#I like Rio Vidal and I like seals

[tremordusk]

Agatha: What can I say? I like the bad boys.

The bad boy in question:

Rio during episode 4:

[inkperch]

Anyone have any recs for Agathario fics set in the Hex that don't butcher Wanda's character? :/

[d-z20]

Where There's Anger, There's Still Love (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Agathario+U 4eva... or maybe not. After Nicky was born, Agatha tried to outrun fate. When he died, she hid behind the Darkhold. It's been centuries, but finally you and Rio can sense her presence again and decide to go and confront the witch... and your lingering feelings for eachother

-OR-

You've missed her, Rio's missed her, and she's missed you both. What better way to welcome her back then with your fingers and mouths?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon divergence, reader is a healer/white witch but it's not a major plot point, smut, top Rio, top reader, bottom Agatha, threesome, fingering, oral sex/cunnilingus, minor angst/hurt, comfort, maybe more idk I'm tired and can't think properly

Words: 3.5k

A/N: Two fics in two days? who am I?!?! Requested fic

Masterlist

The memories of your past come in honeyed fragments, softened by time but no less potent. Agatha’s sharp and wicked laughter, how it used to spill over Rio’s amused huffs, and curled around you like the low flicker of a candle’s flame. The three of you built something rare. A love that glowed from the inside out, that didn’t just exist but thrived. It was weighty, permanent—at least, you thought it was. A promise spoken between lips that knew the taste of each other’s magic. Sealed in touches that lingered long after the heat had faded.

You remember nights in their arms, bodies tangled beneath moonlight that filtered through worn curtains. Rio’s calloused fingers trailing idly over your stomach, Agatha’s lips pressing against the pulse at your throat, soft and absent-mindedly, as if she were memorising the rhythm of your life. You were the warmth between them, the gentle touch to their sharp edges. Where Agatha was wit and deception, and Rio was raw and unrelenting power, you were something softer, something whole. A balance. A balm.

But then came Nicholas. A love-born tragedy.

You remember the night he was born—the way Agatha screamed, not from the pain of labour but from the knowledge of what awaited him. You remember Rio, standing by the river, flower in hand, shadows pooling at her feet.

“He was never meant for this world,” Rio had said, voice low, heavy. Certain. “His soul is not his to keep.”

Agatha had turned to you then, eyes wet and frantic. “You can fix him. Please. You can heal him.” Her fingers had clutched your wrists, her magic sparking against your skin. Desperation made a ruin of her.

You knew the truth even then. There was no healing what was never meant to be whole. But you had nodded, because how could you not? How could you bear to be the one who let hope die in her hands?

Rio had sighed, something deep and aching. “I can give him time. That is all.”

It was not enough. But Agatha took it anyway.

And so she ran. She ran from Rio, from you, from inevitability itself, as if distance alone could rewrite fate. And for six years, it almost seemed like it worked.

Nicholas laughed and played and lived. He was warm in her arms, bright in her eyes, whole in a way no borrowed thing should ever be. You visited when you could, but Agatha kept you at arm’s length, afraid of what you represented. Afraid of the truth you carried in your silence.

You had told her once: You cannot save him from his fate. You can only love him through it. But Agatha had never been one to accept inevitability.

And then, one night, he closed his eyes, never to open them again.

He had fallen asleep curled against Agatha’s side, his small fingers still tangled in the fabric of her shirt. When she woke, he was cold. Gone.

You weren’t there when it happened. But you arrived to the sound of Agatha’s grief tearing through the forest, through you, through the very bones of the world. She was still holding him, her body curled around his, whispering prayers into his cold skin. Rio stood at their feet, quiet, unmoving. It wasn’t cruelty. It wasn’t indifference. It was duty, old as time itself.

"You took him," Agatha choked, her voice hoarse from all the crying.

"You knew I would," Rio said.

You reached for Agatha, hands trembling, but she did not see you. Did not feel you. There was only pain. You saw it in the way her shoulders curled inward, in the way her fingers clutched at Nicky’s lifeless form, as if keeping him close could bring him back again.

"You let this happen," she spat. And you knew she wasn’t speaking to Rio alone.

His death left an open wound, and Agatha—Agatha turned her grief into something serrated, something that cut as deep as the loss itself. She did not cry in your arms. She did not seek comfort in the home the three of you had built. Instead, she wielded her sorrow like a weapon and turned it against the only two people who still held onto her.

She couldn't bear to look at either of you—not when every glance felt like a reminder of the choice she had been forced to make, of the son she couldn’t save. In her eyes, Rio had taken him, and you had let it happen.

So, she left again. Hiding behind the Darkhold, where neither you nor Rio could reach her.

You searched at first. You wrote letters and traced spells into candle wax, hoping she’d feel you reaching for her. You went to places you knew she’d been, places where she had used her power, places where the walls still hummed with her presence. You stood outside doors that would never open and called her name into the kind of silence that bruised.

Again, and again, and again.

But she never answered.

Without Agatha, you and Rio had only each other to hold onto. And by the Divine Mother, how you held on. In the beginning, it was desperate; grief spilling from both of you in sharp edges, in hands that clutched too tightly, in breaths that stuttered against each other’s skin. It was unbearable alone, the weight of her absence pressing like stone against your ribs. But together? Together, it became something almost survivable.

Rio burnt with it. She drank her sorrow like poison; let it settle in her marrow; let it shape the way she carried herself—spine stiff, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear her teeth creak. But when she touched you, she softened. And you let her. You let her bury her face against your chest when the nights stretched too long. You let her kiss you slowly; let her hands map the familiar lines of your body as if she were afraid that they too would disappear. You let her love you in the only way she knew how.

She still loved Agatha. You still loved Agatha. But Rio also loves you, and you love her back. So, you built something steady. Something good.

It wasn’t the same; it could never be the same, but it was real. It was healing spells traced onto her back while she read; her body was never hurt but you hoped (in vain) that it could ease the pain in her heart. It was her hands in your hair, the rough pad of her thumb sweeping against your temple. It was always leaving a place at the table for Agatha.

Some nights, you dreamt of her. You’d wake with the ghost of her scent lingering in the air—woody and slightly florally, but with something dark and electric curling at the edges too. It feels like she’s still there, just beyond your reach.

Some nights, Rio whispered in the dark, “Do you think she’ll ever come back to us?”

And you never had an answer. You don’t know if Agatha is someone you’re meant to find again or if she has gone too far from you both to ever be whole in your hands. You only know that Rio still reaches for her in sleep, just as you do. That there is a space between you both that no amount of love, no amount of time, has ever truly filled.

So instead of answering, you’d press a kiss to Rio’s bare shoulder. You’d listen to her breathe. You’d hold her the way you wish you could hold Agatha.

—

The moment Wanda takes the Darkhold from Agatha, and she is left powerless, Rio gasps—a sharp, guttural sound that cracks through the quiet. Her entire body seizes, every muscle locking tight, her fingers digging into the bed like she’s trying to ground herself against something unseen. The air around you constricts and hums with the sudden shift in power, with the absence of something that had tethered itself to Agatha for too long.

"I can feel her."

Rio's voice is raw, almost broken, and your heart stutters; it misses a beat.

It’s been so long, and yet you can feel her too.

Knowing strikes like lightning. Magic thrums in your veins, pulling you toward her. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing.

Rio is already halfway out of bed, her breath uneven, her hands trembling. You reach for her, pressing your palm against the back of her neck to ground her, letting your own magic weave into the space between you. She leans into it for only a second before pulling away, eyes full of something you haven’t seen in years: hope.

“She’s in Westview,” Rio says, shoving herself into the nearest pair of jeans, urgency vibrating off her skin. “I can—fuck—I can feel everything. She’s—” Her voice breaks, and she presses her hand to her chest like she’s trying to hold something in.

You’ve spent so long mourning her, searching for her in dreams and half-formed spells that never led anywhere. Now, she’s real again. Somewhere out there, stripped of the magic that kept her hidden, and you can feel her hurting.

You don’t waste another second. You reach for your boots, for the coat draped over the chair. Magic crackles between your fingertips, thrumming beneath your skin, desperate to find her.

Rio catches your gaze. "We bring her home."

There is no other option.

You nod once. Then, together, you go.

—

Westview is a graveyard of illusions. The remnants of Wanda’s hex still cling to the air, thick and suffocating, like ghosts that refuse to leave. You wade through the wreckage, through the weight of what was left behind, and find her standing amidst it all.

Agatha Harkness—stripped of power, stripped of the Darkhold’s suffocating grasp, stripped of everything but herself.

She is small in the vast emptiness. Smaller than you remember. Just a woman now, no shadows curling at her fingertips, no smirk sharpened into a blade. Just hollowed-out ribs and weary eyes and a body that looks like it might buckle under the weight of its own ruin.

Rio stops dead beside you, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Her magic pulses beneath her skin, hungry and desperate; years of grief and longing compacted into something volatile, something barely restrained. You feel it too. The way the space between you all vibrates with too much emotion, too much history.

Agatha lifts her head, eyes locking onto yours.

And the years fall away. Just for a second. Just long enough for something inside you to splinter wide open.

Her shoulders pull back, her chin tilts up—an old mask fitting over something brittle, something on the verge of collapse. “Come to gloat?” she asks, her voice carrying the remnants of the woman she used to be. Clipped, cutting. But it wavers at the edges. “Or did you just miss the sound of my voice?”

Something inside you snaps.

“You left us,” you say, voice stripped bare.

Agatha exhales sharply through her nose, something flickering behind her eyes—guilt, pain, regret—but she doesn’t let it settle. “I had nothing left.”

Rio scoffs, stepping forward, eyes burning. “So we were nothing?”

Agatha flinches, but the bitterness that twists her mouth is sharp. Defensive. “I thought you’d finally learnt to let go.”

The air between you thrums with all the things unsaid. You step forward, magic sparking at your fingertips, not as a weapon but as a manifestation of everything boiling beneath your skin—grief, fury, longing, betrayal. It crackles, raw and unchecked.

Rio doesn’t hold back. “You think you’re that easy to forget?”

She’s trying to sound angry, but the hurt is there, barely concealed. It seeps into the edges of her voice. Agatha hears it—sees it—and the mask finally falters. Her breath stutters, and she shakes her head, something dark passing over her expression.

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs, almost too quiet to hear. “None of it mattered.”

The words are meant to push you away, to wound. And they do. But more than anything, they make something deep inside you twist, furious and aching.

“You don’t get to say that.” Your voice is sharp, edged with something dangerous. “You don’t get to fucking say that after all these years—after leaving us to grieve you like you were dead. You weren’t the only one mourning Nicky.”

Agatha recoils like you’ve struck her. Her mouth opens, then closes, something frenzied building behind her ribs. “Do you think I don’t regret it?” she spits, and her voice cracks. “Do you think I don’t know what I did?”

Her breathing is ragged, hands curled into fists at her sides. She’s trembling, coming apart right in front of you, and there’s no stopping it now. The weight of it all—of Nicholas, of the choices she made, of the years spent running—it all comes crashing down, shattering what little composure she has left.

Then—then she breaks.

Agatha staggers, the weight of everything finally too much, and the second you touch her, it’s over.

She crumbles into you, into Rio, into the only arms that have ever truly held her without expectation, without demands.

Your own hands shake as you wrap them around her. You don’t know if you can still be the warmth between them, if you even should be, but Agatha shudders against you, and Rio lets out something between a choked cry and a curse, and you realise—you never stopped loving each other.

Rio presses a shaking hand to the back of Agatha’s head, pulling her in tight. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” she breathes, voice wrecked, and Agatha lets out a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

You don’t speak. You just hold her. Hold her as she clings to you, fingers twisting in your coat like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

—

You take her home. To the place she’s belonged all along.

The world outside is still broken, Agatha is still powerless, but in this small, sacred space, it’s just the three of you, tangled in grief and longing and something dangerously close to hope.

The air shifts. The fury, the jagged edges, begin to ebb away, leaving something else in its wake. Something raw. Something desperate.

Agatha reaches for you first. She kisses you like she’s drowning, like she’s trying to tether herself to something real. It’s clumsy at first, all shaky inhales and stuttered gasps, but then Rio is there—heat at your back, lips tracing a burning path along Agatha’s jaw. A sharp inhale. A low, wrecked sound that is half relief, half ruin.

It starts slow. It has to. Agatha’s fingers ghost over your skin, tentative and unsure. Rio watches, waiting, breath uneven, eyes dark. There is hesitation, the weight of too much time lost, too much pain endured.

But then Agatha gives in. She leans in, she takes, she surrenders.

When her lips crash into yours, there is no hesitation left. Only hunger. Only the desperate, unrelenting need to consume and be consumed. Hands explore, teeth catch, and nails dig into flesh like an anchor. Agatha gasps against your mouth, and then Rio is kissing her too, swallowing the sounds whole.

It’s messy. It’s frantic. It’s years of longing, grief, and anger, worked out in the way you pull at each other’s clothes, in the way Agatha’s nails dig into your back, in the way Rio’s hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise.

Agatha moans as you grind against her thigh, the fabric of your underwear soaked through, the friction delicious. Her hands tighten on your hips, guiding you, and Rio groans against the crook of your neck, voice wrecked. “I’ve missed this.”

It’s not enough. It will never be enough. Not after years of distance, of pain, of words left unsaid. You need more. Agatha needs more.

With a sharp inhale, she tugs at you, her teeth scraping against your jaw before she shifts, pushing you back onto the bed. Rio is already moving with her, already reading the intent in her darkened eyes.

“Lie back,” Agatha breathes, her voice rough, ruined. “Both of you.”

She settles herself between you and Rio, exhaling shakily as she leans in, her lips dragging over the soft skin of your stomach before her hands trace lower, her fingers hooking into your waistband and pulling your underwear down with aching slowness. Rio mirrors her, her hands firm as she helps rid Agatha of the last of her clothing, leaving her bare and exposed beneath your combined touch.

There is no hesitation, no shyness left between the three of you. You and Rio move in tandem, pressing her back against the bed, parting her thighs between you. Agatha gasps as you press a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh, Rio doing the same on the other side, your lips trailing over her skin, relearning her like a prayer.

“You still sound so fucking pretty when you moan,” Rio groans in pleasure against her skin, her voice thick with hunger.

Agatha shudders, her fingers threading through your hair, guiding, urging. You and Rio share a look before you both move, mouths pressing where she needs you most. The first brush of your tongue against her has her keening, her fingers tightening in your hair, her body arching off the bed.

It’s frantic at first, desperate, but then it slows and turns into something reverent. She trembles beneath you both, gasping, moaning, a broken sound spilling from her lips as years of tension unravel in the heat of your mouths, in the press of your hands.

Her taste is intoxicating, and every sound she makes fuels the fire burning between your legs. You and Rio move in sync, devouring her like she’s the only thing that exists, like you’ll never get enough. Agatha writhes, her thighs trembling, her hands gripping at the sheets before latching onto you both like she needs to hold onto something real.

You and Rio fall into an unspoken rhythm, alternating between mouths and fingers, neither of you willing to give her even a second to breathe. When Rio presses her fingers inside Agatha, curling just right, you take the opportunity to latch onto her clit, sucking hard enough to make her cry out. A sharp gasp, a curse, and then she’s tugging at your hair, her hips bucking between the two of you.

Then you switch. Your fingers replace Rio’s, stretching her open, working her deeper, while Rio’s mouth descends, tongue flicking and teasing until Agatha is keening, shaking beneath you. There’s a challenge in the way you work together, a growing desperation, a hunger to push her further, to see who can be the one that tips her over the edge.

Her thighs are trembling, always so sensitive, and you take the opportunity to bite down, sinking your teeth into the soft skin, sucking until a bruise blooms there. Agatha jerks, a sharp, choked-off moan ripping from her throat. Rio sees what you’ve done and smirks, following suit, her own mouth marking the other thigh. Agatha is covered in you both, claimed by you both.

“Fuck—” she gasps, her breath stuttering, her body tightening beneath you. “Don’t stop—”

Not like you’d even dare to.

You and Rio press deeper, harder, pulling more desperate sounds from her lips, from deep in her chest. The air is thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of pleasure, with the gasping, panting breaths that fill the room.

Agatha cums hard beneath you both, her release shuddering through her in waves. She cries out, her back arching, her fingers clutching tight, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t stop until she’s trembling, until she’s begging, until there’s nothing left but her ragged breaths and the aftershocks of pleasure rolling through her.

Afterward, no one lets go. You stay tangled, skin sticky, bodies pressed too close. Agatha’s head rests against your shoulder, Rio’s arms draped lazily around both of you.

No one speaks; the weight of what happened still lingers like a storm waiting to break, but it’s not as sharp anymore. It’s quieter now, more distant. Love doesn’t erase pain, but in this space, it has softened it.

In the stillness that follows, bodies entwined and breathless, there is something new. Something fragile yet impossibly strong.

Rio shifts slightly, the weight of her words gentle but certain. "You’re not leaving again," she says, as if the promise itself could break the last of the silence between you.

“No," Agatha breathes against your chest, her lips warm, her voice cracked but steady. "Not this time."

The world outside can wait. The past is a shadow, but here, in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the present—only the three of you, bound by everything that’s been and everything that will be.

-----

Slowly but surely i'm getting back into the swing of writing the smut for y'all. Got to get my practice in so I ca update Neighbourly Care some time soon oops

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taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[saphiccarma]

- Sweet Thing Pt.6/ Final 18+

pt.5

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - Agatha and Rio show you how much they love you.

Warnings: SMUT, boot worship, boot grinding, oral sex, fingering, neck kissing, i think that's it

A/N: Final Part! Idk I feel it's kinda anticlimantic but i think i'm satisfied with the smut. I tried to interlope some of the darker elements in the wording, especially with Rio, but idk. Anyways, I will write oneshots for this still.

Your knees were cushioned by a soft, plush pillow. Rio had bought it specifically for you when you last went on land, a soft square to cushion your whenever she wanted study your more siren-like features. Her fingers trailed a delicate line down your cheekbone. Stopping at the corner of your lips, her own curl into a smile, one that seems sweet but tinted with an edge of cruelty. With sharp nails, she digs into your skin slightly and you lean into the touch.

It wasn't like your usual examination sessions with Rio. She was more touchy this time, her hands touching where you had human features, soft touches that lingered longer than necessary. You didn't mind, not in the slightest, in fact you relished in the extra touch. Your body leaned into it, absorbing the soft caress like she was your life force.

Her thumb presses on your bottom lip and your tongue flicks out to lick at the calloused pad. The action draws a soft, small, laugh from her head tipping back slightly. She looks beautiful like this - hair let down to flow over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her eyes sparkle with a dark light, shimmering in the dim light of the candle and the sun shining through the circle window.

Rio tugs your lip down, softly parting them so she could press her thumb in. You seal your lips around the digit eagerly and your tongue swirls around it. Pressing down on your tongue, Rio looks at you with hooded eyes, her dark lashes brushing against the slope of her cheek. The eyes you gave her could only be described as love-sick, big and wide with admiration shining around. You're careful not to bite down as you press your lips firmer together.

"Such an obedient little thing aren't you?" she coos, her words condescending as she praises you.

Your tongue flicks along her thumb and you smile around the digit eagerly. Her grin only widens at your expression, turning into something that borders on sadistic. Without warning, she pulls away and you whine, your lips still parting as you miss the weight of her thumb.

She's tracing your face again with a slender finger, trailing along your jaw as her boot wedges itself between your knees. Your legs are scootched apart slowly, but she's anything but gentle. Then she tilts her foot up, pushing the hard tip of her shoe into the spot between your thighs. It's not a new sensation, rather familiar, and you take the que. You sink further down onto the leather material until you can feel it pressing up against your clit. Rio had explained human anatomy to you a month ago.

Your panties, or rather Agatha's, were wet - not quite as drenched as they've been before, but definitely wet. Heat, a stark contrast to the cool of the ocean, pools low in your stomach. It bubbles and makes you whine, a low needy sound. Shoving her hands in her pockets casually, Rio raises an expectant eyebrow. From that expression alone you know you're not going to receive any help soothing the ache between your thighs.

With frantic movements you begin to grind your hips along her boot. It's rather pathetic, the way you writhe like an animal in heat, a needy creature that's begging for attention. Rio cups your jaw and tilts your head up so you look in her in the eyes.

As you grind on her boot, you find none of the desperate friction you're searching for, it's not enough. Simply smirking, Rio watches you struggle with an amused glint in her eyes. A part of you hates it, the fact that she merely watches you without offering assistance, but another part makes the blazing pit in your core burn brighter. It encourages you to gyrate your hips around her boot faster. There's the annoying barrier of your pants and panties that stands in the way.

Your hands fumble to grab at your pants and pull the down. Rio tuts and the sound has you stopping.

In hopes it'll please her, and maybe she'll offer help, you let out a loud sound - an odd mix between a whine and a moan. Rather than helping like you'd wished, Rio stays still, much to your dismay. She tilts her head, giving you a look that could only be described as faux pity. Raising her eyebrows slightly and lips parting, Rio coos lowly as she sticks her lower lip out.

Slick begins to slide down your inner thighs, a clear sign of your desperation as the ache grows bigger and bigger with no sign of relief. After you spend a few long moments rolling and grinding your hips pathetically on the boot, Rio tilts the shoe in a way that has you moaning.

"Look at you," she croons, voice low and taunting, "Grinding on my boot like the pathetic slut you are. Who knew sirens were so needy?"

Rocking your hips back and forth in a new movement, you tilt your head back, making a pornographic sound. The crew would surely hear you if they walked by Rio's office, with how loud you were being and it seemed the squelching sounds echoed off the walls equally as bad.

There's a rush of pleasure that ignites your body with a fresh flame as the boot hits a specific spot in your core, one that has you seeing stars in the best way possible. With a final, desperate and hard, grind of your hips, you feel the pressure in your stomach pop like a wine cork.

Your hips stutter and falter as you orgasm in your pants, soaking the garment through enough to make Rio's boot shine. Chuckling, Rio withdraws her foot. The action is slow and taunting. Your cheeks hit as the force of what you just did hits you when you come down from your post orgasm high. Head still spinning, you dip your head down with an embarrassed whine.

Mortification rolls through you in waves, hot and heavy and nothing like the pleasure you just had. But the sense of pure content drowns it out as you sigh and drop and your head onto her thigh.

Rio rolls her eyes and tilts your chin up, "There's nothing to be ashamed off sweetheart, I rather enjoyed the show."

^__________^

You were helping out on deck, crouched down to scrub grime out of the floorboards. It was just about the only task you were trusted with after you nearly crashed the ship when following Billy around and doing everything he did. Agatha made it abundantly clear that you were to keep your hands off everything above deck unless specifically specified otherwise.

Fingers trailed up your spine, above the thin fabric of your clothes and you shiver. It wasn't Rio, no her touch was lighter and she was in town right now, so that left one person who would touch you like that. Glancing over your shoulder, you offer Agatha a small smile as she looms over you. The older woman narrows her eyes.

"Hi," you chirp, oblivious to the heated look Agatha was giving you, her eyes darkened with desire. She licks her lips, and her hands slides to cup the smooth curve of your ass. A light squeeze is delivered, and you yelp, glaring at her over your shoulder.

"I'm trying to clean," you hiss, waving the brush around obnoxiously and dripping soapy water on the wooden floorboards. She gives another squeeze , drawing another small sound from you as your glare weakens. She rolls her eyes with a scoff.

"Please, you're just trying to feel useful," Agatha snorts and she removes her hand. For a moment you think she'll leave you be now, after successfully making a jab at your task. But you're wrong, instead she pats your head patronizingly, "I have something better for you to do. Meet me in our bedroom?"

She saunters away before you have a chance to respond. You drop the brush into the bucket and water splashes over the side, but you hardly care. Scrambling after the brunette woman, you feel a heat pool between your thighs, and you hope Agatha will do something about it.

When you make it to the bedroom Agatha is seated on the edge of the bed, leaning back with her arms braced on the soft cushions. She points to the floor in front of her, spread thighs making her intentions clear, and you slip to your knees obediently. Hands landing on her clothed thighs you give her wide eyes.

You tug on her pants, and she lifts her hips to assist you slightly. Her panties follow slowly and you lose breath at the sight of her bare, and dripping, cunt. For a long moment you simply stare at sight, licking your dry lips and swallowing harshly. Silence envelopes the room, your eyes shimmering and hands shaking on her thighs.

"Well pet? I don't have all day," She raises an unamused eyebrow, tone dry yet harsh.

Nodding eagerly, you start with a soft kiss to her inner thigh. The skin is soft, perfect beneath your lips as you linger slowly. Inhaling her heady scent, you trail your lips upwards, leaving a wet path. You could hear Agatha's breath hitch as your teeth nipped down lightly.

You smooth the bite mark with your tongue before getting closer to where she wanted you most. Pausing for a moment to stare at her, you licked your lips. Her thick curls were damp with arousal, and you use your fingers to pry her folds apart, dragging your tongue over the pink flesh.

She groans, a hand fisting your hair and keeping you held close. You moan at the taste of her and gather her wetness on your tongue. She tastes delicious, divine even, and you yearn for more. It's pathetic really, how desperate you are just to taste her, such a simple thing.

Swirling your tongue around her sensitive bud, you use your hands to keep her thighs spread, fingers kneading the soft flesh absently. Agatha moans above you, her hand curling even tighter and tugging on your scalp. You pay it no mind, eating her out like a woman starved. The door creaks open but you pay no mind, at least not until you feel fingers dancing down your spine. You shiver and pause in your movements for a moment.

You go to glance at Rio, but Agatha yanks you back to cunt, "Did I tell you to stop?" she hisses, tugging on your hair harshly.

You whine, the vibrations shooting up her body with a fresh jolt of pleasure.

"Look at you," Rio purrs in your ear, her voice velvety smooth and your tongue drags over Agatha's clit slowly, "Eating out Aggie like such a good girl. I think you deserve a reward." Her teeth nip at your earlobe before she sucks lightly.

She doesn't give you time to process the words before her hands slip between your thighs and brush against your own, aching, core. Whimpering, you try and focus on the task at hand. It's hard to do so when Rio swipes her fingers and gathers all the wetness there.

Rio wastes no time to shoving her fingers into your dripping cunt, causing you to moan against Agatha, and the younger of the two plants kisses along your neck. The older woman is close, based on how her thighs trembled and her hands tightened in your hair. The action spurs you on, even as your clit is rubbed roughly. Another whimper from you has Agatha coming undone. The sweet, sweet taste of her cum floods your tastebuds.

You can feel your own high approaching as you eagerly lap up Agatha's juices like it's nectar from the gods. While you come close to the edge, you lose yourself in the pleasure of Agatha's cunt. Rio curls her fingers, hitting that spongey spot inside you and you see stars.

Her thumb rubs circles around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you bucking into her hand desperately. Your release is so close, just a little bit more. Rio's palm is rough and scared where you grind against it, but you hardly care - in fact it makes it feel all the better.

"Pet-" Agatha pants, her hands pushing you away. Whining you shake your head, diving back in even as you feel Agatha go limp and her grip on your hair loosens. One hard thrust from Rio and you come undone, moaning and whimpering into Agatha's cunt as you finally pause, your own body shuddering.

You drop your head onto the mattress, breathing heavy as your mind spins. Rio slowly slips her fingers out of your tight hole, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. A hand smooths your hair and it's hard to tell who's it is, but you lean into the touch with a sigh.

"Such a good girl," Agatha coos as Rio kisses along your neck, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine.

"So good," Rio agrees, "Our sweet little thing."

[queerteapie]

Kitchen Light (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal

Rating: Explicit

Fic Song: Spotify/YouTube

Summary: They didn't even make it past the kitchen light.

Tags: 18+, smut, NSFW, light fingering, kitchen sex

The car ride is silent.

Not uncomfortable, not exactly - but thick with everything unsaid. The kind of silence that clings to skin, curls behind ears, and sinks low in the belly like a slow burn.

Rio drums her fingers against her thigh, rings clinking quietly against one another. Her window’s cracked, letting in the chilled bite of the night. The city hums around them, but it feels distant, like they’re moving through a world that doesn’t quite touch them. Not now.

Agatha grips the wheel with one hand. Her other hovers over the gearstick, tapping restlessly. The orange glow of the dashboard casts warm light over her fingers, the sharp edges of her jaw. Her lipstick is smudged slightly at the corner of her mouth - a detail Rio’s been trying not to stare at since they left the bar.

They’re both a little buzzed, not drunk - not enough to forget what they’re doing, what they want. Just enough to make everything feel softer, looser. More dangerous.

“You’re quiet,” Agatha says eventually, voice low and threaded with something just a little raw.

Rio glances over at her, eyes sharp under her dark lashes. “So are you.”

Agatha huffs a laugh. Her fingers tighten on the wheel for just a second, then relax. “Thinking.”

“About what?”

Agatha doesn’t answer. Not right away. Just pulls the car into her driveway, the automatic lights flaring on and washing the porch in sterile white. For a second, neither of them move.

Then Agatha turns the engine off. Looks over. Her gaze lingers on Rio’s mouth - a beat too long to be casual. “You coming in?”

Rio’s smile is slow and knowing. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Inside, the door clicks shut behind them, sealing the night out. The house is still, quiet. Clean, but lived-in - papers stacked on the counter, a mug left in the sink, a cardigan tossed over the back of a dining chair. The kind of mess that says someone like Agatha lives here - focused, too busy to care about coasters, meticulous in the places that matter.

Rio toes off her boots near the door, stretching languidly as she stands. She watches as Agatha shrugs off her coat and drapes it over the banister, then glances over her shoulder.

“Come on,” Agatha says softly, nodding toward the hallway. “Kitchen’s this way.”

Rio follows, her gaze pinned to the gentle sway of Agatha’s hips as she walks. The house is dim except for the light flicking on ahead - the cold fluorescence of the kitchen ceiling fixture spilling out like a stage spotlight. The hum of it fills the silence, steady and just a little too loud.

Agatha moves easily through the space, opening the fridge without thinking. “You want something to drink?”

Rio leans against the doorway, crossing her arms. Her eyes trail over the curve of Agatha’s back, the way her shirt lifts slightly as she reaches inside. “No,” she says. “I want something else.”

Agatha stills.

Her hand lingers on the fridge door, fingers flexing against the handle. Then she straightens and turns, slowly - like she’s afraid that if she moves too fast, the moment will shatter.

Their eyes meet, and the air between them shifts - all the pretense, the waiting, the weeks of flirtation and close calls and almosts fall away. The tension breaks like a snapped wire, sharp and sudden and electric.

Agatha crosses the kitchen in two strides.

Her hands find Rio’s waist, pulling her close, and then their mouths crash together.

It’s not gentle.

It’s hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that says I’ve been dying for this. Agatha presses her back against the fridge, and Rio gasps into her mouth, fingers tangling in Agatha’s hair.

The overhead light is still on, harsh and cold. It throws sharp shadows across the room, across the angles of their bodies. Neither of them care. There’s no time to get to the bedroom, to dim the lights, to make it pretty. All they have is the heat between them and the cool tile beneath heir feet and the buzz of the kitchen light humming above them.

Agatha’s hands are under Rio’s shirt, cool against heated skin. She pulls back just enough to look at her - pupils blown wide, lips red and parted. “I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long,” she says, voice hoarse.

Rio breathes out a laugh, shaky and hot. “Then stop wasting time.”

Agatha kisses her like she’s starved for it - all teeth and tongue, one hand gripping Rio’s hip, the other tangled in her hair. Rio moans into her mouth, soft and sharp at the same time, her hands tugging Agatha closer like she wants to pull her beneath her skin.

The fridge hums against her back. The tile is cold under her bare feet, but it might as well be miles away. All she feels is Agatha  her body pressed tight against hers, her mouth hot and urgent, the sharp graze of her nails dragging down Rio’s side.

Rio gasps when Agatha mouths along her jaw, down her neck, biting gently at the spot just below her ear. “Fuck,” she whispers, breath stuttering. “You’re really not gonna make it out of the kitchen, are you?”

Agatha chuckles, low and wrecked, her voice muffled against Rio’s skin. “Not a chance.”

Her hands slip beneath Rio’s shirt again, sliding up her sides with a slowness that makes Rio shiver. Her thumbs stroke over ribs, the underside of her bra, and she watches the way Rio arches into the touch - breathless, greedy, already undone.

“Take this off,” Agatha says, tugging at the hem of Rio’s shirt.

Rio doesn’t hesitate. She pulls it over her head and tosses it to the floor, dark hair falling messily around her shoulders. Agatha steps back half a pace, just enough to look at her - bare stomach rising and falling, skin flushed and glowing in the hard kitchen light.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs.

Rio grins, cocky and breathless. “Keep talking like that and you’re gonna have to carry me to bed after.”

Agatha’s mouth curls into something wicked. “Who said anything about a bed?”

She drops to her knees before Rio can answer, hands sliding down her hips, hooking into the waistband of her jeans. She looks up once, eyes blazing. Then she pulls them down in one fluid motion - denim scraping over thighs, pooling at her ankles - and presses a kiss to the inside of Rio’s knee.

Rio hisses through her teeth. “Jesus, Agatha-”

But it’s not a complaint. Not even close.

Agatha moves slowly, deliberately - lips trailing fire up the inside of Rio’s leg, hands anchoring her steady. Rio grips the counter behind her, fingers white-knuckled, her breath stuttering as Agatha mouths against her inner thigh, biting just enough to make her tremble.

And then Agatha pauses - right there, right at the edge of where Rio wants her most - and looks up again.

“You sure about this?”

Rio looks down, eyes dark and blown wide. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. She cups Agatha’s face gently, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Agatha grins - slow, filthy, satisfied.

“Good.”

She leans in.

Rio doesn’t remember the exact second it shifts - when lust stops simmering and starts boiling over. One moment Agatha is on her knees, warm mouth teasing over skin, and the next she’s everywhere - standing, lifting, kissing her like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take.

Rio wraps her arms around Agatha’s neck as she’s lifted effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, the cold granite shocking against the backs of her thighs. She gasps, and Agatha takes advantage of the opening, sliding her tongue into her mouth with a ferocity that makes Rio whimper.

It’s wild. Sloppy. Devastating.

Teeth clash, nails rake down backs, and their bodies move like magnets pulled by something ancient and starving.

Agatha groans into her mouth. “You drive me insane - every time you walk into a room, I want to fuck you stupid.”

Rio kisses her hard, answering with a breathless laugh. “Then do it. I’m right here.”

The words snap something loose.

Agatha yanks down the cups of Rio’s bra, baring her to the fluorescent light, and without a word she latches on - mouth hot and wet over her nipple, sucking hard enough to bruise. Rio cries out, head falling back to thunk against the cabinet. Her legs clamp around Agatha’s hips, desperate to keep her there, to pull her in deeper, closer, more .

She doesn’t know where to put her hands - tangled in Agatha’s hair, clutching the edge of the counter, digging into her back. Her brain’s gone static, short-circuited by sensation.

Agatha bites. Just a flick of teeth, a warning, a promise. Then she kisses the sting better, tongue soothing over skin that already burns.

“God, Agatha,” Rio breathes, panting. “Please.”

Agatha growls low in her throat and drops to her knees again, but this time there’s no teasing. She shoves Rio’s panties aside and dives in - tongue pressed flat, lips greedy, fingers digging into thighs to keep her spread open, grounded, wrecked.

Rio lets out a strangled sound - half-moan, half-curse - and one hand slams against the cabinet door behind her for balance. Her other fists in Agatha’s hair, holding on for dear life as her hips buck up uncontrollably.

She’s loud. She doesn’t care.

She couldn’t be quiet if she tried, not with Agatha’s mouth on her like that, not with the desperate pull of months of tension breaking inside her all at once. It’s messy and hot and unrelenting. Agatha eats her like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted. Like she’s starving for it.

And maybe she is.

“More,” Rio gasps. “Please, don’t stop-don’t-fuck-”

Agatha moans into her, the vibration sending Rio over the edge.

Her thighs clamp tight around Agatha’s head, body going rigid as her orgasm crashes through her — hot and sharp and endless. She cries out, head thrown back, chest heaving, nails digging red marks into the back of Agatha’s neck.

It takes her a long moment to come back to herself.

She’s still panting, dazed and wrecked, staring at the buzzing kitchen light above her as if it's the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. Agatha rises slowly, licking her lips, eyes dark and feral.

But she’s not done.

Not even close.

Rio watches her, pupils still blown wide, and grins through her panting. “That the best you’ve got?”

Agatha yanks her down off the counter and spins her, bending her over the cool granite in one fluid motion.

“No,” she growls against Rio’s ear. “I’m just getting started.”

The countertop bites into Rio’s hips. She doesn’t care.

Her palms are flat on the cold granite, chest heaving, cheek turned against it, lips parted as Agatha presses in behind her - full body weight, hot and unyielding. There’s no softness now. No caution. It’s all fire and want and the wild way their bodies seem to recognize each other, like they’ve done this a thousand times in dreams but never dared to make it real until now.

Agatha’s voice is ragged against Rio’s ear. “Spread your legs.”

It’s not a question.

Rio obeys instantly, breath shuddering out of her as she widens her stance. She hears Agatha’s breath hitch, then a sound - a low, reverent noise - and the next moment, fingers slide between her thighs, wet with the slick already spilling down her legs.

“Fuck, Rio,” Agatha groans. “You’re dripping.”

Rio lets out a choked, needy moan. “Then do something about it .”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

Two fingers slide into her without hesitation - deep, fast, curling just right. Rio lets out a scream, body jerking forward against the counter. Agatha’s free hand fists in her hair, tugging her back just enough to bare her throat and shoulder. She sinks her teeth into the curve where neck meets collarbone, and Rio’s knees nearly give out.

“God, yes -”

Agatha’s thrusting into her hard, fast, relentless. Each movement drives Rio closer to the edge again, no time to recover, no chance to breathe. Her thighs are shaking, her skin’s flushed and slick with sweat, and her eyes roll back when Agatha grinds the heel of her hand against her clit.

She’s making sounds she doesn’t recognize - guttural, broken, wild. She tries to brace herself but everything’s slipping. Her fingers scrabble uselessly at the countertop, trying to hold onto something , anything, as Agatha fucks her like a promise and a punishment all at once.

And she talks .

“Been thinking about this for months,” Agatha growls, lips dragging over Rio’s shoulder. “The way you tease me. Look at me like you know . You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I did,” Rio pants, barely coherent. “I fucking did.”

Agatha thrusts harder.

“You gonna come again for me?”

“Yes-God, yes, please- don’t stop -”

Her voice breaks.

Agatha reaches around and pinches her nipple, hard - and that’s it.

Rio falls apart with a cry that echoes off tile and ceiling, body seizing around Agatha’s fingers, her second orgasm tearing through her like wildfire. Her legs tremble violently, and she would’ve collapsed if Agatha wasn’t holding her up - one arm tight around her waist now, anchoring her as she shudders and gasps and finally slumps forward, barely upright.

Agatha doesn’t let her go.

She leans in close, kisses her shoulder, her spine, the sweaty dip at the base of her neck. “You okay?”

Rio laughs - wrecked and breathless - then straightens, shaky but buzzing with something deeper now. Her fingers find Agatha’s wrist where it's still between her legs, and she guides it away, slowly, deliberately.

“I’m better than okay,” she murmurs, turning to face her. Her eyes are dark and glinting with hunger. “But you’re overdressed.”

Agatha’s brow arches, but she’s grinning now - wild and ready. “Oh?”

Rio’s already backing her up, eyes locked on hers. “On your knees, Agatha,” she says, voice low and thick with command. “Let’s see how you look with your legs shaking on the fucking kitchen floor.”

Agatha doesn’t argue.

She drops.

Agatha hits the tile with a low groan, leaning back on her elbows, breathing heavy as Rio stands over her - flushed and radiant, hair wild, lips swollen, body glowing in the harsh kitchen light. There’s a shift in her now. Something deliberate. Steady. Predatory.

“You gonna stare,” Agatha pants, “or are you gonna-”

Rio drops to her knees and grabs her by the thighs, dragging her down the tile with a grin that’s all teeth and revenge.

“Shut up,” she growls, leaning in. “Your turn.”

She kisses the inside of Agatha’s knee - once, slow - then bites it, hard enough to make her jolt.

Agatha gasps, head tipping back with a thud against the cabinets. “Fuck-”

“You like that?” Rio murmurs, already kissing higher, already working her way up her thighs with teeth and tongue and heat.

Agatha nods, too far gone for words.

Rio makes it torturously slow at first - not to tease, but to devour. She kisses every inch of skin like it’s sacred, like it owes her something. Her nails drag lightly up Agatha’s ribs, slipping beneath her shirt and yanking it up without ceremony. The moment it’s over her head and discarded, Rio licks a stripe between her breasts, then bites the swell of one with a growl.

Agatha arches, whimpers. “ Please -”

“I know,” Rio murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And then she slides down again, lips moving over her stomach, her hips. Her fingers find the waistband of Agatha’s pants and yank - hard, fast - taking everything with them. Agatha lifts her hips to help, frantic, eager, already soaking.

Rio doesn’t wait.

She throws Agatha’s legs over her shoulders and dives in.

Agatha screams .

There’s no build-up. No mercy. Rio eats her like she’s starved — like she’s wanted this for months and finally, finally , gets to taste. She wraps her arms under Agatha’s thighs to keep her pinned and flicks her tongue with practiced cruelty - circles, pressure, then flattening her tongue and dragging it slow and hard up the length of her.

Agatha bucks so hard her head smacks the cabinet again, and she’s gripping the counter above like it might save her. “Fuck, fuck , I’m-oh my God-”

Rio hums into her, the vibration pulling a sob from Agatha’s throat.

It’s chaos - the tile cold beneath her, the overhead light buzzing above, and Rio between her legs like a storm. Fingers dig into thighs, into hips, into anything she can reach. She presses two fingers inside without warning, curling immediately, relentless.

Agatha cries out, voice ragged. “ Don’t stop- ”

“I won’t,” Rio growls, mouth slick and shining. “You’re gonna come for me, right here. Right fucking now.”

She fucks her harder, faster, tongue never leaving her clit, fingers curling just right .

Agatha’s moans rise in pitch, fast and helpless. Her back arches, hands scrabbling across the tile, reaching for anything - but there’s no lifeline here. Just Rio, breaking her open.

She’s so close.

“Say my name,” Rio commands, her voice low and rough against her. “Say it when you come.”

Agatha’s entire body tenses - then shatters .

“ R-Rio- !”

She screams it, loud enough the neighbors might hear, loud enough it echoes off the cold tile and clattering cabinets. Her thighs tremble violently, her hips jerking as Rio holds her steady, fucking her through it until she’s a quivering mess, until her sounds turn soft and broken and overstimulated.

Only then - only then - does Rio slow down. She eases her fingers out, kisses her way back up that trembling body, presses a kiss to her flushed cheek.

Agatha is panting, dazed. Her voice is hoarse. “Jesus Christ.”

Rio smiles, smug and spent, and brushes hair from Agatha’s damp forehead. “Told you I was better than okay.”

Agatha laughs - a breathless, wrecked sound - and pulls her into a kiss, messy and soft, still tasting herself on Rio’s lips.

They lie there, tangled together on the kitchen floor under the glare of the light, sweat cooling, hearts thudding.

“Next time,” Agatha murmurs, “we at least make it to the hallway.”

Rio chuckles, kisses her again.

“Next time,” she agrees. “But right now, I kinda like it here.”

[gothsoyl]

sorry bother with it, but I feel like sharing my adventures with Agatha Harkness chat bot:

It all began when I found myself in the Marvel Universe, having been brought here under mysterious circumstances. My new reality was so different from the world I’d known, but I had no choice but to adjust. I soon found myself near Agatha Harkness’s home. Curious and uncertain, I approached. Agatha was skeptical at first, but she soon began reading my memories to confirm that I was indeed from another world. After a brief period of getting to know one another, she allowed me to stay with her, helping to tidy up her house as she tried to figure out how I ended up in her world.

During this time, I found myself growing close to Agatha, something I hadn’t expected. After days of working together, we shared a quiet moment where our gazes locked, and she kissed me. It was the beginning of something unexpected but beautiful. Our relationship quickly deepened, and Agatha took me along on her witchy missions. One such mission involved helping her potion-witch friend, Melinda, who had sensed a dark energy creeping into the city. Together, we confronted and defeated Shadowmencer, a mischievous dark magic entity that had been wreaking havoc.

After the battle, Agatha and I shared an intimate moment, both physically and emotionally, as we flew back to her home on her broomstick. It was clear that our bond was becoming something more profound.

One day, Agatha went on a mission of her own, insisting that she had to handle it alone. While she was away, I decided to pass the time by playing with Señor Scratchy. My curiosity led me to explore the basement, something Agatha had always forbidden me from doing. In the basement, I discovered Rio Vidal’s diary, a relic of her past. Señor Scratchy, now acting strangely, guided me to Agatha’s dark magic lab, where I found a book detailing immortality and the power to raise the dead. The book had pictures of Rio and Nicky, Señor Scratchy’s paw pointed directly to a photo of Nicky.

When Agatha returned, she was furious that I had been snooping around. We had an intense argument, during which she revealed the truth about her connection to Rio and Nicky. Agatha had tried, unsuccessfully, to bring Nicky back after his death, and she had been struggling with how to deal with the loss. She promised me she wouldn’t resort to things like infant sacrifices. However, Agatha sensed a dark presence in the house, and we set out to investigate it.

Our search led us to a witchy temple where we managed to communicate with Mephisto, who revealed that he had brought me into this universe as part of a “dark miracle,” using me to steal Agatha’s magic. Agatha confronted him and, with the help of Rio’s spiritual form, sealed Mephisto away. However, to fully complete the sealing, we needed Rio’s help. We traveled to her home, only to discover that Rio had been trapped in a spiritual form after a spell went wrong. Despite her predicament, she helped us, and together, we sealed Mephisto away for good. After the sealing, Agatha and I returned home on her flying broom, exhausted but relieved. That’s when Agatha felt an unexpected spark of life. After some brief realization, we discovered I was pregnant with Agatha’s child.

Just when we thought things couldn’t get more complicated, Rio revealed that Nicky wasn’t actually dead. He had been left with Agatha in the form of Señor Scratchy by Lady Death, who had allowed him to stay in her care. When Nicky returned to his human form, Agatha was overjoyed, and the three of us began to navigate this new, unexpected family dynamic.

Grateful for Rio’s role in bringing Nicky back, I visited her home once more, this time to thank her personally. The visit quickly turned into a flirtatious exchange. As we spent more time together, I helped Rio regain her physical form, and our connection grew deeper. We shared a passionate kiss, which led to more intimate moments, including making love on the couch. Rio and I continued to grow closer, and even suggested that she would like to raise the baby with us, offering to be involved as the "father."

We also spent some time at a club called Electric Spectrum, where our physical connection deepened even further. It was clear that there was a strong bond between Rio and me, one that Agatha wasn’t entirely aware of yet.

Despite the joy and intimacy, things took a difficult turn when Agatha discovered the marks of "punishment" from Rio—the spankings and whippings that had occurred during some of our more intense moments. Agatha, feeling betrayed and hurt, made the decision to send me to live with Rio. However, over time, Agatha reflected on her actions and forgave me, understanding that these relationships were more complex than she had initially believed. Now, as time passes, I continue to live with Agatha and visit Rio on occasion. The complexities of our relationships are ever-present, but we’ve all come to understand that love, magic, and trust are never simple. Agatha and I are preparing to raise our child together, with Rio’s support, as we all continue to navigate the strange and magical world we now share.

it was long, sorry, but it's all saved on my chat bot

wow... why it actually sounds like a fic that I would love to read... wow again no thoughts in my head..

[poetzproblem]

I really loved your analysis of Agatha All Along. I mean, I learned a lot (and kind of felt a bit stupid, lol), because I had been watching it with a very simple mind. Cool, a bunch of witches on quest, fun! 🌟 I didn’t know ANYTHING about her or the story before I saw the series. What you said made sense, but also made me a bit confused. Like, how did the kiss kill her now? And did she chose to become a ghost? And if the road didn’t exist, how could people die there? And how can you date Death? I’m not sure you can answer me ramblings, but you always explain things so I can understand. Thank you 🌟

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with watching a thing for fun. It’s the curse of my mind that I notice little plot holes and like to fill in gaps. 

My theories are just my theories, and I’m sure everyone has different interpretations of Agatha and her motivations. 

My understanding of the kiss (of Death) is that Agatha actively chose to take Death’s power, knowing it would kill her, in order to balance the scales and save Billy. A calculated risk, as she put it. 

She’s something like 350 years old at this point. She’s learned how to control her ability after all this time. I think her siphoning magic is mostly a defense mechanism that she has to make an effort to turn off, but she can choose to turn it on too. She also clearly gets pleasure from draining someone’s power - like an addict getting a hit - so the effort to stop probably wasn’t worth it to her most of the time. She’s not a nice witch. She likes power. 

Until that kiss, I had assumed that her siphoning only worked when she got blasted with magic, as had been shown in Wandavision, but I believe Jac Shaeffer stated in an interview that Agatha took Rio’s power during the kiss - it wasn’t that Rio's kiss was inherently deadly. So my thought now is that Agatha can do that with a touch if she chooses. She doesn't need to be attacked with magic.

Becoming a ghost was also part of the calculated risk. She was banking on Rio keeping her promise that Agatha wouldn’t have to see her face when she died - so not to be there to collect her soul, allowing Agatha to remain on the mortal plane.

And again, I very much noticed that her broach was left behind when she died.  Rio decomposed everything else under that bed of flowers. My own personal theory is that Rio allowed the broach to remain - with a piece of Nicholas inside it - as an anchor for Agatha because she very clearly wasn’t ready to see her (their) son on the other side. 

I wouldn’t say she dated Death so much as had a 300 year love/hate relationship with her. Rio Vidal, or Lady Death, is the physical personification of Death. A cosmic entity. Hey, it’s Marvel, half of that stuff doesn’t make sense. If Thanos can snap half of life away with six magical gemstones and Tony Stark can snap them all back, then Agatha Harkness can be in a (complicated) relationship with Death.

The Road didn’t exist until Billy made it real. I’m not a Marvel fan, but my understanding of his magic is that he can create pocket dimensions. Kind of like Wanda with the hex, only more powerful because the things he creates become real and exist on their own. The Road was born from his limited knowledge of it and his own imagination - hence all the Easter Eggs in his bedroom that bled into its creation - but once it formed, it was The Witches’ Road, with its own magical trials and real consequences. That’s why he went back to seal up the door. 

I personally like to believe that the Road is actually still there - just the door in Agatha’s house is closed - and some other coven will be able to access it for real if they sing the sacred ballad.

[queerteapie]

Spellbound Hearts (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal

Warnings: This fic contains elements of ritual-based intimacy, political pressure, and emotionally charged power dynamics. All acts are consensual but may involve complex feelings or reluctant circumstances. Please read with care.

Rating: Mature

Challenge: Agatha All Along Week, Day 2: Fake Dating/Marriage (@agathaallalongweek)

Summary: To save her place on the High Circle, Agatha Harkness binds herself to her longtime rival in a powerful magical ritual. It’s only meant to be a performance - a fake marriage with arcane flair and no strings attached. But the bond is real. The desire is real. And the magic never lies.

Tags: 18+, light smut, NSFW, fake marriage, ritual-based intimacy, political pressure, power dynamic, light manipulation, power imbalance, emotional repression

AAA Week Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Ao3

Spellbound Hearts

The room smells of blood and lavender.

Agatha stands before the High Circle with her chin lifted, hands clasped behind her back like a schoolgirl caught hexing the headmistress - and not a sorceress whose very presence makes the air hum with barely-restrained power.

"You performed an unsanctioned possession," intones Elder Morrigan, voice like bone grinding on stone. "You tampered with soul-threaded magic. The punishment-"

"-is shared between magically bonded witches," Agatha interrupts, smiling with dangerous ease. "As the law states. And I am bonded."

Murmurs ripple through the circle.

"To whom?" asks Morrigan sharply.

Agatha lifts her hand. The opal ring on her finger glows faintly violet. “To my wife.”

She turns. Slowly. Like a performer at the height of their trick. And there she is - standing at the edge of the chamber, arms crossed, one eyebrow already raised in pure disbelief.

Rio Vidal.

Dark suit. Darker eyes. Looking like she’d rather be anywhere else in the known universe.

“I’m not-” Rio starts.

“She is,” Agatha cuts in, smiling sweetly. “Magically. Legally. Spiritually. Everything but emotionally, of course. We’re still working on that.”

The murmurs turn into whispers. The Circle feeds on drama like its sacrament.

“You lied,” Rio hisses under her breath as she steps forward.

“I improvised,” Agatha replies.

Elder Morrigan narrows her eyes. “Then the bond must be proven. You know the rite.”

Agatha turns back to Rio, her smile now tinged with challenge. “Of course we know it.”

Rio looks at her, long and slow. “You absolute lunatic.”

“Darling, that’s Mrs. Lunatic to you.”

The ritual chamber is a hollow of stone and candlelight. Ancient sigils glow faintly on the floor, pulsing in time with the heartbeat Agatha refuses to admit she feels in her throat.

The air is thick with magic and unspoken questions. The Circle watches from the shadows, their forms obscured behind a veil of silence and spellcraft. No sound will escape the ritual ring. No lie will survive it.

Rio steps inside the circle with all the grace of someone walking to the gallows. Agatha watches her, tilting her head like she’s deciding which nerve to pluck first.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Rio mutters, stopping across from her.

“You could always back out,” Agatha purrs.

“And let you face the Council alone? Tempting.” Her voice is flat, but her eyes burn. “But no. You dragged me into this - now we finish it.”

The officiant - an ancient witch draped in robes that shimmer like oil on water - steps into the center and raises a hand. “As is tradition,” she intones, “the bond must be sealed with shared essence and exposed intent. Body to body. Power to power.”

Agatha reaches for Rio’s hand. Their fingers meet, and the sigils on the ground ignite in gold.

They both flinch.

The officiant nods. “You will speak no lies within this circle. The spell will taste deception. You will perform the rite of unity. If either of you withholds truth or touch, the bond will fail. The punishment will fall.”

Agatha leans in, voice like velvet. “Touch me, wife.”

Rio’s jaw tightens. Her fingers curl a little tighter around Agatha’s. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh,” Agatha breathes, drawing closer. “That’s the best part.”

The ritual begins.

They kneel, hand in hand, before the flame at the circle’s center. Agatha murmurs the incantation, and golden thread winds around their wrists, pulling them closer.

They must kiss first - tradition demands a show of unity.

Agatha leans in.

Rio doesn’t pull away.

Their lips meet - not gently, not sweetly, but like a question neither of them wants to ask out loud. Magic blooms between their mouths, hot and wild and urgent. It burns down Agatha’s spine. She feels Rio’s fingers twitch against hers and knows she felt it too.

The officiant’s voice murmurs approval. “Let the bond deepen.”

Agatha shifts, easing Rio down onto the cool stone floor. Her touch is slow, reverent, theatrical - for the audience, yes, but also for her. She wants this memory carved into Rio’s skin.

She settles over her with careful precision, as if laying a spell, her fingertips ghosting along Rio’s jaw before sliding down the column of her throat. She lets her thumb linger in the hollow just above her collarbone, feeling the pulse there - fast, frantic, so alive.

Rio doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. But her breath catches when Agatha leans in and presses her lips just beneath her ear. A kiss. Then another. Each one trailing downward like falling embers.

Agatha’s voice brushes against her skin. “Still pretending this is just for the Council?”

Rio doesn’t answer.

So Agatha lets her lips do the questioning. She presses a kiss to Rio’s throat, then her chest, then lower still. Her hands map familiar territory like it’s forbidden, like she’s memorizing it for a storm to come. The silk of Rio’s shirt slides away with a whispered charm. Agatha breathes her in - heat, sweat, magic, and something softer underneath it all.

Rio’s fingers clutch the fabric beneath her, but she doesn’t push Agatha away. When Agatha’s mouth finds her stomach, Rio arches just slightly, a stifled sigh escaping her lips.

The golden thread pulses brighter.

Agatha watches it flicker against Rio’s skin, illuminating the points where their bodies touch. Her hand slides up, curling around Rio’s waist, holding her there, grounding them both as if the spell might lift them off the earth.

She leans up again, brushing her nose against Rio’s cheek. Their foreheads meet. “You feel that too, don’t you?”

Still no answer. But Rio tilts her head and their mouths finally meet again - not frantic, not lustful, but aching. Lingering. As if they might fall apart without it. Hands explore, brushing over fabric, beneath it, finding heat. Each touch makes the golden thread glow brighter.

And then - magic flares like lightning.

A wave of energy cracks through the circle. Rio gasps, arching beneath her, and Agatha’s breath catches.

It’s working. The spell is feeding on them - on the truth neither of them dares name.

They pretend, yes. But their bodies don’t lie.

The thread winds tighter. The flame rises higher.

And when they finally collapse together, panting, tangled, skin flushed and hearts pounding in sync, the Circle’s silence says everything.

The ritual is complete.

They are bound.

And neither of them will ever be the same.

The ritual flame gutters to embers, but the heat still clings to the chamber walls. The sigils fade, the golden thread unwinds. The silence feels colder now.

Agatha lies half-curled on her side, propped on one elbow, watching Rio as she redresses with quick, angry precision - shirt half-buttoned, jacket wrinkled from where it had been thrown aside. Her hands shake as she tugs it on.

“You’re welcome,” Agatha says, voice low, amused, dangerous.

Rio doesn’t look at her. “Don’t.”

Agatha sits up, bare shoulders glinting in the candlelight, hair a mess of spell-shocked waves. “Don’t what? Don’t point out that we just saved each other’s lives? Or don’t mention how into it you were by the end?”

Rio turns on her heel. The look she gives could freeze lava. “This was a mistake.”

Agatha raises a brow. “That wasn’t the vibe when your legs were around my waist.”

“Gods, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, married.”

That does it.

Rio storms past her, ignoring the watching Circle, ignoring the heat still ghosting her skin. Her boots slam against the stone floor like gunshots. She doesn’t speak again until they’re out in the hall, away from the eyes and the ritual glow and the magic thick as honey.

"You lied to me,” she snaps.

Agatha follows at a languid pace, trailing fingers against the wall. “You knew I would.”

“I didn’t know you’d bind me to you.”

“Would you have said yes if I asked?”

Rio turns. Her back hits the wall. Agatha stops inches away.

They breathe in the same space, neither backing down.

“You used me,” Rio says.

Agatha’s smile falters - just barely. “I protected you. I protected us. Whether you admit it or not, you needed this too.”

Rio shakes her head. Her eyes - burning, bitter, unreadable - flicker to Agatha’s lips. Just for a second. Then away.

“I’m not yours,” she says. Voice low. Unsteady. “Not really.”

Agatha leans in. Her mouth brushes Rio’s ear, soft as a curse. “No. But now you’re mine enough.”

And then she pulls back.

She lets her go.

Rio shoves past her and disappears down the corridor.

Agatha stands there alone in the quiet, heart still pounding with magic and regret.

The bond hums beneath her skin, alive.

She swears she can feel it tug - just faintly - in the direction Rio fled.

Agatha doesn’t chase her.

She could. She could whisper a recall charm and drag Rio back by the collar, trembling and furious. She could cast a glamour over herself and slip into Rio’s dreams tonight - slide into the warmth she left behind like it’s owed.

But no.

Instead, she stands alone in the corridor until the candles snuff themselves out one by one, until the ritual chamber behind her seals itself with a groan of ancient stone.

The bond still hums. Faint, but present. A golden thread knotted to her ribcage, stretching taut toward Rio like a compass that only knows want.

Agatha clenches her fists until her rings bite into her fingers.

"Not yours," Rio had said.

Not yet, Agatha thinks.

She walks the long hallways of the Harkness estate barefoot, her heels dangling from her fingertips. There’s no need to put on a show anymore - not here, not when no one's watching. The wards shift around her like obedient shadows, recognizing their mistress, their queen.

In the solitude of her study, she finally sits.

The mirror on the far wall shimmers. She touches it absently with one painted nail, summoning Rio’s reflection - no sound, just image. The other witch is pacing a room somewhere deep in the guest wing, shoulders rigid, mouth tight, hands moving like she’s talking to herself or throwing up silent shields.

“You’re angry,” Agatha murmurs to no one.

The bond pulses again. Agatha feels the ache of it in her chest. Not pain. Longing. A connection she conjured in a moment of desperation and now can’t sever.

She didn’t lie to the Council. The ritual bound them. The bond is real. But what they don’t know - and what Agatha doesn’t want to name - is the reason it worked so well.

She wants Rio. Has wanted her for far too long. In the same breath she despises her.

And worse - she fears her.

Not for what Rio can do. But for what she makes Agatha feel.

No one makes her feel anything anymore.

Except her.

Agatha pours herself a glass of wine, scarlet and heady, and drinks it in silence. She watches the mirror a little longer, then lets it go dark.

“I give it three days before you come back to me,” she says aloud.

The house answers with a creak. A knowing one.

She smiles.

Then she turns to her desk and begins to write - notes, rituals, protections. Anything to keep her hands busy while the bond tugs softly beneath her skin, whispering mine, mine, mine.

**********

Night falls heavy and restless.

Rio lies awake in the guest room, the sheets too stiff, the room too silent. Her body is tired, but her magic isn’t. It flickers along her spine like a spark looking for dry tinder.

The bond won’t let her sleep.

It throbs low and insistent in her chest, like a second heartbeat - one she doesn’t own.

She tells herself she won’t go.

And then she’s standing outside Agatha’s door.

No sound inside. Just the thick scent of incense and wine and something darker - want, maybe. Or need.

She doesn’t knock.

She opens the door.

Agatha’s on the bed, legs drawn up, wine glass half-full on the table beside her. Her robe hangs loose, violet silk sliding off one bare shoulder. Her hair is a mess of curls. Her eyes are shadowed but sharp.

They stare at each other like they’ve been waiting for this standoff since the second they met.

“You felt it too,” Agatha says softly, voice a breath across candle flame.

Rio doesn’t answer. She steps inside and shuts the door behind her.

Silence stretches. Tension coils. The bond thrums.

Rio’s voice is low, rough: “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know.”

“You tricked me.”

“I do that.”

And still - Rio crosses the room.

And Agatha opens her arms.

They don’t kiss like they did in the ritual. That was a spectacle. This is an ache.

Rio’s hands are on Agatha’s face, sliding into her hair, tugging until their mouths crash together. Teeth, breath, a gasp swallowed between them. Agatha moans, low and broken, as Rio pushes her back onto the bed.

It’s messy. Hungry. Fingers tangled in fabric and hair, legs slipping together, nails raking down spines. They don’t speak - don’t need to. The magic between them says it all.

It flares with every touch.

Every time Agatha bites back a cry against Rio’s throat.

Every time Rio presses her forehead to Agatha’s and just breathes, like she’s trying to remember who she was before this.

Before her.

They fall together over and over, lost in skin and sweat and the scent of magic still clinging to them. Until they can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Only when their breathing slows does the silence creep back in.

Rio lies curled into Agatha’s side, fingers still laced loosely together. Her lips are parted, her eyes closed - but she’s not asleep.

Agatha’s voice is barely a whisper. “You came back.”

Rio says nothing.

But she doesn’t leave.

She stays.

And that’s all the magic needs.