself. “Yeah, uh. Can we get another water, please?”

Amelia nods and then walks away, and then Agatha leans in slightly, resting her forearms on the table. “So, Rio,” she begins, her voice sly, “are you always this mysterious, or is that just the effect I have on you?”

Rio scoffs. “I am not mysterious.”

“No? Because you just shut Wanda down so fast, I think I witnessed her lose brain cells.”

“Hey!” Wanda protests, straw still in her mouth.

Rio shrugs, maintaining her neutral expression. “I guess some things just aren’t worth talking about.”

Agatha hums, fingers drumming against the table like she’s tucking that information away for later. But instead of pushing like Wanda, she tilts her head, something much softer—something laden with genuine curiosity—settling in her face.

“Alright,” she says. “So what is worth talking about?”

Rio frowns slightly, thrown by Agatha’s sincerity. “What?”

Agatha shrugs, reaching for another mozzarella stick, dragging it through the marinara. “I don’t know. Tell me anything real. Anything about you.”

And for the first time tonight, Rio doesn’t feel like Agatha’s just trying to fish for a reaction—she’s actually listening, actually invested.

Rio hesitates. At first, it feels like a trap. And how could it not? Agatha has spent the last two hours making fun of her, taunting her, watching her react like it’s some kind of game. And yet… something about the way she’s looking at Rio now—inquisitive but not mocking, open but not pushy—makes Rio think that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t merely another setup. 

She exhales slowly, watching a bead of condensation drip down the side of her cup. “I like plants,” she finally says. She’s aiming for flat, but it comes out a little too soft. “Gardening, mostly.”

Agatha doesn’t laugh at her. She doesn’t even smirk. She simply nods, the expression on her face steady, thoughtful. “Huh. What kind of plants?”

Rio tilts her head slightly, analyzing her for any sign of insincerity. She finds none. “I like houseplants, mostly. Some flowers. And vegetables, when I have space. I have a little garden on my apartment patio.”

“Oh, she’s being modest,” Wanda cuts in, her voice just a bit too loud—she is definitely tipsy. “Rio has the best green thumb. She helped me with my garden last year, remember? My soil was all messed up.”

Rio shifts, looking a little embarrassed. “It really wasn’t that bad.”

Wanda scoffs. “Oh, please. My azaleas were practically begging to be put out of their misery.” She turns to Agatha, eyes alight. “She helped me repot my above-ground planters and everything. Now my backyard looks like the cover of Better Homes & Gardens.”

Agatha leans back, eyebrows arched, genuinely impressed. “I’ve seen your yard. It is really nice.” She glances at Rio. “So, that was your doing?”

Rio offers a casual shrug, though there’s a glint of pride in her eyes. “I just helped with the setup. Wanda did the rest.”

Wanda beams, too far gone to be humble. “Because you told me exactly what to do.”

Agatha hums, eying Rio with a renewed interest. “I can respect that,” she says, then grabs for the last onion ring. “I garden a little, but I wouldn’t say my thumb is super green. I keep a few herbs alive, but that’s about it.”

Rio snorts. “Everyone thinks herbs are simple. They’re definitely not.”

The corners of Agatha’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Oh, I know, I had to learn that the hard way.”

Just then, Amelia returns with their drinks—water for Rio, Dr. Pepper for Agatha. The mood at the table has changed—gone is the earlier tension and frustration, replaced with something lighter, more natural. They talk, back and forth, occasionally teasing but genuine nonetheless, finding small pieces of common ground. Agatha isn’t pushy, and to her own shock, Rio really wants to keep talking to her.

Eventually, though, the check comes, the table is cleared, and Rio glances at the time on her phone. Wanda, who has spent nearly ten minutes absentmindedly twirling her drink umbrella and humming softly, looks very ready to call it a night.

“We need to get you home,” Rio says, digging for the wallet she’s put in Wanda’s purse.

Wanda groans and drops the umbrella onto the table. “Fine. But only if you play music I like in the car.”

Agatha shakes her head emphatically, knowing exactly what kind of shit Wanda listens to. “No, absolutely not. We are not listening to 90s slow jams.”

Getting Wanda to the car proves to be its own struggle. 

“We’re almost there,” Rio murmurs, walking Wanda toward the back driver’s side door. Wanda, however, has suddenly lost any remaining coordination and bodily autonomy.

“I think my legs are broken,” Wanda sighs dramatically, halting mid-step.

Rio exhales through her nose. “That’s funny, they worked just fine five seconds ago.”

Wanda looks down at her feet, frowning as if they’ve betrayed her. “Well, they’re broken now.”

Agatha snickers, already walking around to the other side of Rio’s car. “Do we just want to leave her here? Let nature take its course?”

Rio shoots her a look before adjusting her grip around Wanda’s forearm. “Get in the car, Maximoff.”

Eventually, between Wanda arguing like a petulant child and mumbling about how stereotypically gay Rio’s Subaru is, they manage to get her into the car. Agatha, to Rio’s shock, follows suit.

“You don’t want shotgun?” Rio asks, closing Wanda’s door and pausing beside her own.

Agatha shakes her head. “She doesn’t know how to control her body anymore. I just don’t want her to face-plant on the back of your seat at a red light.”

Entirely fair.

Once they’re out of the parking lot and on the road, the car fills with the soft hum of music—not Wanda’s 90s slow jams. Agatha stares out the window, listening as Rio taps her fingers against the steering wheel on beat. 

“What is this?” Agatha asks after a moment, tilting her head. 

Rio glances at her in the rearview, not missing how she’s petting the side of Wanda’s head, which is resting on her shoulder. “If U Love Me Now by MUNA.”

Agatha blinks. “Is that a person or a group?”

“Group.”

Agatha nods, apparently satisfied with Rio’s answer. “I like it.”

Before Rio can respond, Wanda sits up and yawns, stretching her fully-functioning legs across the backseat until her feet rest across Agatha’s thighs. “Did I tell you Agatha hit on me when she moved to town?”

Rio’s grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Agatha pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“It’s true,” Wanda continues, as if telling an ancient tale. “She tried to get my number when I introduced myself.”

Rio doesn’t say anything, but her jaw tightens. Agatha notices it.

”Okay, okay. Don’t get all—” She waves a hand, searching for the best word. “Whatever this is.”

“I’m not—”

“She’s married,” Agatha says matter-of-factly, as if that alone should absolve her of everything.

”And yet you tried to buy me a drink at the farmer’s market,” Wanda says, eyes half-lidded. 

Rio raises an eyebrow and she can’t help the smirk that pulls at the corner of her lips. “The farmer’s market?” 

“Okay, listen—” Agatha sighs, leaning into Rio’s view as if she’s pleading her case. “I saw a pretty woman. I flirted. She told me she was married. I backed off.”

Wanda points a finger at her. “Not before you tried to impress me by juggling honeycrisp apples!”

Silence.

Rio turns her head just enough to catch Agatha in her peripheral. “Well, did it work?”

“Obviously it worked,” Agatha scoffs, nearly offended. “I have outstanding hand-eye coordination, thank you very much.”

”She dropped one of them,” Wanda whispers conspiratorially.

Agatha shoves her shoulder lightly, making Wanda giggle.

Rio relaxes, jealousy leaving her body as quick as it came. “So you flirt by juggling?” 

“Hey, I was improvising!” Agatha huffs, defending herself. “It’s not like I walk around carrying a deck of cards or something.”

Wanda sighs happily, leaning her head against the window. “I thought it was very endearing.”

Agatha groans, flopping back against the seat.

Rio, much to her own shock, finds herself more amused than anything else. Maybe it’s the way Agatha is still side-eying Wanda as if she’s personally betrayed her. Maybe it’s knowing that Agatha, so smug and self-assured, once fumbled her way through failed apple juggling in an attempt to charm a straight woman.

Either way, she shakes her head, lips turning upward just slightly.

“So rude,” Agatha mutters, folding her arms across her chest.

“Maybe try oranges next time,” Rio teases. “They’re smaller, easier to handle.”

Agatha huffs. “I can juggle, I just—”

But Rio is already turning up the radio volume, effectively ending their conversation.

Agatha narrows her eyes at her, and then Wanda, but there’s no genuine anger behind it.

She leans her head against the window, arms still folded, and quietly listens to the music.

As Rio pulls into the driveway, Wanda lets out a soft, sleepy sigh. “That was really fun,” she murmurs, stretching out even farther over Agatha. “We should do it again when you two aren’t so crabby.”

Agatha scoffs, pushing Wanda’s legs out of her lap before opening the car door. “I am never crabby.”

Rio gives her a dry look. “You called me a narc at least four times.”

”Affectionately.”

Wanda hums, like she’s too tired to argue with them, and lets Agatha and Rio hoist her out of the car. She stumbles slightly as they help her to the front door, but before one of them can knock, it swings open to reveal Wanda’s husband.

Vision (Rio’s never been sure whether it’s his actual name or just a nickname that’s stuck) stands there with his perfectly coiffed blonde hair and wearing a maroon cardigan, looking like he’s walked right out of a British Guide to Practical Domesticity. He assesses the scene—his slightly intoxicated wife, Agatha looking as smug as always, Rio looking exasperated—and then sighs.

“Ah,” he says, as if he’s far too used to this. “Applebee’s.”

Wanda grins at him. “We had a wonderful time.”

“Yes, I can see that, my love.” He gently takes her from Rio, steadying her with a firm yet patient hand. “Thank you for returning her in one piece, ladies.”

“Can’t make any promises about her dignity,” Agatha quips, already turning away from the front stoop.

“She only had one drink this time,” Rio says.

“One of those big blue ones?” Vision asks.

“Yep. But we got a lot of water in her, so she should be feeling okay tomorrow.”

Vision just nods. “Thank you again. Goodnight, Agatha. Rio.”

And with that, he guides Wanda inside, closing the front door behind them.

Rio turns, glancing at Agatha, who is a few paces away from the sidewalk. “Can I walk you home?”

Agatha raises an eyebrow, pointing toward her house. “I only live two doors down.”

Rio shrugs. “And?”

Agatha tilts her head, considering, then smirks. “Alright, narc.”

They walk back to Agatha’s house at a languid pace, side by side, their footsteps the only sound audible above the hum of the neighborhood and occasional rustling leaves. The night air is cool against Rio’s skin, the streetlights casting long shadows as they pass.

She feels… a lot of things. Content, mostly. Relaxed, in a way she wouldn’t have expected after Agatha walked into the restaurant. Maybe a little tired. And then there’s—God, is she feeling things toward Agatha? The aftermath of tonight’s emotional roller coaster is probably making everything feel looser, blurrier, but she can’t deny the warmth that flares in her belly every time Agatha’s arm brushes against hers.

Is she… still turned on?

…Maybe. Possibly. She’s not sure.

By the time they arrive at Agatha’s front porch, Rio is still trying to sort through the thoughts swirling in her mind, but Agatha—predictably—is entirely unbothered. She crosses her arms, eying Rio with something unreadable, something Rio really does not want to analyze at the moment.

Rio exhales, looking down at her feet as she pushes her hands into her front pockets. “I had a good time,” she admits, glancing up at Agatha. “You know, after you stopped being an asshole and calling me a narc.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t worry, I still think you’re a narc.”

Rio scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“But,” Agatha continues, tilting her head just so, just enough that the moonlight streaks her hair, glows softly against her angular cheekbones, twinkles in her pale blue eyes, “you’re a hot narc, so it’s okay.”

Rio tries to swallow. Her throat is suddenly very dry.

Agatha is watching her—teasing, but not unkind. And for once, Rio doesn’t know if she’s trying to mess with her or if she actually means it.

Rio clears her throat, rocking back on her heels. “We should… do this again sometime. But maybe without Wanda.”

Agatha snorts, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t feel like babysitting a lightweight again.”

Rio chuckles, and for a few moments, silence hangs between them. Rio watches the way Agatha’s lips part slightly, the way her expression shifts from amused to… something softer. Something Rio can’t quite place. 

Then Agatha shifts slightly, and the porch light hits her just right. The way the glow highlights her jaw, how the night softens her edges—it’s unfair. Completely, utterly unfair.

Rio knows she should leave. She should just say goodnight, get in her car, and drive home. But Agatha’s eyes glint the tiniest bit when she smiles, when she agrees to a Wanda-less date. And something about it—about her—makes Rio’s stomach knot, makes her pulse pound against her eardrums.

And before she can give herself the chance to think, to overanalyze, she just leans in—

And kisses Agatha.

It’s not planned out or careful. It’s driven purely by instinct, a rush of something raw and impulsive, like a match sparking and catching flame.

Agatha stills, her lips parting in surprise, and for a brief moment, Rio thinks she’s fucked up.

But then she realizes—Agatha isn’t pulling away.

Oh.

Oh, God.

Rio blinks, her mind catching up with her body a beat too late. She’s kissing Agatha Harkness. And Agatha Harkness is kissing her back. On her front porch.

Panic sets in immediately.

“Oh,” she breathes, taking a step back so abruptly she nearly trips over herself. “I—okay—goodnight.”

Before Agatha can respond, Rio turns on her heel and speed-walks down the sidewalk—too fast to be casual, but not a full-out run, because she knows that would make it worse.

“Rio?” Agatha calls after her, her voice dripping with amusement.

Rio doesn’t look back.

She doesn’t even consider looking back.

She simply power-walks her way to Wanda’s driveway, throws herself into the driver’s seat of her car, and guns it out of the neighborhood. Every nerve feels like it's vibrating, her brain sounds like it’s screaming.

What did I just fucking do?

Why the fuck did I do that?

Why did she let me do that?

By the time she reaches the door into her apartment, she’s absolutely certain of one thing:

She’s in so much trouble.