Work Text:
Despite the busy street, flush with mortals picking up their children from school or doing some grocery shopping before dinner, the flower shop stood oddly dark and empty. It was as if only Agatha could see the shop- which was probably true, since the building reeked of an illusion spell. The sign for River Florists was painted green with cream details, the name of the shop done in swooping, curly letters, cutesy and inviting, but the parchment in Agatha’s hand was anything but.
Come to 669 East Main. If you dare. Was scratched out in black ink, the jagged lines of each letter cutting so deep into the parchment that they left impressions on the other side- as if it had been made with a knife.
Agatha Harkness wasn’t one to obey the orders of a mere letter, but when she’d woken up in Westview without any powers she realized she’d better follow every lead she had, even letters that looked like they came from a Spirit Halloween bargain bin. The door to the flower shop opened at the lightest touch, swinging wide without a sound. She took a step inside, then another, her bootfalls echoing on the cement floor.
“Hello?” Agatha called, lingering in the doorway. But when there was no reply, she moved deeper inside the shop.
The door swung shut behind her, slamming. From the darkness, vines shot out across the floor, wrapping around Agatha’s ankles and pulling her into the dim, into a chair. The vines snaked up her body, pinning her arms behind her back and securing her feet to the chair legs. She struggled, but without her magic, she was completely defenseless, vulnerable in a way she hated. Agatha grunted in frustration as she tried to break free, but the vines wrapping around her wrists held her fast to the chair.
“You’ve made a big mistake!” she called out, “Huge!”
“I don’t think I have,” said an all too familiar voice. From the dark shadows stepped Rio Vidal, the green witch herself, clad in deep forest hues and carrying her curved blade.
“I don’t think I have.”
Rio smirked. Her dark gaze flicked up and down, surveying her work, lingering on Agatha’s body, her muscles tense in the chair, before locking eyes. With swift, sure steps, Rio closed the space between them.
“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in,” she said, eyes dancing, “Or should I say pussy willow.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Agatha huffed, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face.
“Yes it does. Because a pussy is a cat and also a cu-“
“Alright!” Agatha cut her off, “What do you want from me? Let’s get it over with so I can go home.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands,” said Rio. Hitching up her skirts, she dropped into Agatha’s lap. Straddling her, she moved closer and closer until they were pressed flush. She held up her knife only inches away from Agatha’s face, turning it threateningly, before sheathing it in the holster strapped to her thigh.
Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, her face going slack as Rio’s weight and warmth overwhelmed her. she was enveloped in that all too familiar scent of flowers and earth and decay, rich and deep, unholy and tempting. Rio shifted, and Agatha could feel the strength in her thighs. Under her dark clothes, Rio was lithe and powerful, and it took everything in Agatha not to tremble beneath her.
Nimble fingers flicked open the top two buttons of Agatha’s blouse. She sucked in as cold air hit her flush skin. Her body betrayed her, heart racing as Rio leaned in. Every thought in her mind screamed she should be recoiling, that the last thing she needed was to get tangled up in her ex again, but as Rio rolled her hips, an all too familiar mix of heat and desire coiled in her stomach. Agatha ached for Rio Vidal.
Rio pressed a feather soft kiss on the curve of Agatha’s throat. Her lipstick left a sticky mark, as Agatha gritted her teeth, trying to bite back a moan. Rio kissed her again, and again. Each kiss leaving a perfect lipstick mark on Agatha’s pale throat. Agatha shifted in her chair, longing to press her thighs together, desperate for friction. She wanted Rio to kiss her properly, for the witch to let go of her shirt front and instead slide her clever hands between Agatha’s legs. It was not the kind of torture she’d been expecting when she saw Rio appear in front of her, but it was torture none the less.
“Mmm,” Rio hummed, lips against her pulse point, and the vibration sent ripples of desire through Agatha.
Another kiss, this time just beneath Agatha’s ear. Agatha moaned, betraying herself. She felt Rio’s lips curve into a smile.
Rio’s hands slid into Agatha’s hair, tugging her head back to expose more of her neck. It was horribly vulnerable, no magic, bound to the chair, Rio’s mouth on her throat, but in that moment, there was no place Agatha would rather be.
“Look,” said Rio, turning Agatha’s head. In the dark reflection of the window Agatha could see lipstick marks covering her neck and shirt.
“Is it not common practice to mark what you own?” Rio asked, pushing off of Agatha’s lap. Suddenly Agatha was too cold, the loss of Rio’s warmth far too apparent. The vines around her wrists loosened, and Agatha tried to hide the way her legs shook as she stood, but it was too late, Rio had stepped back into the shadows, and was gone- for now.