If Agatha’s wine glass had a mind of its own, it would’ve filed for a restraining order by now. But since glassware lacked basic autonomy, she was pouring her fourth, no, fifth, glass of wine and drinking it with the kind of dedication usually reserved for ancient rituals. “That’s enough, mi amor,” Magdalena said, reaching across the table with the swiftness of a practiced meddler and snatching the bottle before Agatha could tip it.
Agatha let out a long sigh, leaning back in her chair and squinting at Magdalena like she was weighing the pros and cons of turning her into a toad. “It’s just wine,” she whined. “You can’t expect me to get through this nonsense sober.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Olive chimed in, smoothing her perfectly-pressed skirts. “The non-witches need our help to rebuild the town square. You know, the one your misfire-”
“It was an accident, Olive!” Agatha snapped, blushing. “And technically, their town square shouldn’t have been flammable to begin with.” She scowled, swirling her wine with enough force to rival a small storm.
Because this, this ridiculous Valentine’s Day auction, was not how Agatha Harkness envisioned spending her evening. She could’ve been at home by the fire with a good book, a warm blanket, and not a single person in sight. Instead, she was crammed at a round table with her fellow coven members, surrounded by a mix of witches and non-witches all pretending this auction was anything other than a glorified popularity contest. And all of this? For charity. Not even a witch charity.
Of course, she wasn’t heartless. It was terrible what happened to their town square. Truly. But when had the non-witches ever helped them? Witches still couldn’t walk through the market without whispers behind their backs or polite-but-firm reminders not to “linger.” And yet here they were, footing the bill for their incompetence. She drained the last of her glass. It was maddening.
“I mean, really,” she said, gesturing broadly to the room as if anyone here could possibly relate to her plight. “What kind of person bids on another person for a dinner date? Is this Salem or the opening scene of a poorly written romance novel?”
“That’s enough out of you,” Magdalena sighed. “Just sit there, drink your water. No, not the wine, and try not to hex anyone.”
Meanwhile, Carmen, seated directly across from her, was working herself into a lather. “Ok, so can we please talk about Conan now?” she demanded, her voice dripping with venom and self-pity. “That coward just bid on another witch. Right in front of me! Can you believe that?”
Agatha set her water down, gingerly, because she wasn’t that far gone, and stared at Carmen. “You mean Conan, the man who isn’t actually your boyfriend but ran off because you’re… well, you?”
Carmen gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he probably bid on someone else because you keep cornering him in alleys and calling it romance,” Agatha said, taking no small amount of satisfaction in the way Carmen’s skin flushed in embarrassment.
Mari, ever the peacemaker, kicked Carmen under the table before she could launch into a tirade. “Try the cheese, Agatha,” Mari said so sweetly that it made Agatha roll her eyes. “It’s supposed to be delightful.”
Agatha, mostly to stop herself from responding to Carmen’s dramatic huffing, speared a piece of the blue-veined cheese and popped it into her mouth. What followed could only be described as an act of betrayal by the dairy gods. It was sour, bitter, and tasted like something that had been left in a witch’s pantry for two centuries. “This is not delightful,” she coughed, reaching for her water. “This is cursed. I don’t care what anyone says.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Adela offered, annoyingly neutral.
“Well, I’m not acquiring it.” Agatha shoved the plate away and sat back, crossing her arms. “I’m done. This is pointless. Let’s just call it a night-”
“No!” The word rang out from every corner of the table like a carefully rehearsed spell.
Agatha froze, narrowing her eyes. This wasn’t the kind of reaction one got from suggesting an early exit. The witches’ faces were a mix of forced smiles and poorly concealed panic. Adela cleared her throat and sat up straighter, forcing what she clearly thought was a reassuring smile. “What we mean is, the next round is starting soon. Just stay a little longer. Thirty minutes, tops, and then we can leave. Together.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being hexed into staying?” Agatha asked.
“You’re not being hexed,” Magdalena said, patting Agatha’s hand like she was soothing a wild animal. “We just think you’ll want to see the final auction. It’s… special.”
Before Agatha could interrogate her further, the room dimmed, and the host stepped back onto the stage. He raised a gilded gavel and cleared his throat. “Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed witches,” he began with an unnecessary flourish, “our pièce de résistance is one you won’t want to miss. Prepare yourselves for mystery lot number seven, sure to set your hearts aflame!"
Agatha groaned. “If he means that literally, I’m walking out.”
But as the curtains parted to reveal the figure on stage, a tall, brunette with a smirk that could make angels rethink their careers, the witches around her erupted in excited whispers.
Agatha froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Oh, no... She recognised that smirk. That infuriating, confident, perfect smirk.
“Oh, yes,” Magdalena whispered as if she’d heard Agatha, her grin downright wicked. “Let the bidding begin.”
Agatha’s heart sank. This wasn’t just an auction; it was a trap. And her fellow Salemites? They were all in on it.
Lady Death did not do charity auctions. And yet here she was, backstage at this ridiculous Valentine’s Day event, of all things, dressed in a gown that was more daring than dignified. The shimmering emerald fabric hugged her curves, a neckline plunging far enough to make the prudish swoon. Somewhere, one of the Fates was cackling.
Rio adjusted the delicate, vine-like jewelry on her wrist, an ironic touch, given she was currently masquerading as a Green witch. She exhaled, looking toward the stage. “I could end them all with a flick of my wrist,” she muttered darkly.
“That would defeat the purpose of blending in,” a stagehand replied dryly, glancing up from her clipboard. “You’re up next. Just wait for the host to finish your introduction.”
Rio nodded, biting back another sarcastic comment. How had she, the very embodiment of death itself, been roped into this charade? Oh, right. Evanora Harkness’ meddlesome coven.
She thought back to that day by the lake, when the gaggle of witches approached her with an air of false humility. They had bowed, smiled, and pitched their idea: participate in the Valentine’s Day auction. “It’s a wonderful way to integrate yourself into our little community,” Adela persuaded. “And, you know… it might give you a chance to spend some quality time with Agatha.”
That was the clincher. Rio didn’t care for “integration,” nor did she particularly care about these mortals and their quaint lives. But when they brought up Agatha... She wasn’t quite sure what she and Agatha were, exactly. Partners in secrecy? Co-conspirators? Lovers? Whatever it was, it was enough to have her agreeing to this nonsense.
Now, as the crowd’s energy buzzed louder with every passing second, Rio questioned all her life choices. When the host finally announced her, the room erupted into whistles and cheers that could’ve shaken the rafters.
She stepped onto the stage, a calm, confident smirk plastered on her face. If she was going to play this role, she would play it well. The lights were blinding, but she could feel hundreds of eyes drinking her in. Somewhere in the crowd, she knew Agatha was watching.
Sure enough, as she glanced discreetly to the left, she saw her. Agatha sat frozen, her expression somewhere between shocked and mortified. It was almost enough to make Rio chuckle. Almost.
What the hell.
Agatha couldn’t decide if she wanted to swoon or hex someone. Probably both. The gown, the confidence, the way Rio’s smirk curled as if she owned the entire room. Damn her.
“Why is she here?” Agatha hissed, her voice low and dangerous as she leaned toward Adela, who was seated to her right. “Did you know about this?”
Adela, who was doing a poor job of pretending not to smile, rubbed her arm where Agatha had just pinched her. “It’s for charity,” she said innocently.
Agatha’s gaze sharpened. She knew her coven too well. They were meddling, nosy busybodies who had clearly orchestrated this disaster. She glared at Magdalena and Mari on the other side of the table, but they avoided her eyes, conveniently interested in their wine glasses.
“Unbelievable,” Agatha muttered, folding her arms as the bidding began. She tried to play it cool, but every time someone shouted a bid, her grip on her wine glass tightened.
Then Quill happened.
The charming, attractive warlock across the room leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. He raised his hand with a lazy grin. The number he called out was outrageous, enough to make the crowd gasp.
Agatha’s jaw clenched so hard it was a miracle she didn’t crack a tooth.
“Oh, come on,” she spat. She could practically see Quill’s ego inflating, his self-satisfaction thick enough to choke on.
Before she could stop herself, Agatha shot to her feet. “Two hundred gold pieces!” she shouted.
Every head in the room turned. Adela choked on her wine. Carmen whistled, “There she is.”
Quill, the absolute bastard, had the audacity to chuckle. “My, my,” he drawled, tilting his head at Agatha. “Didn’t think you cared that much, Harkness.”
Agatha’s left eye twitched. She did not care. At all. Not one bit. This had nothing to do with the fact that Quill had locked eyes with Rio earlier, flashing her that honeyed smile of his.
Rio laughed. Laughed. That barely-holding-back-a-smile laugh that made Agatha’s stomach twist in a way she absolutely did not have time for.
And now Quill was bidding. On her.
Agatha took a deep breath, plastered on her best, most predatory grin, and leaned forward. “Four hundred,” she purred.
Gasps rippled through the room. Someone in the back muttered, “Is she out of her damn mind?”
Selene, another coven member, raised an eyebrow. “Aggie.” She teased. Agatha ignored her completely. Focus, Harkness. This is war.
Quill only laughed again, drumming his fingers on the table like this was his favourite form of entertainment. “Four-fifty.”
Agatha’s nails dug into her palm. “Five hundred.”
“Six.”
The murmuring in the crowd turned into full-on gossip. People were whispering, throwing side-glances at Agatha and Quill like they were watching the most ridiculous duel of the century.
Carmen leaned toward Adela and whispered, “I think Agatha might actually kill him.”
Adela bit into her bread. “I think I might let her.”
Rio, meanwhile, was watching this all unfold as she sat on stage. She knew where this was going.
Quill tilted his head at Agatha, smirking. “Do you even have that much, Harkness?”
Agatha slammed her hands down on the table, her smile widening. “Oh, don’t worry about me, sweetheart. One thousand.”
The entire room exploded.
Someone dropped a glass. Someone else actually screamed. Olive’s jaw hit the floor. Adela, with the poise of a woman who had seen far too much nonsense in her life, just took another sip of her wine. Quill, for the first time, actually looked taken aback.
Agatha smirked. “What’s wrong, Quill? Cat got your tongue?”
The warlock narrowed his eyes, considering. He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Well, well. Looks like I’ve been outbid.” He winked. “Enjoy your prize, Harkness.”
And just like that, Agatha knew whether she won or lost, Rio was hers.
She dusted off her dress, straightening it with a sigh before walking toward the stage, ignoring the murmurs. The whole event had turned into a spectacle, and of course, she was at the center of it. But none of that mattered.
Not when Rio was standing there. Agatha reached out, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the smirk curling at Rio’s lips. “Come on, then,” Agatha said, trying to sound nonchalant, but her grip around Rio’s hand was firm.
Rio’s fingers were warm as she took Agatha’s hand, stepping down with a grace that was entirely unfair. She landed with ease, looking at Agatha with something close to amusement.
“You really had to make a scene, didn’t you?” Rio mocked.
Agatha huffed, tugging Rio forward as they moved through the crowd. “You were about to be stolen away by a smug little prick named Quill. Someone had to do something.”
“Stolen away?” Rio echoed, raising a brow. “Agatha, it was an auction. I wasn’t being kidnapped.”
“I didn’t like it,” Agatha snapped. Then, realising how that sounded, she quickly added, “I mean, I didn’t like him.”
“Ohhh,” Rio smiled. “So, just to be clear, you’d be perfectly fine if someone else had bid on me?”
Agatha’s jaw clenched. Rio’s laughter was low, knowing. “My love, you’re adorable when you’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.” Agatha’s voice was clipped. “I just-” She huffed, dropping Rio’s hand, only to regret it immediately. “I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening watching Quill slither around you like a lovesick idiot.”
Rio tilted her head, as if considering something. Then she sighed dramatically. “A thousand gold pieces, though? Really? That’s a crazy amount of money.”
Agatha crossed her arms. “You’re worth every damn coin.”
Rio blinked. Then, to Agatha’s horror, her smirk faltered for a split second, something unguarded flashing in her eyes before she covered it up with another teasing grin. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Agatha groaned, rubbing her temples. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Rio just chuckled, falling into step beside her. “Tell me the truth. Would you have duelled Quill if it came to that?”
Agatha scoffed. “Obviously.”
“You do realise there were no actual stakes, right?”
Agatha shot her a sharp look. “Are you completely oblivious, or are you doing it on purpose?”
“Hmm.” Rio tapped a finger against her chin. “I think I just like watching you unravel over me. You spent a small fortune to make sure I didn’t have to suffer through one evening of Quill’s company.”
“I’d do it again,” Agatha said before she could stop herself, but quickly came added once more, “I mean, my coven would never let me live it down if you were seen with him.”
Rio let the excuse slide, but her gaze was still locked on Agatha. They walked in silence for a few paces, stepping outside for a bit.
Then, casually, Rio murmured, “So, what now?”
Agatha inhaled
She didn’t know what she had expected, maybe that the night would end and she’d go back to her usual games of pushing Rio away while simultaneously refusing to let her go. But now, standing here with Rio, still charged from the tension of the auction, the words left her mouth before she could overthink them.
“Meet me tomorrow. Six o’clock. Dinner. Just us.”
Rio arched a brow, clearly entertained. “Dinner? Just us?”
“I thought you could use a proper meal after all that trauma,” Agatha said dryly. “And, let’s be honest, that is what this auction entailed and I do owe you after subjecting you to my dramatics.”
Rio’s lips twitched. “Oh, you do owe me. You put a target on my back. The entire coven will think I’m your beloved concubine after tonight.”
Agatha snorted. “Please. You love the attention.”
“I do,” Rio admitted shamelessly. “But I love teasing you more.”
Her not-so-girlfriend groaned. “So? Six o’clock?”
“I do expect something fancy, Agatha.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll make sure it’s fancy enough for you.” And with that, she turned on her heel, disappearing into the night before Rio could see the telltale flush creeping up her neck.
Dinner the next evening went better than Agatha had imagined, except for the Swiss cheese fondue, which she’d definitely thought would be a better idea when she was tipsy last night. The gooey texture was all wrong, and the taste stayed in her mouth like regret. But aside from that, she had a great time with Rio. Just the two of them, without the interruptions of the coven or the incessant chatter of the witches who seemed to follow Agatha everywhere.
They were halfway through their meal when Agatha decided to go rogue. It was a plan, a whim, something she couldn’t resist, and if there was ever a moment for it, this was it. She finished her food with an air of finality and glanced at Rio.
“What if I told you I had something... unexpected planned?” Agatha leaned in, dropping her voice just low enough for Rio to catch.
Rio raised an eyebrow. “Well, you are always full of surprises.”
“That’s not even the half of it.” Agatha gestured toward the end of the road where a familiar figure stood once they'd stepped outside.
“Coven member?”
“Yeah,” Agatha responded with a half-smile. “Her name’s Mari. She’s, well, she’s... reliable. Sometimes.”
The sound of Mari’s chunky jewelry clinking and the vibrant potion swirling in her hand made her entrance unmistakable. “Alright, alright, chica,” Mari said with a grin. “I’m only here because you begged and promised a ‘don’t-die-on-the-way’ bonus. But no guarantees, eh?”
Rio was confused, but she agreed with a raised eyebrow. “What exactly are you getting me into, Agatha?”
With a smirk, Agatha waved her off. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” She nodded toward Mari, who started muttering something under her breath.
And just like that, they were gone.
Rio blinked. The world around her flickered like a malfunctioning TV, colours too sharp, sounds too loud. The smell of greasy popcorn hit her, and she made a face. Ugh. Gross. She wasn’t on that winding road anymore.
A drive-in? “What the-” Rio muttered, her voice flat with disbelief.
Agatha, on the other hand, looked like she’d just popped out for an evening stroll. “St. George’s, late 1900s,” she said, inspecting her nails. “Mari, seriously. You always send us to the weirdest places.”
Rio exhaled slowly. Right. Late 1900s. They’d just jumped three centuries forward with a flick of Mari’s wrist, breaking every rule about forbidden magic in the process. Nothing to worry about. Totally normal Tuesday.
Her voice came out sharper than she meant. “Did you just-what did you do?”
Agatha’s lips curved into that knows-way-too-much smile. “Relax, my love. Just a teeny bit of forbidden magic.” She leaned in. “Ooh, are you gonna scold me? Am I in trouble?”
Rio gave her an unimpressed look. “Not yet.”
Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “Then stop brooding and enjoy the night. I promise if something goes horribly wrong, not that it will, you can yell at me later.”
Before Rio could respond with a very well-earned death glare, the spell fully took hold. Their clothes shimmered and twisted, melting into something era-appropriate as they fell into a car.
Agatha, of course, ended up looking stupidly good because of course she did. A maroon dress hugged her curves, its deep neckline catching the light in all the right places. A high slit hinted at danger, her hair now soft waves framing her eyes. She looked like a queen. A chaotic queen.
Rio, meanwhile, found herself in a sleek black cocktail dress, fitted and effortless, a red shawl draped over her shoulders like she owned the night. A quick glance in the reflection of the car’s window confirmed that the spell had also gifted her with sharp eyeliner and a classic red lip. At least the dark magic had taste.
She barely had time to process it before her gaze caught the fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror, swaying lazily.
Mari’s voice chimed in, way too cheerful for someone who just tossed them through time. “Enjoy the ride, ladies! Oh, and don’t touch the dice, they’re cursed. Long story.”
Agatha’s expression didn’t even flicker. She just arched an eyebrow, her mouth twitching at the corners. “Great,” she muttered. “Love that.”
Rio slowly turned to her, deadpan. “Cursed dice. You knew?”
Agatha shrugged, flashing a wicked grin. “Details, darling.”
Rio exhaled, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You know, one of these days, your details are going to kill us. Well, you.”
Agatha leaned in, her voice smooth as silk. “And yet, you still follow me.”
“I have regrets.”
Agatha laughed, leaning over to kiss Rio’s temple as if they were just two lovers on a casual night out. “Oh, hush. Let’s go find some trouble.”
Trouble? Rio sighed, letting Agatha pull her forward. Yeah. That sounded about right.
However, the problem wasn’t that magic was forbidden in time-jumping. The problem was that Agatha had somehow gotten them a car in an illusion where they couldn’t use magic. And now, apparently, she knew how to drive.
Rio, sitting in the passenger seat of the sleek black 1960s Cadillac, turned to her with suspicion. “You sure about this?” she asked, arms crossed. “I mean, I know you’re all about breaking rules, but… this is driving.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
The witch arched an eyebrow as Agatha shifted the car into gear, pressing her foot against the gas pedal. The engine roared. The Cadillac jolted forward like it had been waiting to hit the open road.
The wind whipped past them, carrying the scent of something wild, something free. The night sky stretched above them, an endless black canvas dotted with stars.
She turned her gaze to Agatha, watching the way her fingers curled around the steering wheel, not too tight, not too loose. It was practiced. Like she’d done this before. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Suspicion prickled at Rio’s spine. “Alright,” she said slowly. “I’ll bite. Where’d you learn to drive?”
Agatha smirked, keeping her eyes on the road. “Oh, you know. Around.”
“Around when?”
Agatha didn’t answer, but the glint in her eyes said enough.
Oh.
Oh.
Rio leaned her head back against the seat, exhaling through her nose. “You’ve done dark magic before.”
Agatha’s smirk widened. “Technically, this was a very well-researched experiment.”
Rio gave her a look. “Uh-huh. And by ‘experiment,’ you mean breaking every known rule of magic?”
“I was young.”
Rio laughed. “You are young.”
She glanced out at the road ahead, watching the way the world stretched before them, untouched by their presence. That was the thing about time-jumping. It let them experience another time, slip through the past and the future's cracks, but without leaving a mark. No footprints in the sand, no ripples in the water. It was like stepping into a dream; one that could twist reality just enough to feel real while never truly changing it.
And that was what made it dangerous.
Magic that bent time without consequence? It was unnatural. It blurred the lines of reality, left people questioning what was real and what wasn’t. The kind of thing that could drive someone mad if they weren’t careful. The kind of thing that was, for all intents and purposes, forbidden.
Not that her lover had ever been one for rules.
“Exactly. So, why dwell on the past?” Agatha teased, pressing the gas pedal just a little harder.
The Cadillac purred beneath them, speeding through the highway. Rio let the wind tangle her hair, the hum of the road beneath them lulling dangerously close to peace.
Then, because she wasn’t built for silence, she asked, “So, where are we going, exactly?”
Agatha’s smirk returned. “You’ll see eventually.”
“Couldn't you just tell me?”
“Nope.”
Agatha’s confidence was annoying, but also, Rio kind of loved it. She huffed, rolling her eyes. “But don’t worry,” Agatha added, that familiar wicked edge creeping into her voice. “You’ll like it. It’s a little… out of your comfort zone.”
Rio narrowed her eyes. “Agatha-”
“You always wanted to visit, right?”
That gave Rio pause. She tilted her head, watching Agatha carefully. “You mean-”
“Yes, exactly.” Agatha’s grin widened. “Las Vegas. What better place for an evening getaway?”
Rio blinked. Las Vegas.
She had always wanted to go. She’d dreamed of seeing the city lights, of walking through the noise and wonder of it all. But she never had the chance. She had been too bound to Salem, too restricted by her role as Lady Death. The world beyond had always been out of reach.
And now, they were so easily welcomed with flashing neon lights and a stop at a grand casino and a game of poker.
Rio sat with the same ease she carried everywhere, arms resting lightly against the table, fingers brushing the edge of her cards. Agatha was beside her, swirling a martini in her hand, but her attention kept drifting toward Rio.
Because, for someone who had never played poker, Rio looked far too comfortable.
“Remind me again how you’ve never been here?” Agatha asked playfully.
Rio’s lips curved. “I read.”
Agatha snorted. “Right. Because books prepare you for the absolute madness that is a Vegas poker table from the future.”
“You’d be surprised,” Rio murmured, eyes scanning the table, calculating every player’s next move.
Agatha smirked. Oh, she liked this. She leaned in, just enough for her shoulder to brush against Rio’s. “So, what’s the plan? Clean them out?”
“Let’s see how lucky I am.”
Agatha chuckled, taking a slow sip of her drink. This was going to be fun.
Across the table sat Amy, whose name she’d so clearly stated, was spelled with an A, as if the rest of the world hadn’t caught on to that fact already. Amy was betting heavily, her fingers trembling as she pushed her chips toward the middle.
Agatha, now comfortably draped against Rio’s shoulder, had learned to roll with it for the past twelve minutes. She should have known better. But then Rio had to go and talk.
“You’re bold to bet that much with a hand like yours,” Rio started, as if she were discussing the weather rather than verbally dismantling an opponent. “Then again, I suppose boldness runs in the family. Your father always said you had too much of it for your own good, didn’t he?”
Agatha, mid-sip of her martini, froze.
The red-head stiffened. Her fingers twitched where they rested against her poker chips, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. A thick, tense, horrified silence.
Agatha had a choice here. She could pull back, act like she had nothing to do with Rio’s latest war crime against human decency. Or she could stay put, head resting against Rio’s shoulder, and pretend she wasn’t seconds away from laughing at how ruthless her companion was.
She chose the latter.
Amy’s eye twitched, but she didn’t fold. Agatha sat up a little straighter, fascinated. It was fun watching people try to withstand Rio’s version of psychological warfare.
She bit her lip, trying so hard not to laugh. She really should stop Rio. Someone should stop Rio. But gosh, it was entertaining.
The game continued, but Agatha found herself watching Rio more than the game itself because Rio wasn’t just playing the game: she was playing the people.
And then, because Rio simply couldn’t resist, she turned to Jacob, the middle-aged man with a cigar permanently glued to his lips, and struck again. Sure, he had a decent hand that made her win a round out of goodwill, but he did insult her partner a few minutes ago.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she said idly. “Winning streaks have a way of running out... right around the same time your pacemake-”
"Rio!" Agatha hissed under her breath, her face burning as panic surged through her. "Stop. We’re not doing this again!"
But Rio only blinked at her. “I don’t know what you mean, my love.”
Jacob shook his head. "See what I said. Ride the wave while you can, doll. Luck’s like a pretty face, never sticks around long." He threw a glance at Agatha, clearly assuming she’s just there to look good on Rio’s arm.
She didn’t even need to say it out loud to know the truth. Jacob was a man who reeked of overconfidence, cheap cigars, and desperation. His suit was just a little too tight, his gold watch a little too gaudy, and the way he looked at every woman in the room made it obvious that his wife wasn’t the only one fooling around.
He was loud. He was bold, and not in the charming way, but in the way that made people tolerate him rather than like him. He drank too much, smoked too much, bet too much.
And when the green witch had decided to speak, her voice was calm. Deadly.
Rio turned back to Jacob, her eyes blazing just enough to send a chill down the spine. “It’ll last longer than you. Let me guess, you’re here to blow what’s left of your pension before the big day, huh? I hear cardiac arrest is a real crowd-pleaser.”
The party around the table fell silent as Jacob’s cigar, once held with such confidence, now dangled limply from his lips. His face turned a tar shade of pale.
Agatha grabbed Rio’s wrist immediately. Nope. We’re leaving. Immediately.
She practically dragged Rio away from the table, weaving through the casino floor before security could even think to find and escort them out.
“You can’t just go around scaring people like that, Rio!” Agatha whisper-yelled, the neon lights of the Strip casting wild colours over her face. “This is Vegas, not Salem! They’re here to gamble and have fun, not to get into a full existential crisis!”
Rio, completely unbothered, merely raised an eyebrow. “I am fun. Just ask the old man. Plus, this isn’t even real.”
Agatha groaned, rubbing her temples. “Unbelievable.”
She should have been annoyed. She should have been furious. But instead, she found herself biting back a smile, because, of course, Rio knew exactly how much she could get away with. Agatha sighed, glancing up at her. And, damn it, there it was again. That sharp fall in her stomach.
The night hummed around them. Somewhere nearby, an Elvis impersonator murmured wedding vows through a drive-thru chapel window. A couple in matching tropical shirts and cowboy hats exchanged rings at the counter, the smell of cheap champagne and bad decisions thick in the air.
Agatha perched on the hood of the Cadillac, one knee bent, the other leg swinging lazily as she sipped her third soda through a straw. She laughed to herself. Love was a ridiculous thing.
“Did you see the size of that rock? You could knock out a burglar with that thing.” She tilted her head, considering. “Or a particularly aggressive raccoon.”
Beside her, Rio sat unnervingly still, watching the couple with an expression Agatha couldn’t quite read. Fond, maybe. Thoughtful. The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“She looks happy,” Rio murmured. “He does too.” A pause, then a soft exhale. “That’s rare these days.”
Agatha arched a brow, amused. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental, Lady Death.” She nudged Rio’s knee with her own. “You’ve been absolutely killing people out here all night.”
“I’m just saying… It's nice. Simple. They’re not overthinking it. They’re just choosing each other.”
Something in Agatha’s chest twisted. She ignored it. Lifted her soda in a mock toast instead. “To Hawaiian shirts and questionable life choices,” she declared.
Rio laughed again, lighter this time, but Agatha didn’t miss the way her fingers traced idle patterns on the car’s hood, like she was unraveling a thought she wasn’t ready to say out loud.
Then, after a long beat, Rio said, so softly Agatha almost missed it.
“Kiss me.”
Agatha’s soda paused midair.
Rio still wasn’t looking at her, her fingers curling like she was second-guessing herself. “Just one more time,” she whispered. “For old time’s sake. Before the date’s over.”
For old time’s sake.
Agatha’s stomach twisted sharply. God, she’s cruel. Pretending this was a game. Pretending like they could play pretend and walk away unbothered.
She tilted her head, watching Rio carefully. “Are you sure you want that?” Her voice was low, teasing, but it was razor-sharp underneath. “I’m not in the habit of handing out souvenirs.”
She leaned in, slowly, enough to feel the way Rio sighed in delight, the way her fingers stilled against the car. Heat coiled between them, electric, everything narrowing to this.
But instead of closing the distance, Agatha stopped. Smirked. “You’re really playing the ‘old time’s sake’ card, huh?” she whispered, her lips hovering just shy of Rio’s.
Rio opened her eyes and blushed, but Agatha noticed. “You’re evil.”
Agatha grinned, satisfied, and tossed her soda into the trash as she slid off the hood. “I’ve been called worse.”
She walked around to the driver’s side, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Well? Are you getting in, or are you planning to pout all night?”
Finally, she slid off the hood and climbed into the passenger seat. As Agatha started the engine, Rio leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “You owe me a kiss,” she muttered.
Agatha grinned, pulling onto the highway. “Noted,” she said. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
She gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles pale against the leather. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to keep control of the car or the way her thoughts were running miles ahead of her.
It had been too long since she let herself be this close to Rio. And now, here they were and she felt absolutely sick.
“So,” she said finally, driving to their hotel. “How much time do we have left?”
She didn’t look at Rio when she said it. Rio looked at her, trying to figure out what Agatha was really asking.
“What do you mean?”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “You know. Before you have to go back to… whatever it is you do. You said you were on a date. How does that work when you’re the only Grim Reaper in existence?”
“Time doesn’t work the same for me as it does for you,” Rio murmured. “It’s not like I clock in and out of shifts.”
“Right.” Agatha cast her a sidelong glance. “But you’ve only been out here for, what, two hours? Doesn’t someone need you?”
Rio’s fingers twitched slightly against the fabric of her shawl. She hesitated. And Rio never hesitated.
“I told them to wait.”
Agatha blinked. She almost drove off into the other lane. “You can do that?” she asked in awe.
Rio shrugged, but it wasn’t a careless movement. No, it was measured. Thoughtful. Earnest. “I haven’t done it before. Messes with the whole mother nature force,” she admitted. “It’s not really fair. But I figured a couple of hours wouldn’t hurt.”
She turned to look at Agatha fully then. Her eyes were dark, deep, filled with something that shouldn’t have belonged to Death.
“Besides,” she hummed, “this is important.” You’re important, that’s really what Rio wanted to say.
Agatha looked back at the road. Focused on the blur of headlights, the asphalt stretching endlessly ahead. But her grip on the wheel was too tight again as she tried to ignore her feelings.
“What happens if you’re late?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay playful. “Do you get, like, a stern talking-to from the Grim Reaper Union?”
Rio laughed dryly. “There’s no union.” A pause. “Just me. Always has been.”
Agatha’s heart clenched. Always has been. Always will be. She’d known, of course. Known that Rio was ancient in ways she couldn’t fathom, that she carried the weight of centuries, of lifetimes, of endings. But hearing her say it, just like that…
“That sounds…” Agatha swallowed. “Lonely.”
Rio didn’t answer right away. “It can be.” She sighed. “But tonight isn’t.”
Agatha Harkness wasn’t soft. She wasn’t sentimental. She didn’t do this. But right now, all she wanted to do was touch her. To hold Rio’s face in her hands and kiss her senseless, until she stopped saying things that made Agatha’s chest ache.
Instead, she cleared her throat, shifting against her seatbelt. “For someone who deals with death every day, you’re surprisingly bad at carpe diem.”
Rio looked at her then. “Says the witch who hasn’t kissed me yet.” Agatha’s stomach swooped, heat curling up the back of her neck. She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. She had far bigger and better plans in mind.
They’d eventually stopped at a fancy hotel, and lucky enough, they had room despite the receptionist rolling her eyes and saying they needed to book a room in advance.
"Not bad for a first Vegas trip, huh?" Agatha teased, closing the door behind them once they'd stepped inside.
Rio turned around from shimmying off her shawl. "Yeah, I could get used to this. Fancy livin-"
She didn’t get to finish the sentence.
Agatha closed the space between them with a speed that made Rio’s breath hitch, her fingers curling around Rio’s face like she had every right to touch her, to take her. And then, before Rio could blink, Agatha kissed her.
No hesitation. No soft build-up. Just hunger.
Rio gasped into it, hands gripping Agatha’s waist out of instinct, pulling her in as though she’d been starving for this, for her, for what felt like years.
Because she had.
The kiss was deep in a way that contradicted the urgency of it, their mouths moving in perfect sync, like they’d done this a thousand times before. Like muscle memory. Agatha’s hands tangled in Rio’s hair, nails grazing against her scalp, sending shivers down her spine. Rio, in turn, slid a hand down Agatha’s back, fingers splaying across the dip of her waist, pulling her closer.
Agatha moaned and God, Rio wanted to hear it again. Wanted to hear what Agatha sounded like when she lost every ounce of control, when she wasn’t calculating or teasing or pretending.
Agatha kissed like she fought: with strategy, precision, and just enough rashness to be potent.
The world outside the hotel didn’t exist anymore. It was just them, lost in each other, caught in a tangle of limbs and breathless want. Then, just as Agatha was about to deepen the kiss further, Rio broke away, breath uneven, pressing her forehead against Agatha’s.
Agatha let out a slow exhale, lips just barely brushing against Rio’s as she murmured, "If you pull away now, I swear I’ll hex your entire wardrobe into crocs and cargo shorts."
Rio laughed, breathless, her fingers still gripping Agatha’s waist. "Now you want to threaten me?"
"You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, Vidal," Agatha gritted out, her forehead still resting against Rio’s, her fingers tightening in her hair. "Do you know how much self-control I have? It’s shockingly little."
"Really?" Rio teased, arching a brow. "Because it looks like you're losing your mind over me."
Agatha growled in frustration and bit Rio’s lower lip, just a graze, just enough to make Rio’s smirk falter. "I hope you know I’m only putting up with this because you’re pretty."
Rio grinned against her lips, tilting her head slightly. "Yeah? And here I thought you liked me for my sparkling personality."
"Shut up," Agatha muttered, crashing her lips back onto Rio’s, as if trying to prove a point.
They stumbled backward in a flurry of tangled limbs and laughter, Rio’s back hitting the plush couch as Agatha all but crawled into her lap, straddling her, hands gripping her jaw like she never intended to let go.
Then, suddenly, Rio pulled back again. Agatha groaned in pure agony. "What now?"
"I have to use the bathroom."
Silence.
Agatha blinked. "You what?"
"I have to use the bathroom," Rio repeated, looking every bit as betrayed as Agatha felt.
"You-" Agatha’s arms flailed, face twisted in sheer disbelief. "You absolute menace. I-You cannot be serious. We were in the middle of-of-" She gestured wildly between them. "This!"
Rio winced, looking torn. "I know! I know, I’m sorry!" She pointed toward the bathroom. "Give me thirty seconds."
Agatha laughed incredulously, dragging her hands down her face. "Thirty seconds? Are you kidding? You’ve already ruined the moment, Vidal! Do you have any idea how rare it is for me to be this patient?"
Rio was already backing toward the bathroom, hands up in surrender. "I promise I’ll make it up to you!"
"Oh, you better," she called after her lover. "I expect a performance when you return."
The bathroom door shut.
Agatha stared at the ceiling, lips pursed as she twiddled her thumbs. A minute later, the door creaked open.
The brunette stepped out, looking unbothered, like she hadn’t just committed a heinous crime against Agatha’s patience. She smirked. "You still mad?"
Agatha narrowed her eyes. "I haven’t decided yet."
Rio held a hand out, and Agatha took it tiredly. "Hmm. Then I guess I should convince you otherwise."
"Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?" Rio winked as she linked their hands and pulled Agatha to their bedroom.
The bedroom looked absurd. Like the kind of place designed for people who wanted their love to feel expensive. A king-sized bed, draped in soft white sheets that looked untouched with plush pillows, too many of them, arranged like they were waiting to be ruined.
Rose petals scattered across the duvet, because of course. The walls were deep, velvety red, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a perfect view of the city lights below. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket by the bedside, flutes ready.
Perfect timing for Agatha to bring out her gift. She let go of Rio’s hand, and suddenly pulled out three vials from who knows where. Her fingers danced around the cool glass that shimmered faintly in the light. She held them up, her smirk both mysterious and daring.
“Playing with magic again?” Rio teased, but there was that usual sharpness, watching, waiting.
Agatha twirled one of the vials between her fingers, eyes sultry and unreadable. “Oh, just a little something to spice things up.” She leaned in, her lips just brushing Rio’s ear. “We don’t have our powers here, but why not bring a little extra... enhancement?”
Rio’s eyes flickered with intrigue as she crossed her arms, gaze never leaving the vials. “Where did you even get those?”
Agatha sighed dramatically, tossing herself onto the bed like this was all a great inconvenience. “Would you believe me if I said I found them in the car’s cubby hole?”
“You’re telling me you just stumbled upon a batch of mysterious enchantments?”
Agatha lifted a finger. “Ah. Not mysterious. I know exactly where they came from.”
Rio pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mari.”
“Mari,” Agatha said in a sing-song voice. “That conniving little enchanter.”
“Let me guess. You were looking for something completely unrelated, and-”
“I spilled ketchup on myself,” Agatha interrupted, pointing to her dress as if the faint stain was somehow more important than the glowing potions in her hand. “You convinced me to try hotdogs, remember? Hotdogs, Rio. I don’t eat things that require squeezing mystery sauce out of a bottle.”
Rio rolled her eyes. “And in the midst of your existential crisis over condiments, you found those.”
Agatha grinned, shaking one of the vials. “Mari must’ve stashed them for safekeeping. And now, they’re in my very capable hands.”
Rio’s lips curled, but her arms stayed crossed. “And what exactly do you plan to do with them?”
Agatha held up a particularly golden one, watching the liquid swirl inside. “Temporary enchantments. Each one does something different.” She held up another. “This one extends whatever I wish for to the person who drinks it.”
“And what exactly are you wishing for, Agatha?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” She didn’t even bother explaining the two because she’d forgotten and she already threw the note away. Not that it mattered. This vial was the important one.
Rio took a slow step forward and plucked the vial from Agatha’s fingers, rolling it between her own. “I hope this isn’t some kind of prank.”
Agatha gasped, all mock offense. “I am deeply wounded.”
Rio just gave her a look. Agatha winked. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
“That’s the worst part. I actually do.”
The liquid slid down Rio’s throat with a strange, smooth warmth. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. She raised an eyebrow, setting the empty vial on the nightstand. “Well, that was anticlimactic. Was that just glowing water?”
“Maybe you’re just not paying close enough attention.” Agatha bit her lip.
Rio didn’t have time to respond. A sudden warmth bloomed low in her belly, and it spread, slow and insistent, until it settled between her legs. Her hands moved to her hips instinctively, “Agatha…”
Agatha leaned forward, her eyes dark with mischief as she surveyed Rio’s reaction. “Feeling something?” she asked.
Her eyes dropped pointedly, and Rio followed it. Realisation slammed into her like a freight train. Her cheeks flamed as she groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Agatha bounced a brow, tracing lazy circles on the sheets. “I figured if we were going to keep things ‘normal’ tonight, we might as well make it a little interesting. Think of it as a... makeshift enhancement.”
Agatha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and she tilted her head as she studied Rio and mocked her with her own words. “Not mad, are you? You always say you’re up for a challenge.”
“Oh, I’m not mad. But you’d better be ready. Because tonight, there’s not going to be a moment of rest.”
Agatha’s laughter filled the room, a confident sound that only made Rio’s heart race faster. “Promises, promises,” Agatha clicked her tongue.
She moved up to lay back against the pillows, her chest rising and falling in slow breaths, but Rio could feel the way her body responded, how it craved what was coming, even if Agatha refused to say it aloud.
Rio smirked, crawling on top of her and trailing a single finger down the centre of Agatha’s dress teasing the neckline.
She hummed, her mouth brushing the corner of Agatha’s lips before moving lower, pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse point at her neck. Her tongue flicked against Agatha’s throat, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make Agatha inhale sharply. Her fingers dug into the sheets, but she refused to reach for Rio, refusing to give her the satisfaction of knowing just how much she needed this.
Rio, of course, already knew.
Slowly, methodically, Rio kissed down Agatha’s collarbone, her lips and tongue tasting every inch of exposed skin. She took her time unzipping Agatha’s dress, letting her fingers brush teasingly against her back, her ass, anywhere but where Agatha wanted her most.
Agatha trembled, her patience thinning. “You’re taking your time,” she noted, though Rio didn’t miss the way her hips shifted, seeking friction as they pulled the dress over Agatha’s body.
Rio grinned, her hands sliding lower, fingertips skimming over Agatha’s thighs, barely there. “You always get what you want, don’t you, huh?”
Agatha’s smirk remained, but it faltered just slightly when Rio’s thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, massaging in slow, firm circles.
A sharp gasp left Agatha’s lips before she could stop it.
Rio chuckled darkly. “There it is,” she murmured.
She pressed deeper, rolling her thumbs over the sensitive muscles, feeling the way Agatha’s thighs twitched under her touch. “You always pretend you’re in control,” Rio whispered against Agatha’s skin, placing a kiss just above her hip, “but your body always tells the truth.”
Agatha’s fingers curled into the sheets, her panties soaked. Sure, she could have any witch, any warlock she wanted. She could take lovers, discard them when she was bored. But none of them knew her body like Rio. None of them could undo her with a touch the way she could.
Rio’s hands kneaded into her thighs again, her mouth following the path of her fingers, kissing, licking, biting just enough to make Agatha’s hips jerk.
“Still in control?” Rio taunted.
Agatha opened her mouth to retort, but then-
The press of something new, something different, between her legs. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down, meeting Rio’s smug, wicked gaze.
“Oh, I see,” Agatha said. “You’ve been waiting to play with your little enhancement, haven’t you?”
Rio smirked, rocking her hips just slightly, teasing. “Maybe.”
Agatha lifted a brow, her nails dragging lightly over Rio’s shoulders, feeling the heat of her skin. “And?”
Rio leaned in, her mouth ghosting over Agatha’s ear as she whispered, “And I think you’re going to love it.”
“Big words,” Agatha teased.
Rio grinned, tilting Agatha’s chin up with a finger before pressing a steady kiss to her lips, stealing whatever words she had left.
But Lady Death was in no rush.
She pushed herself up and stood against the bed. She slowly started undoing her own dress, having already kicked off her high heels. Each slip of fabric revealed more golden skin, the defined lines of her collarbones, the teasing swell of her chest. She shrugged the dress off and stepped out.
Agatha watched, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, the anticipation coiling hot and tight in her stomach.
Rio smirked, like she could feel Agatha’s eyes eating her up. “Enjoying the show?”
Agatha narrowed her gaze, but there was no bite in it. Just hunger. “You always did love an audience.”
Rio hummed, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. “Maybe,” she said as her breast fell free from the cups. “But only because I love when you watch me.”
Agatha didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Not when Rio hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and eased them down, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them.
And there it was. The reason Rio had been teasing, drawing this out.
Her cock, thick, long, and pulsing with magic, stood proudly between her legs, bobbing to life with every breath she took.
Agatha’s mouth went dry.
Rio let her look, let her ache, before stepping closer, the bed dipping as she knelt over Agatha again. “I should make you wait,” Rio murmured, reaching out to brush a thumb over Agatha’s parted lips.
Agatha had already stripped down in the time it took Rio to undress, and the sight of her skin flushed, chest rising in shallow breaths, legs parted just enough was enough to make Rio ache in return.
Though, she wasn’t done playing.
Agatha pulled Rio down in one swift motion, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was messy, desperate, almost angry with how much she needed her. Their bodies pressed flush, nipples grazing against each other, sending sparks of pleasure down to Agatha’s already throbbing core.
The cock slid between her legs, not quite inside, just winding her up, dragging against her soaked folds. She whimpered, barely recognising the sound as her own.
Rio grinned against her lips, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. “Something wrong?” she asked, even as she shifted her hips to let the tip of the cock nudge against Agatha’s entrance before pulling away again.
Agatha growled, frustration clawing at her throat. “You-”
She cut herself off, inhaled, willing herself not to give in so easily. She was Agatha Harkness, damn it. She didn’t beg.
Except with Rio. With Rio, she was already falling apart.
She pouted, an honest-to-god pout, her nails digging into Rio’s back as she arched up against her. “Please,” she whispered.
Rio stilled, as if savouring the moment, her smirk flickering into something softer. She dipped down, pecking her lips, before bracing her hands on either side of her head, pinning her in place.
She held Agatha there, her dark eyes locking onto hers, searching, drinking in every sign of need, every ounce of desperation she refused to say aloud.
Only when she was certain Agatha was fully under her spell did Rio finally, achingly slowly, push inside.
Agatha’s groaned, her nails curling into Rio’s shoulders as her body stretched around the intrusion, molten pleasure spreading through her limbs.
Rio didn’t move. Not yet.
She stayed there, fully inside but still, making Agatha feel every inch, every pulse of magic thrumming between them.
“Look at me,” Rio whispered.
Agatha’s lashes fluttered, her body fighting between relief and frustration as she forced herself to meet Rio’s gaze.
Rio tilted her head, biting her lip. “Good girl.”
Then, at last, she moved, but Agatha was already wrecked.
Her body was a mess of sweat and need, her head thrown back against the pillows as Rio moved at a deliberately, torturous rhythm.
Inch by inch, Rio pushed in, then pulled back, keeping her at the very edge. Agatha groaned as Rio rolled her hips just right, pressing against that sweet, aching spot inside her.
Agatha’s body tensed. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
Rio dipped her head, dragging her lips along the curve of Agatha’s jaw before whispering, “Of course I am.”
Agatha, having had enough, rolled her hips up, meeting Rio’s movement with a sharp thrust, but Rio stilled, pinning her down, keeping her exactly where she wanted her.
“Patience, my love,” Rio murmured against her skin, her lips trailing down Agatha’s throat, her breath hot and maddening. “I want to feel you come apart slowly.”
Agatha let out something between a groan and a growl. Her thighs trembled, her body burning under Rio’s torment. The pressure built and built, every inch of her skin alight with need.
Rio pulsed inside her, her cock shifting perfectly with every thrust.
Agatha couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She grabbed at Rio’s lower back this time, her nails digging into flesh, desperate for more.
Rio hissed at the sting but didn’t stop. Didn’t hurry. Instead, she moaned, deep and guttural, rolling her hips in a way that sent heat shooting up Agatha’s spine.
Agatha’s nails dragged down again, harder this time, marking her, claiming her, needing more.
“You like that?” Agatha gasped.
Rio exhaled sharply, her body shuddering against her. “I love it.”
Agatha smirked, her hands tangling into Rio’s hair to yank at it gently but with a hint of rage. “Then fuck me properly.”
Rio groaned against her lips, snapping her hips forward, hard and deep. Agatha cried out, her back arching as pleasure crashed over her, sharp and dizzying. Rio grinned against her mouth.
Agatha’s hands had somehow grabbed handfuls of Rio’s ass, holding her still, keeping her there.
“No more teasing,” Agatha hissed. “You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”
Rio exhaled sharply, her composure wavering as Agatha squeezed, her nails biting into flesh. “You’re impossible,” Rio muttered, but her voice was hoarse, boy, did she love annoying the woman.
Agatha grinned, all teeth, her breath hot against Rio’s ear. “And you love it.”
She barely registered anything beyond the blissful aftershocks wracking her body as they both let out a string of moans. Agatha felt warm and fuzzy in all the best ways possible as Rio filled her up.
After a moment, Rio pressed a lazy, lingering kiss to Agatha’s collarbone, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Better?”
Agatha let out a breathy laugh, her head lolling to the side, still bliss-drunk. “I still might hex you.”
Rio grinned. “Worth it.”
Her lover was still trembling, the aftershocks shivering down her spine, but satisfaction had a way of sharpening her focus. Especially when Rio, damn her, was lying on top of her, smug, thrumming with control even as she let Agatha turn them onto their sides.
Agatha’s fingers brushed over Rio’s cheek. She could feel the way her breath hitched at the touch, the way her lashes flickered just slightly, betraying how much she felt. It was a rare and beautiful sight.
Agatha hummed, brushing a thumb over Rio’s bottom lip before asking, “Is it my turn now?”
Rio didn’t hesitate. She nodded, her smirk indulgent. Expectant.
Of course, she loved this. The chase, the build, the fact that getting Agatha to the edge meant she would give more in return.
And Agatha had every intention of making her pay for it.
Her smirk sharpened just before she bit down, lips and teeth marking the side of Rio’s left breast. Rio inhaled, her fingers tearing a petal nearby.
“Getting cocky already?” Rio rasped.
Agatha lifted her head, lips curling as she flipped them, shifting smoothly until she was the one straddling Rio.
“You’re one to talk,” Agatha mused, dragging her nails down the length of Rio’s stomach, watching with glee as the muscles beneath her touch tensed.
Rio exhaled through her nose, her control slipping as Agatha moved, still very much buried inside Agatha, the delicious friction making them both gasp.
“Oh,” Agatha purred, rolling her hips, enough to make Rio’s breath stutter, but not enough to give her what she wanted. “Sensitive, are we?”
Rio swallowed, her jaw tightening. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
She leaned down, her lips ghosting over Rio’s chest, over the spot where she could feel her heartbeat racing.
“You took your time with me,” Agatha murmured, dragging her teeth just lightly along the skin, “seems only fair I return the favour.”
Rio groaned, her hands gripping Agatha’s hips. “Oh, my love,” she whispered, knowing exactly what her words did to Rio. “You’re throbbing.”
Rio’s pupils blown wide, her breath catching, oh, that was satisfying. Agatha kissed the corner of Rio’s mouth, light, barely there.
“Think you can handle it?” she teased.
Rio’s laugh was breathless, and there was something near-worshipful in the way she looked at Agatha. “I can handle you.”
Agatha smirked. “Then prove it.”
And with that, she moved, setting a rhythm designed to drive Rio out of her mind. She was going to take her time with this. After all, Rio had earned it.
She rode Rio like she was casting a spell with her body, like every sharp bounce, every grind of hips and graze of nails, was an incantation meant to break them both.
Lips, teeth, tongue, God, Rio’s mouth was searing against her chest, sucking and tugging at Agatha's taut nipples, making Agatha arch, making her pant, making her lose her mind.
But just when Rio started to tremble, just when she’s close, Agatha stopped.
Lifted herself up and off, shuddering, thighs shaking, because damn it, she felt just as tortured as Rio looked.
Rio twitched beneath her, ruined, panting, but unable to do a thing about it.
“Agatha.” It was a warning, low and wrecked.
Agatha just grinned, breathless, chest heaving. She tilted her head, looking at Rio, at the way her tip was swollen and glistening from Agatha alone.
“Mm,” she hummed, voice syrupy-sweet, teasing. “You look desperate.”
Rio’s nostrils flared. Her body coiled, her hands clenched into fists against the sheets, and for a split second, Agatha wondered if she’d gone too far.
Fast. Unyielding. Her hand snapped up, fingers curled around Agatha’s throat, firm but not rough, just enough pressure to make Agatha feel it, to make her shudder.
Rio pulled her in close, so close that Agatha could feel the heat of her breath against her lips, could see the fire in her eyes.
“You think you’re funny?” Rio rasped, voice shredded, vibrating with a frustration that Agatha knew meant she was close.
Agatha hummed in agreement, as she moved back to sit between Rio’s legs. Her lips trailed wet, sloppy kisses along the length of Rio’s cock, which still pulsed. As her tongue darted out to taste it, Rio jolted, a gasp escaping her lips.
“Ah," Rio choked out, her head falling back against the pillows.
Agatha smirked against her skin, her tongue swirling around the tip. The way Rio’s body reacted was intoxicating, every twitch, every shudder, every breathless moan fueled Agatha’s desire.
"You’re so beautiful, you know," Agatha teased, her voice low sultry. She glanced up, her gaze meeting Rio’s, who was looking down at her with a mixture of awe and desperation.
"Stop trying to be sweet and just get done," Rio managed to say, her voice breaking as Agatha’s lips wrapped around her and sucked gently.
Agatha chuckled, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through Rio’s body. "You love it," she replied before diving back in, her tongue tracing every curve as though memorising the way it made Rio come undone.
Rio’s hands came down to rub at her own nipples, her body writhing beneath Agatha’s ministrations. Each flick of her tongue, each gentle swirl, was torture.
“Agatha, please,” Rio cried.
“Please, what?” Agatha asked, her voice muffled as she continued her work. She glanced up briefly, teary-eyed. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” Rio gasped, her hands reaching down to thread through Agatha’s hair. "Gods, just-"
Her words dissolved into a strangled cry as Agatha took more of her cock into her mouth. When Agatha finally pulled back, her lips glistening, Rio was trembling. Agatha chuckled before diving back in, her tongue flicking repeatedly over the tip of her so fast.
Rio’s body tightened, her breathing becoming erratic as she felt the tension twisting impossibly tight in her core.
Agatha didn’t stop, her hands gripping Rio’s hips as her tongue continued its relentless assault. Rio’s back arched sharply, her legs trembling as the tension snapped. A warm, wet surge spilled over Agatha’s chest, the intensity of it making Rio cry out again, her voice breaking with the force of her release.
And Agatha? She watched, swallowing Rio and soaked in the sight, sated, undone, completely wrecked and grinned.
Then, of course, she saw it.
The absolute mess on Agatha’s chest, streaked and creamy, dripping down skin and onto her breast. For once, Rio actually looked embarrassed.
“Well, that was spectacular.” Agatha groaned, lifting a boob to rhythmically suck at her own cum covered nipple.
Rio whined and covered her face with an arm. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”
“Oh, come now,” Agatha melted, moving to gently lay on Rio, her own juices sliding down her thighs. “It’s beautiful.”
Rio peeked at her, sceptical before Agatha kissed her, swallowing the last of her lingering embarrassment, coaxing her into something sweeter.
By the time Rio finally fell asleep, curled into Agatha’s warmth, after a failed attempt to count sheep to at least seventy-seven, Agatha simply stared at her.
She traced Rio’s nose, then her lips, then the small mole near cheek.
And then-
Shit.
Because a thought slithered into her mind. A possibility she had brushed off exactly seven times before but- Well.
They had definitely just shattered that record tonight. She bit her lip. Rio’s enhancement was magic, sure, but that didn’t mean-
She sighed. Ugh. Whatever. She’d deal with it tomorrow.
The next morning came with the golden light of dawn streaming through the hotel windows as Rio and Agatha stood under the warm spray of the shower. Agatha leaned her head back, water cascading down her face, as Rio playfully soaped her shoulders.
“You know,” Rio teased, her voice husky from sleep, “if we don’t leave soon, we’re going to have to pay for another night. And while I wouldn’t mind...” Her fingers trailing down Agatha’s spine.
Agatha hummed, stepping closer to Rio with a wicked grin. “Don’t tempt me. But we should at least make breakfast memorable.”
Not long after, the two found themselves sitting in a cozy corner of a bustling diner. Plates of deep-fried Twinkies and peanut butter banana pancakes sat between them, decadent, borderline absurd dishes that felt perfect for the city’s quirky indulgence. Rio sceptically eyed her Twinkie, her fork hovering above it.
“People eat this willingly?” she asked, raising a brow at Agatha, who was already digging into her pancakes.
“They do,” Agatha said around a mouthful, grinning. “And if you’re lucky, I won’t tease you if you actually like it.”
Rio rolled her eyes but took a cautious bite, her expression shifting from suspicion to surprised delight.
“Ok,” she admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “This is disgustingly good. What kind of magic is this?”
“Vegas magic,” Agatha quipped, nudging Rio’s knee under the table.
Later, the Cadillac glided smoothly through the Nevada desert, the sun climbing higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the sand and rocks. The cool breeze teased the edges of Agatha's hair, which fluttered beneath her sunglasses, while Rio sat in the passenger seat, her legs stretched out.
This Valentine’s Day shindig had made them both realise a lot. For one, Rio was never one to dive into anything too vulnerable, but lately, something in her had changed. It had become more difficult to ignore the way Rio’s eyes lingered, the quiet thoughts she let slip in moments of distraction, the way she would sometimes look at Agatha like she was seeing her for the first time.
"Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if we had a kid?"
It was such a casual question, careless, even. But it struck Agatha like a lightning bolt, the kind of thing that would shatter everything if she let herself think too hard about it. She glanced over at Rio, who was staring out the window, eyes distant, like she didn’t even mean to say it.
“A kid?” Agatha repeated.
Rio nodded slowly, almost absentmindedly. "Yeah. Like... a little boy. Our boy."
The desert never-ending in front of them, but it felt like time itself had stopped, holding its breath. Agatha didn’t know how to respond, not because she didn’t want to, but because she was scared to.
She couldn’t stop the thoughts that began to flood her mind. A child. A tiny little thing that would be the perfect mix of them both, laughter and stubbornness, naughtiness and intelligence. They could’ve been parents, together. She could imagine it, just for a second, a daydream so perfect that it felt almost painful.
She cleared her throat, focusing on the road again, but she couldn’t shake the image from her mind. “Ok. If we had a boy... what do you think he’d be like?”
Rio inhaled longingly as she allowed herself to imagine the same thing. She let the words roll off her tongue, almost as if she were talking to herself. “He’d have your laugh,” she said affectionately. “Loud, infectious. The kind of laugh that makes everyone around him want to join in, even if they don’t know what the joke is.”
Agatha chuckled at that, though it was tight, controlled. She could picture it, her son, with that laugh. It would be so much like hers. That alone made her heart ache.
"And he’d have your stubborn streak. God help anyone who tries to tell him what to do."
Rio smiled, a genuine curve of her lips that lingered, a small flash of mischief in her eyes. “Definitely. He’d never listen to anyone but us.”
Agatha leaned back, allowing herself to enjoy the moment, even as her heart twisted. The idea of a family, of them having a family, was impossible. Ridiculous.
“And he’d love the outdoors, like me,” Rio continued, her voice taking on a faraway tone, “Always running off to climb trees, chase bugs, get into all kinds of trouble. But he’d be smart, too. Too smart for his own good.”
"A clever little thing who’s always two steps ahead, huh?"
“Exactly.” Rio’s eyes let up, but then she blinked. “But he’d be kind, too. Kind like you. Even though you hide it. Not that anyone else would appreciate that, but... I think you’d like that.”
Agatha’s chest tightened. "Kind, huh?" She let out a little laugh. "Yeah, he’d have to be kind." She cleared her throat, struggling to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "He’d need to be good. All the things we weren’t, I guess."
Rio whispered. "Yeah. He’d have both of us, wouldn’t he?"
It was too much. The dream that would never be. Agatha felt like that deep-fried twinkie had done her dirty, because suddenly she felt sick to her stomach.
"If it were possible," Agatha murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them, "I think we’d make a pretty good team. Raising him. I mean."
Rio turned to her then, and for a brief moment, their eyes met, dense. searching, like they were both wondering the same thing. Could they? Should they? What if this life, the one where they had everything they needed, was just a whisper away?
“Yeah,” Rio nodded. “I think so, too.”
There was no future where they could have this child, no life where they could build a family. Agatha was still tied to her powers, to her coven, to the endless obligations that came with being Agatha Harkness. Rio was Lady Death, forever tethered to the inevitable end.
But the fantasy was winsome. The dream of a life they could never have, the life they both secretly craved.
Agatha bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying more, from voicing the pang she felt whenever she thought about Rio slipping away, about losing something she hadn’t even realised she was afraid of losing.
Rio sighed, the sound almost wistful. “I like to think we’d be happy,” she said. “Even if it was just for a little while.”
Agatha’s heart squeezed at the words. She wanted to reach over, to grab Rio’s hand, to make her promise that they could find a way to be happy together. But the truth was, the promise would be empty. She wasn’t sure if they had any time left at all.
And so, the fantasy remained, beautiful but impossible. But a girl could dream, right?
Agatha had never been one to let the coven get under her skin, at least, not in recent years. Their endless teasing, nosiness, and unsubtle nudges had always been a predictable blend of amusement and irritation. Normally, she would have flicked them away like an errant spark, barely sparing them a second thought.
But today… Today, she just wanted to be.
Maybe it was the weight of the days before. Maybe it was the way Rio’s voice still sat in her mind, the warmth of her hands still pressed into her skin like an imprint, a spell she hadn’t meant to cast.
Or maybe it was because for the first time in a long time Agatha wasn’t just deflecting their questions.
She was actually thinking about Rio.
Adela nudged her with a smirk, ever the instigator. “So, Agatha, you’re back. And alive, I see. Care to tell us all how the desert fared? Or should we just assume Rio kept you... preoccupied?”
The others erupted into laughter, waggling their eyebrows in a way that would’ve been downright childish if it weren’t so aggravatingly accurate.
Agatha should have met their teasing with a dry retort. A please, as if to send them all scattering.
Instead, she just... smiled. Faintly. Distractedly.
She could still feel Rio’s lips against hers. Could still hear the breathy way she had said Agatha’s name, like it meant something more than just a collection of syllables.
The witch trailed off, “It was fine. The desert was... hot.”
Carmen arched an eyebrow. “That’s all you’ve got? Hot?”
It was hardly the poetic account they were expecting. The witches leaned in closer, their voices overlapping, their curiosity mounting.
“Did she do that thing where she talks about plants like they’re her children?”
"Do you think she ever just... snaps her fingers and makes her exes disappear?"
“Or did you two finally-”
“Oh, please,” Olive cut in, eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “Leave the scandalous details to me. I’ll fill in the blanks.”
Agatha rolled her eyes, but her face was warm. Not from embarrassment, really. Just... Well. She glanced toward the open window, listening to the distant chime of bells from the square.
Barely twelve hours since they had returned to Salem, and already, Rio was gone. She had to be. It wasn’t as if Death could take a holiday, no matter how much Agatha wished otherwise.
“She had to go,” Agatha hummed, almost to herself.
The laughter faded, replaced by silence in the room. Even Mari, who rarely let up, hesitated, looking up from the blanket she was knitting.
“What do you mean she had to go?”
Agatha exhaled, tracing the edge of the table with absent fingers. “I mean her duties called. Literally. The second we stepped foot back in Salem, the air shifted. You could feel it, like the universe itself was pulling her back.”
The witches exchanged glances, their mirth replaced with understanding. They had always known Rio was different, but it wasn’t something Agatha often put into words.
Because words made things real, and real was dangerous.
Olive, always the motherly one, waved a dramatic hand. “She’ll come back. She always does. So, seriously, what happened? Don’t think we haven’t noticed. You’ve been glowing ever since you came back.”
Mari, quick with a sly grin, leaned in. “She’s got to be something special if she managed to get you to go on an auction date. No one gets past Agatha without a fight. So, tell us...”
Agatha smirked, dragging out the silence just long enough to watch them all lean in. Then, with a theatrical sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine. You all want the juicy bits, huh?”
Selene’s hand shot up. “Yes! Obviously!”
The room fell silent, waiting.
And Agatha, Agatha let herself think about Rio.
About the vivid lights of Vegas danced across her face. In a rare moment of weakness, she had pulled Agatha close, as if drawn to her without thinking. Her deep brown eyes seemed to see right through Agatha’s carefully kept secrets.
And her smile.
“Oh, we didn't do much, but she was happy,” Agatha started, almost absently, not about to entirely tell them about her not-so-ordinary and very-much-forbidden trip to Vegas, “she has this smile, you know.”
Adela scoffed playfully. “Ugh. Pathetic.”
Agatha ignored her. “It’s not just any smile. It’s... it’s like it could light up a whole room. And it’s real. Like, she doesn’t even try to smile. It’s just there, waiting, like it belongs. Through this whole trip. And when she smiles at me-”
She hesitated, feeling butterflies in her belly. “When she smiles at me,” the woman continued, “it’s like nothing else matters. All that guarded, stubborn nonsense just melts away, and it’s just... her.”
Silence. The witches were staring.
Carmen, arms crossed, spoke first. “So. You’re smitten.”
Agatha scoffed. “I am not-”
“Oh, shut up.” Selene pressed a dramatic hand to her heart. “We can hear your heart racing. It’s pathetic. It’s endearing.”
Agatha groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Her eyes are brown, yes, but they’re not just brown. They’re... a shade of brown that no one else has. They’re muted. Like she can see straight through me, and-” Agatha stopped, swallowing.
And still like what she sees.
She wasn’t about to say that. Instead, she added, “And she’s got these moles, right? On her shoulder, her neck. Tiny little things I can’t help but trace with my fingers. Like little mysteries.”
Magdalena gasped. “STOP. I can’t handle this.”
Agatha laughed, She had never felt the need to explain before. Never wanted to. But with Rio, it wasn’t about wanting, it was about knowing, because Agatha had always known. She was in love with Rio Vidal.
“Sounds like someone’s head over heels.” Olive pointed.
Mari grinned. “Or should we say heart over heels?”
The room burst into laughter, but this time, Agatha didn’t roll her eyes.
Instead, she smirked. “Maybe,” she said, slow and deliberate, “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
The fire had burnt for hours in Agatha’s cottage that very night. She exhaled, pressing her fingers into the knots at the back of her neck. She wasn’t tired, not in the way a person should be. No, exhaustion had wrapped around her ribs, and no amount of hours of sleep could help.
She had expected a knock at the door. A very particular knock.
Three short raps, followed by a pause, then another. Rio’s knock. Always impatient, as if she were challenging the wood itself to hold her back.
When the knock finally came, it wasn’t Rio. It was her mother.
Evanora didn’t wait to be invited in, she never did. The door barely creaked open before she swept inside, a chilling presence against the room. She wore moonlight-like armour, her dark cloak pooling at her feet, the scent of burning rosemary and old parchment clinging to the air.
Agatha stiffened. “Charming of you to visit, Mother. I was just thinking my evening could use a little more doom.”
Evanora ignored her, surveying the cottage with that hawk-like gaze, the way she always did when she was searching for something that didn't belong. “You’ve been quiet since you returned from your outing.”
“Perhaps I’m simply enjoying the peace.”
A slow smirk curled at the corner of Evanora’s mouth, humourless as ever. “Peace has never suited you.”
She moved then, circling Agatha like a wolf scenting weakness. “You’ve forgotten what tonight is.”
Agatha scoffed. “Oh, do remind me. A grand occasion, I’m sure.”
Evanora’s eyes narrowed. “Tonight marks the anniversary of the Hartford trials. A reminder of what was stolen from us. What could have been.”
The witch trials. Of course.
Agatha was hardly affected. She had vowed long ago not to let it define her, but Evanora? Evanora wore it like a crown of thorns.
“Let me guess,” Agatha spat, crossing her arms. “You want to rally the coven, make some grand declaration of vengeance? I hate to disappoint, Mother, but I’m fresh out of interest.”
Evanora stopped abruptly, tilting her head as if hearing something beyond the realm of human ears. Then, she lifted a hand and waved it slowly over Agatha’s body.
It felt like static crawling onto Agatha’s skin. Her stomach twisted. Evanora’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Your energy is different,” she murmured.
Agatha schooled her face into careful indifference. “Well, that’s vague and ominous.”
“It’s softened. Diluted. Touched by something… or someone.”
Her mother’s gaze sharpened, and for a single, terrifying second, Agatha swore she could feel Rio’s hands ghosting over her skin, where she had held her the night before, where she had traced absentminded patterns against her wrist, where she had whispered things Agatha still wasn’t ready to admit she wanted to hear.
Agatha forced a smirk, stepping back. “Well, you know me. I do love a good energy cleanse.”
Evanora stared at her for a long time before exhaling. “Be careful where you let your power wander, Agatha.”
And then, just as swiftly as she came, her mother turned on her heel and vanished into the night.
The door clicked shut behind her. Agatha didn’t move. Not at first.
She stood there, letting the tension bleed out of her, then finally leaned back against the door with a long, slow sigh.
And then a small slip of paper slid under the door.
She blinked. The second she saw the elegant scrawl of Rio’s handwriting, her pulse skipped.
Agatha crouched down to pick it up. Unfolding it, her eyes skimmed the ink, and despite herself, despite the evening, despite her mother, despite the silly ache growing in her chest, she smiled.
How to Steal Death’s Heart in 24 Hours
(A Very Incomplete Guide by One Agatha Harkness)
Step One: Win her in an auction, because of course she makes you fight for it. Pretend you don’t mind spending a fortune just to watch her smirk like she already owns you.
Step Two: Take her on the smoothest date of your life. Make her laugh. Make her roll her eyes. Make her think, for just a second, that maybe she’s not the only one in control here.
Step Three: Let her lead you into the unknown. Into the flashing neon haze of Las Vegas, where sin is currency and the rules bend like the cards in a magician’s hand.
Step Four: Watch her terrify strangers at the blackjack table by casually telling them their life expectancy. Sit back, sip your drink, and enjoy the show.
Step Five: Take her to the hotel room. Undress her like she’s a secret you weren’t meant to find. Lose yourself in her, over and over, until morning becomes nothing more than a distant threat.
Step Six: Wake up. Look at her. Know, with bone-deep certainty, that she has already won.
(P.S. Happy Valentine’s Day. If you open the door, you might just get Step Seven.)
Agatha stared at the words, and groaned, stomping her feet like a toddler. She should roll her eyes. Scoff. Make some sarcastic remark to no one in particular. But instead, fate help her, she just stood there, clutching the paper like it might disappear if she let go.
She reread Step Six. Twice.
And then, because she was absolutely doomed, because she was Agatha Harkness and she never learned, she reached for the handle.
"Hell, I'm so predictable," she muttered.
The door creaked open.
And Rio was waiting, smirking like she definitely already knew the ending to this story.