Work Text:
The wind sweeps through the narrow, cobblestone streets of Salem, carrying with it the scent of the briny ocean.
Agatha is standing at the edge of a narrow alley, her dark cloak pulled tightly around her as the hood shadows her face. Her fingers gently trace a scar that’s still fresh enough to twinge in rain.
The gentle flicker of lanterns along the street casts long shadows against the cobblestone as the steady clip-clop of horse hooves is the only sound to break the silence of the night.
A low thrum of magic pulses beneath Agatha’s fingertips in an erratic spark of light in the dark that matches the pulse of her heartbeat. Lightning tears through the clouds above her, illuminating the street just enough to make everything look like polished silver.
A low, sultry voice interrupts the quiet space around her. “Still brooding, mi amor?”
Agatha’s fingers instinctively brush over the faint line on her elbow again,.
Rio slowly emerges from the darkness beside her, the lace and leather of her attire gleaming in the soft light of the wind swept lamps as a tricorne hat casts a gentle shadow over her eyes. She’s playing every bit the image of a roguish pirate who has wandered off her ship into this puritanical corner of the world as she moves to lean against a stone wall, spinning a dagger between her fingers.
It’s distractingly attractive.
Rio’s smile gleams slyly in the dim light, as if she already knows every thought running through Agatha’s mind.
“I don’t brood,” Agatha murmurs, letting her cloak slip open slightly as she steps forward. “I plot.”
The streets of Salem remain quiet, save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance and the rhythmic drip of rainwater trickling from the gutters. The air itself feels heavy and expectant, as if the earth itself knows something is about to break.
Rio’s lips curl into a grin as she idly twirls the dagger, “Plotting, brooding, it all looks the same. But I must say, you wear both remarkably well.”
Agatha stalks closer toward Rio, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Tell me, darling, are you here to flirt, or do you actually plan to be useful?”
Rio flicks her dagger again, catching it by the tip easily. Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she pushes herself off the wall, closing the remaining distance between them with a feline grace. “Can I not do both?”
Agatha rolls her eyes, though there’s a hint of amusement in the action. “Your ability to multitask is the only reason I tolerate you.”
Rio’s smile widens, the mischievous curve of her lips promising trouble. “That,” she whispers, her voice lowering, “and because you love having me around to stir things up. It’s fun.”
There’s something undeniably electric about Rio’s presence tonight. An energy that always manages to get under Agatha’s skin in the most thrilling way. Perhaps it’s the way Rio moves through the world as if it were her own personal playground, or perhaps it’s that specific glint in her eye that always promises trouble.
Agatha loves trouble.
“Fun, sure.” Agatha says back darkly, her voice dropping with the weight of what is to come.
With a snap of her wrist, the magic that had been simmering in her veins explodes to life, swirling around her like a dark violet storm. The sky above answers in return as the wind picks up and howls through the narrow streets and the rain begins to pound harder.
Rio grins at the display, her fingers tracing idle patterns in the air, breathing in the pure energy of Agatha’s magic. “What else would you call it?”
Agatha’s fingers drift back to her elbow, a permanent reminder of the last time she had crossed paths with the Daughters of Liberty. “I’ve simply come to finish what they started,” she grumbles.
Rio arches an eyebrow, intrigued. “And you need my help for this, why? Surely the great Agatha Harkness can handle a few sanctimonious witches on her own.”
Agatha doesn’t respond to the taunt. Instead, she lets her power continue to grow, sending ripples of energy outward as the streetlamps stutter and die, casting everything into an eerie shadow. She can feel the tension in the air tightening around them, pressing against her skin like a second layer of armor.
Her mind drifts briefly to the last time she’d had a run in with this particular coven. The group of self-righteous witches had left their mark on her, both literally and metaphorically. Marguerite, the leader, had been particularly insufferable, all sanctimonious and full of righteous fury. Agatha could still hear the sharp hiss of her voice when she’d thrown that cursed needle, cutting Agatha deep, and leaving a scar that now burned with the memory of the humiliation.
“Thinking about your knitting club again?” Rio’s voice interrupts teasingly.
Agatha shoots her a sharp look. “Say that again, and I’ll–”
“You’ll what?” Rio interrupts, stepping closer until their faces are only inches apart. “Hex me? We both that woukdn’t work.”
The tension between them crackles to life, electric and sharp as it cuts through the humid night air. Agatha meets Rio’s gaze and her smirk returns.
“No, but I can withhold other things of interest.” She trails her fingers teasingly across Rio’s jaw before turning, her smile now as sharp as a blade.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Rio chuckles, pushing off the wall to follow after her, steps now lighter and quicker, like a predator slipping through the shadows.
“Try me,” she smirks before answering Rio’s earlier question. “And you’re correct, I don’t need your help, Rio. But it is always much more interesting with you around.”
She shoots a wink over her shoulder as Rio catches up to her.
They weave their way through the twisting streets of Salem, the oppressive weight of history pressing down upon them. This was a town built on fear and judgment, where women who wielded power were hunted, burned, and hanged. And yet, witches still thrived in the shadows, the Daughters of Liberty being the most prominent among them.
The meeting place of the coven is an old tavern, one that has stood for over a hundred years. The walls are thick with layers of enchantments, all meant to keep prying eyes and unwanted guests at bay. This is where they had shed Agatha’s blood, and more importantly, her pride.
And she has come to collect her payment.
They approach the entrance together, the air thick with the promise of the magic hidden behind the doors. Agatha can feel that the wards that surround the building are ancient and strong, but they’re nothing she shouldn’t be able to break with a little bit of effort. With a twist of her wrist, she sends a pulse of power toward the barrier, testing its strength.
Rio pauses outside the door, her hand resting lightly on the handle, watching Agatha with that ever-present smirk. “Would you like to knock, or should I?”
Agatha’s eyes narrow in concentration as she pushes harder against the wards, feeling them begin to crack under the pressure. “Why knock when you can just blow the doors off?”
Rio moves out of the way, “I like the way you think.”
With a final wave of her hand, the magic that surrounds the tavern crumbles apart like dried leaves. Agatha feels the surge of power flow through her as the protective barrier dissolves into the air like smoke.
She pushes the doors open and the two of them step inside.
The interior of the tavern is dimly lit, the warm glow of candlelight casting dark shadows on the wooden beams. At the center of the room sits the Daughters of Liberty. Five women dressed in fine gowns, their faces set in hard, disapproving lines as their startled gazes lock onto the doorway.
Marguerite, the coven leader, is sitting at the head of the table, her expression one of barely contained fury.
“Agatha Harkness,” her voice rings out, cold and imperious. “To what do we owe the displeasure?”
Agatha’s smile is all sharp edges. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”
Marguerite’s eyes shift toward Rio, her expression hardening in distaste. “And you’ve brought a…guest.”
Rio tips her hat with a mock salute. “Charmed, I’m sure.”
Agatha steps forward, her magic still swirling around her in a dark, violet haze. “I thought we might reminisce a little, Marguerite. You know, about old times. Knitting needles and all that.”
Marguerite’s gaze moves briefly to Agatha’s elbow. “It was a mistake to return here, Agatha. We let you escape once, we will not grant the same mercy twice.”
The growing magic in the room is palpable, the air crackling as the Daughters rise from their seats as one, their hands already alight with power.
Agatha’s eyes shine with the dark promise of destruction. “No mercy needed Maggie, I’ve come to collect what’s due. And I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Marguerite fingers twitch subtly at her side, a sign of the magic simmering just beneath her calm exterior. She’s poised, sharp-featured, and every inch the self-righteous leader Agatha has always despised. Her voice, when she speaks, is a soft command that cuts through the silence.
“You’re outnumbered.”
Agatha lets out a low, dark chuckle, her fingers twitching with anticipation as the magic in the air grows thicker. “Outnumbered? You think so?”
Rio, standing beside her, is twirling her dagger idly between her fingers again, and her grin widens.
The other witches around the table begin to move forward, one by one, their faces set in grim determination. The air snaps with the force of their combined power, the energy in the room building until it feels like the walls themselves are buzzing with it.
Agatha feels a spike of adrenaline shoot through her, the familiar rush of excitement that always comes before a fight. This is what she lives for, these moments of chaos, where magic dances in the air like a storm about to break and her power crackles at her fingertips, waiting to be unleashed.
Beside her, Rio’s eyes survey their opponents before locking back onto Agatha’s. “Ladies first.”
Agatha’s hands shoot out, her fingers weaving quickly through the air in intricate patterns. Before any of the witches in front of them can react, she hurls a bolt of magic toward the Daughter closest to her.
The spell striking with lethal accuracy. The witch gasps, her body convulsing as Agatha’s magic tears through her defenses and reaches into the very core of her being. Her life force ripping violently from her body and drawing into Agatha like water to a dry riverbed.
The woman crumples to the floor as Agatha’s eyes glow with the stolen magic. She cackles gleefully, turning toward the remaining witches. “Let’s get this over with.”
The other women spring into action, their hands blazing with spells, but Agatha is already moving, her magic dark and lethal as it swirls around her. She deflects their attacks with ease, sending their own magic back toward them with devastating force.
Rio is enjoying herself thoroughly.
She ducks under a bolt of magic, her blade slicing through the air as she sends one of the witches sprawling across the room. Her laughter rings out as she turns to face another, her movements fluid and graceful while she dances between spells.
“I’ve got to say, Agatha,” she calls out over her shoulder, “your friends really know how to throw a party!”
“They’re not my friends, darling.” Agatha quips, sending a wave of violet energy toward another witch who barely manages to throw a shield up in time.
“Could’ve fooled me, they’re very generous with their power.” Rio teases back, her blade flashing as she parries a particularly nasty curse. She spins through the fray, never striking directly, instead, she redirects the energy, turning the witches’ attacks into openings for Agatha to exploit. With every redirected spell, Agatha absorbs more power, her strength growing with each passing second.
“You’re making this too easy for me, my love!” Agatha laughs, the violet glow in her eyes now blinding as she feeds on the power.
The room fills with the acrid scent of burning wood and magic, the tavern itself groaning under the strain of the fight.
Rio, ducking under another wild swing of magic, shoots Agatha a playful grin. “Consider it an investment. I do have a vested interest in how all this lovely energy will all be released later tonight.”
“Well in that case, do continue,” Another Daughter falls to the ground, her life force siphoned into Agatha’s waiting hands. The power surges through her veins, making her feel invincible and untouchable and painfully turned on.
They continue this dance until the remaining witches collapse one by one and the only one left standing is Marguerite.
“You–” Marguerite’s voice trembles with fury and fear. “You’ll pay for this!”
“Pay?” Agatha asks, stepping closer, her voice dark and dripping with menace. “You misunderstand, Marguerite. I am the one who has come to collect my payment.”
With one final, sharp motion, Agatha unleashes the full might of her magic, wrapping it around Marguerite like a serpent. The woman gasps, her knees buckling as the force of it overwhelms her. Agatha’s magic sinks into her skin, draining her until there is nothing left.
Agatha stands in the center of the room, her body crackling with the intoxicating flow of stolen magic as Marguerite’s body crumples to the floor, devastatingly empty.
The tavern is now deathly still, save the soft sound of Rio’s footsteps as she steps forward, her expression shifting from playful to focused.
“You know the rules,” Rio says softly.
Agatha nods, stepping back to the door as Rio approaches the bodies strewn across the floor. She kneels beside the first witch Agatha had felled, her fingers hovering above the woman’s face as a faint shimmer of darkness gathers at her fingertips.
Agatha watches softly from her spot against the door as Rio moves with meticulous grace, collecting each soul with the same careful, measured touch. There’s something hauntingly beautiful in the way Rio pulls their lingering energy into her, and stores it in a place far beyond mortal comprehension.
The image of her focused lover combined with the heady flow of magic still moving through her, sends a spike of desire bolting down her spine and straight to her core. She groans softly as she forces herself to remain painfully still.
As the last witch’s soul is collected, Rio stands and turns, her gaze grazing over Agatha’s hooded eyes, shallow breathing, and locked muscles.
“All done,” she says, her usual smirk replaced with a softer version as she approaches Agatha slowly, her expression a mix of admiration and amusement. Her voice is now low and teasing, “That was quite the performance.”
Agatha’s eyes still glow faintly as she trails them up Rio’s body, a shiver of anticipation working its way through her. “You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”
Rio steps closer, her eyes dark and gleaming wildly with heat.
“Watching you tear them apart like that? How could I not?” Her lips curl into a wicked smile as her eyes move to Agatha’s mouth.
Agatha raises an eyebrow, a hint of something dangerous flaring to life within her. The rush of power coursing through her veins, makes her feel invincible and untouchable. And Rio, with her reckless smile and sharp eyes, is the only one who can match that feeling and give her the relief she desperately craves.
Without warning, Agatha reaches out to grip Rio’s collar and pull her closer, the space between them disappearing in an instant.
“You think you can handle me? Full of all this fresh, raw power?” Agatha’s voice is a soft, ruinous whisper, her breath ghosting against Rio’s lips.
Rio’s smile widens, her voice dropping to a sultry purr as she tilts her head closer. “I know I can.”
Their lips crash together, teeth catching and tongues chasing as everything in them surges toward one another. The air around them ignites as their magic crackles to life between them, a storm barely contained, feeding into the heady exchange of power as neither witch pulls back. Every touch, every movement, feels like stoking the flames of something dangerous, and they both revel in it as the tavern, the bodies, the battle, it all fades away, leaving only the pulse of shared desire and the undeniable pull of each other.
When they break apart, breathless and charged, Rio’s grin is sinful. “That,” she whispers, her voice husky and eyes both dark and alight at once, “was one hell of a kiss.”
Agatha chuckles, her grip still firm on Rio’s collar, as her other hand buries itself into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her thumb grazes the soft skin there, the touch possessive and promising. “Take me home,” she murmurs, “and there’ll be plenty more where that came from.”
Rio’s smirk deepens as she leans in, her breath hot against Agatha’s ear. “I have no plans of letting you out of my sight.”
Agatha’s pulse quickens at Rio’s words, the anticipation shooting straight to her core as her lips curl into a slow smile. Their eyes lock, the magic flowing between them palpable and electric. Agatha can feel the intensity of their combined power swirling around them, dangerous and intoxicating, but there is no fear, only the heady thrill of knowing they are perfectly matched.
With one last teasing smile, Agatha releases her grip on Rio, her eyes making promises she doesn’t voice, “Let’s take this somewhere…more comfortable, shall we?”
Rio’s eyes gleam as she takes Agatha’s hand. “After you, mi amor.”
Together, they step out into the night, the scent of saltwater and the hum of the darkened streets wrapping around them like a shroud as they vanish into the night.