Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Agatha Harkness was an overachiever. That much was fact. There were likely deep, psychologically complex reasons for it—some old scar of abandonment, some need to outshine her own shame—but Agatha wasn’t interested in excavating that right now. She didn’t need to explain herself. She was merely observing the fact. She was an overachiever, and it was currently glaringly evident in her obsessive, all-consuming research on strap-ons, which was keeping her hot and bothered despite the still chilly early March air. Two weeks ago, Rio mentioned she was considering it, and if Agatha were completely honest, she hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since. Her awareness was locked in the sacred, chaotic part of her brain where obsession and desire knotted together. She’d gone deep into online archives. Forums, reviews, product design blogs, subreddits, anatomy diagrams—none of it was beneath her. She read articles. She made spreadsheets. She watched hours of YouTube reviews by trans creators, scribbling notes in a slim leather notebook she kept tucked inside a manila folder, which was itself buried in the back of her bottom desk drawer at the office, behind old tax paperwork and a few empty file jackets labeled with intentionally boring titles like Annual Budget Notes 2019. Just in case. She compared brands, harness systems, materials, safety rankings, and compatibility add-ons with the zeal of a cursed academic. She kept a running spreadsheet cross-referencing pros and cons, price points, quality, and shipping options. There were flowcharts. Color-coded grids. Two outlines for potential introduction strategies are presented: one spontaneous and one formally proposed. She had never, in her life, prepared for anything the way she was preparing for this. Not even her dissertation. And she’d started dreaming about it. Multiple dreams. Multiple types of dreams. The kind that made her wake up aching, drenched, and utterly ready to ruin her life.

They were taking slow steps in unveiling Rio’s preferences together, helping her understand her body better, and acknowledging her feelings. Rio has been making significant progress in learning to identify and express her feelings. Agatha could tell that it was still a bit challenging at times, but she made sure to emit calm, protective pheromones to encourage her partner.  It was a strange reversal of roles, given that Agatha had always thought of herself as the one walled off. She wasn’t quite sure how that energy thing worked exactly, but she knew she was doing something right if Rio’s behavior was any indication. From the start of their relationship, it was Rio who usually did most of the talking. It all began with her small notes and quiet gestures—scraps of paper, softly placed gifts, hours spent in Agatha’s presence without asking for anything. Agatha still felt a little guilty remembering how she had never replied to any of those. Yet, it never stopped Rio from writing and leaving small extras. Over time, those gestures had grown bolder. Notes turned into heartfelt love letters. Letters turned into late-night talks over soup bowls and cups of tea. As their relationship developed, they found themselves talking more often, and once again, Rio was the one who spoke the most. They would talk about everything and nothing—about the world, and dreams, about death, and dumplings, about astral projection, and loneliness, about food, and silly underwear Rio was so obsessed with. Agatha loved every second of it, especially at the very beginning when she was still struggling to open up, when she was learning how to be emotionally available. Rio never made her feel small for taking her time; it never seemed to bother her so much that she would give up on her. She was patiently giving Agatha all the time she needed, and eventually, Agatha found the key to her heart that she thought she had buried a lifetime ago. Although Rio was the talker in this union, she rarely spoke about her feelings. However, unlike Agatha, this wasn’t due to an inability to speak her heart, but rather because Rio had never learned to feel properly. So, here they were, guiding one another through the emotional current of the psyche. 

Right now, Rio was exploring her identity. Their identity. Agatha was still getting used to the pronoun options. Rio had said that it shouldn’t be forced, and asked to use whichever pronoun came naturally. In her mind, Rio still referred to herself as she, so it wasn’t a big deal, nor was it a mandatory shift—just a new option that could be used whenever it felt fitting. Agatha would’ve adjusted in a heartbeat if asked, regardless. She would’ve torn the world apart and stitched it back together in new colors, if that’s what Rio needed. But Rio hadn’t asked for that. Rio had only asked to be seen. Accepted. Allowed to exist where she was in true colors, all masks neatly tucked aside. And Agatha was ready to do anything to help because nothing was more important to her than Rio. It was astonishing how even her work, which once consumed every part of Agatha’s life, was now fading into the background. It was still important to her, just not as important as this. Agatha had started building again, but now instead of an empire, she was erecting something tentative, fragile, yet powerful. She started building a safe home for them. A home where Rio could feel not just comfortable, but real. Agatha could only imagine what that body was capable of once it unlocked its true self. She wanted to see Rio unleashed. She wanted to see Rio take what she wanted. Certainly, she was deeply invested in helping this process become a reality, as she wanted to see what that body could do to her. With her. Oh, how she wanted that. She wanted Rio so badly. Never in her life had she been this horny, and she just turned fifty—she was five minutes shy of menopause. Yet, here she was, dripping in her underwear, literally speaking, in the broad daylight in her office during a Zoom meeting, absolutely unable to focus on the agenda. Her thoughts kept wandering to the collection of straps she had mentally gathered and neatly arranged on a shelf in her mind. 

They hadn’t circled back to the subject since that night two weeks ago, so Agatha had no way of knowing whether Rio was investing as much time in researching it as she was. Of course, she could just ask. But the opportunity hadn’t presented itself—not naturally, not without it feeling forced. And Agatha didn’t want to rush anything. She didn’t want Rio to think she was dissatisfied with how things were now, or worse, that she was looking to upgrade something that had never needed improving. She didn’t want Rio to think that it wasn’t enough, the way they were intimate now. Because it had been enough. Rio had been more than enough. But Agatha was still eager. Desperately eager. Although for completely separate reasons. She loved Rio’s mouth and fingers. Despite claiming to have little experience in the sex department, Rio certainly knew exactly how to touch Agatha to drive her absolutely and all-consumingly insane. She knew how to take Agatha apart into pieces and put her back together like she belonged nowhere else. But this. This was different. Not only because it was a different kind of penetration, but because it would hold a significant meaning for Rio. Agatha couldn’t even begin to imagine what it felt like to rediscover your identity after forty. She still remembered how she had finally come to terms with her sexuality—how much she’d resisted, how much of herself she’d buried along the way. She’d come out at twenty-seven and had already felt like she was impossibly late. Like she’d missed some unspoken deadline. Like all the joy had already happened without her. It had been life-shattering and mentally violent. Her heart clenched at the mere thought of Rio going through this kind of experience. She remembered the hollow ache in her chest. The heat behind her eyes. The way her own reflection had felt like both a relief and a betrayal. So now, when she looked at Rio—so patient, so curious, so open—it made her ache all over again. Because she knew the cost of that kind of becoming. Knew what it took to look at yourself without flinching. And she couldn’t make it easier for Rio. Couldn’t soften the weight of it. But she could be there, just in Rio’s orbit. Just present enough that she would never have to face it alone. That, more than anything, was what Agatha had needed and never had. And it was only now, basking in Rio’s light, that she realized how deeply that absence had scarred her. In retrospect, it would’ve prevented a lot of traumas from developing had she had Rio in her corner throughout different events of her life. It was too late for that now, but she finally started healing, feeling safe enough to let go of her fears. And it was only possible because she had Rio. And now, she would be that someone in Rio’s world while she was navigating through that damn significant chapter of her life.

Agatha had always been mildly concerned she’d make a shitty partner. It was one of those fears she never dared to name aloud. In the past, it hadn’t mattered too much as she was not considering any long-term, serious relationship with anyone. But now… Now, she wasn’t just concerned, she was terrified. Because Rio was so precious. Not in the fragile way—but in the once-in-a-lifetime way. She was easy the kindest, most attentive soul Agatha had ever met. She deserved the world. Deserved someone whose whole existence bent toward her joy. And for a while, Agatha feared she’d never be able to be that person. That she would fail, despite her best intentions. That her sharp edges would cut too deep. That her hunger would overwhelm the tenderness Rio deserved. Although they hadn’t been together for that long, it was becoming clear with every passing day that Agatha had nothing to be scared of. Because somehow, impossibly, Agatha was enough for Rio’s happiness. Just being herself—unfiltered, unpolished—seemed to make Rio happy. Really happy. The kind of happy that lit up her whole face. The kind of happy that pulsed off her in waves, like warmth from the sun, and despite not being able to see energy, Agatha still could sense how Rio’s entire essence was reaching out for her in a soft hum under her skin.

It was just a regular Tuesday afternoon. Andrea, Agatha’s financial analyst, was presenting the quarterly revenue numbers, her voice crisp and confident, just as it always was. A bar graph filled the shared screen. Agatha stared at it, but saw nothing. She just saw Rio on Monday morning. Waking up together was rapidly becoming Agatha’s absolute favorite thing. She loved the weight of Rio’s body draped against her back. The way her arm curled tightly around Agatha’s waist, possessive even in sleep. She loved those little puffs of air coming from Rio’s parted lips on her neck. She loved the tiny, lazy, cute nuzzles Rio gave her, slowly stirring awake. She could stay in that moment forever. Somehow, when they were together, Agatha would always wake up before the alarm as if her system was getting enough rest from simply existing in Rio’s orbit. They could’ve been awake, lost in one another’s bodies most of the night, but Agatha’s body still felt well-rested. Perhaps it was just Rio’s energy, filling their shared egregore with enough soul-nutrients. Agatha felt the corners of her lips twitch—her vocabulary was noticeably changing, adding all sorts of scientific and occult terms. Rio’s lifestyle was rubbing off on her in all the best ways. Some people would find such development troubling—Agatha personally knew a few individuals who claimed that it wasn’t natural to dissolve into another person, absorbing too many of their habits and way of moving about the world. But she didn’t see anything bad about it. Sharing Rio’s ways of perceiving and interacting with this world felt elevating. For Agatha, it has never felt like losing herself in someone else; on the contrary, it felt like discovering layers of herself she didn’t know existed before, like expansion, and she liked that woman—she was Agatha upgraded. She was becoming fluent in Rio’s language, and watching those dark, warm, brown eyes light up every time she spoke it back was one of the deepest pleasures of her life. Rio’s eyes… Agatha had long since given up trying to stop her mind from drifting. Especially when Rio was the one it drifted to. Lately, she didn’t even try to fight it. There was pleasure in it, she’d discovered—letting her thoughts unfold into private little vignettes.

She wasn’t sure she’d fully return to normal productivity again today. Still, Andrea deserved some of her focus. Agatha had hired her for a reason. Several, actually. Andrea Rojas was a savage. Brilliant, sharp, terrifying under pressure. She could wield a tax code like a concert pianist—precise, elegant, and just a little violent. She had an eye for loopholes and a moral code that could be toggled on and off depending on the needs of the quarter. She wielded the numbers like she understood the fine code of their nature. She was also a cunt. And Agatha meant that in the highest, most complimentary way. Andrea had rejected the offer twice before finally accepting it. Agatha had chased her without shame. She knew talent when she saw it, and she had no interest in pretending otherwise. Once hired, Andrea had become essential. Together, they operated like a machine built in hell for luxury capitalism. Authentic. Lethal. Exquisite. Together, they were an unstoppable force. They’ve been working side by side for over a decade. And somewhere in the middle of all that, something resembling friendship had taken root. Agatha didn’t use the word. She hated how soft it sounded. She had people close to her—a small handful. Trusted, necessary, chosen. If that qualified them as friends, so be it—but she refused to reduce it with labels and avoided calling them friends, although that was precisely what they were. Still, Andrea was one of those people. And as one of those people, of course, she noticed. Of course, she saw the shift in Agatha—the softening, the distraction, the faraway looks and half-smiles. She probably clocked the entire evolution of Agatha’s attachment to something, or rather someone, in real time, like tracking a trend on the market. Although she had the gall not to bring it up yet. But Agatha could feel the observation hovering just beneath the surface.

“What’s wrong, Agatha?” she asked, pausing her monologue about the new investment opportunities.

The question snapped Agatha out of her trance at last. “What’s wrong?” she echoed in a flat monotone. She hadn’t introduced anyone to the new development in her life yet. Not because she was hiding it, but because she wanted to savor it. Selfishly. Quietly. For as long as she could. Also, she may have believed in the power of jinxing things, and even though the relationship with Rio seemed to be a solid promise for the future together, she still wanted to be careful and keep it close to her heart. So, she was absolutely not up to start discussing the matter of strap-ons with Andrea. Although Andrea, for some reason, absolutely looked like the kind of person who had opinions on the subject.

“You’ve been out of it since this meeting started. That’s not like you.” Andrea narrowed her eyes at the camera, trying to analyze her through the pixelated video feed. “You also look a little flushed.” Fabulous, so now Agatha’s system was betraying her by revealing its desires in the form of physical reflections. Next time she saw Rio, she was stealing her magic foundation—the one that somehow managed to keep her looking fresh and cool even after a 90-degree subway ride. It turned out to be a Kale Care product, of course. Small, gay New York City world.

“I’m fine,” she said sharply.

“Agatha.” Andrea raised an eyebrow, fully aware that this move wouldn't faze Agatha at all. After all, you can't scare the one who already intimidates everyone else. Agatha invented that look.

“Menopause,” Agatha deadpanned. She recently began using this whenever she wanted to avoid replying to something. It didn’t matter that it was still somewhat early for her age to begin menopause. Typically, people would feel uncomfortable continuing this topic and would leave her alone. Typically. Most people. Andrea was not most people.

“Sure,” she said slowly, drawing out the word like she was letting Agatha hear the doubt in it. She studied Agatha’s face thoughtfully for a moment, then, seeming to decide to let it go, she smirked and said, “If you ever need to kick someone in the dick or shovel a body, just remember you can always count on me, okay?”

Agatha exhaled, feeling some of the tension peeling off her body. “Okay.”

That was Agatha’s last meeting for the day. It wasn’t late yet, just a few minutes past seven. Nothing like it used to be before. Agatha had been reducing her office hours to spend more evenings with Rio. They shared nights together on Wednesdays and Fridays, and during weekends, they stayed at each other's places. Whenever they were apart, they always made sure to stay close in any way possible, whether through an endless text-message chain, a quick call here and there, or sometimes dinner over FaceTime, their plates clinking out of sync. Agatha especially liked those. It felt like Rio was there, across from her, at the table. Present. Warm. It was different now. Now that they were together. There was no service anymore, yet Agatha still had the pleasure of a home-cooked meal every night, as they were now meal-prepping together for the entire week on Saturdays, and by some miracle, Agatha had grown fond of it. She loved this time—moving alongside Rio in the kitchen had a special charm to it. She even got used to wearing the silly chef’s hat; most time, she didn’t even notice its weight on her head anymore. They fit together perfectly; it felt easy and natural, and unbelievably comforting. So, yes, it was quite difficult to stay apart for a long time. It felt like a limb had been removed. And today was only Tuesday. They’d just said goodbye Monday morning after another blissfully comfortable weekend curled up at Rio’s house. Agatha preferred that they spend their time there. There was something about the place that she couldn’t quite articulate, but definitely felt in her bones. That energy thing—Agatha felt it.

On Tuesdays, they weren’t scheduled for dates. The beginning of the week was always a busy time for both of them. Although Rio wasn’t providing chef services for people anymore, she was still tied to the operation. Lilia was the one who did most of the business stirring, but Rio still came into the office every Tuesday and Friday morning. The rest of the week, she worked from home, quietly occupied with her manuscript. Tuesdays followed a familiar rhythm—return home around two, draft or revise until five, then head to the gym for a long, brutal session that usually lasted until around seven-ish. So, by Agatha’s estimation, Rio should’ve been preparing a post-workout meal by now. She wasn’t quite sure how exactly that happened, but she found herself standing on Rio’s porch at 7:48 pm—no plan, no real excuse, just… there. Her mind had been so flooded with daydreams that her body seemed to carry her on its own, unable to stay apart from its mate any longer. She didn’t even remember taking the exit toward Rio’s house. Her hands must’ve done it on instinct, bypassing her own turn, following the tether. She sighed, eyes fixed on the door, her chest lifting with something embarrassingly close to longing. It should have been worrying how much this was affecting her, but as if sensing Rio on the other side of the door, Agatha felt a warm sensation spread throughout her, and suddenly, worries became the last thing on her mind. She fished her phone and opened their message chat. If Rio was cooking, she was cooking with her headphones on. Likely listening to the sounds of nature or a campfire. She really liked the screeching of a campfire, making Agatha want to build a fireplace in her living room. She had a feeling that Rio would enjoy it a lot, and she was planning to proceed with this idea and surprise her. She just needed her out of the house for a couple of days. Agatha already had a contractor on standby, along with the blueprints and fine details. 

Her thumbs were moving without pause, I’m at your front door, cariño. If you’re interested;)

She didn’t have to wait very long. Just a few moments after she sent the text, she heard a commotion from inside the house, followed by the sound of bare feet on the hardwood. The door flew open—Rio was a little breathless as if she had run to get the door; she still had her headphones on, her hair was a little damp with sweat, and her eyes were wide, but so so bright. “Agatha?” she squeaked, blinking at her in disbelief. Agatha’s body moved before she even registered it. She stepped into Rio’s personal space and reached for the headphones, gently taking them off and letting them hang around her neck. She still hadn’t said anything. Instead, she cupped Rio’s jaw in both palms and kissed her. Hot and open-mouthed from the get-go. Despite being caught off guard, Rio immediately responded, returning the kiss with the same fervor. Hands flying to the front of Agatha’s shirt, she grabbed the front of her button-up. She clutched the fabric like she was holding back an avalanche, dragging her inside the house and slamming the door shut with her foot without parting even for a split second. Agatha felt her back hit the hard surface, and a warm body pressed against hers. She moaned into Rio’s mouth, unbothered by the vulnerability of the sound. This. Oh, how she’s been craving this. This closeness, this passion, this complete abandon, and succumbing to the pleasure of each other’s touch. And Rio, who always seemed so calm and collected, was clearly experiencing the same kind of desperation. Their hands were on Agatha’s chest, shameless and bold, cupping her through the thin fabric of her shirt. Their palms were hot. Their breath uneven. And their touch was full of intention. Agatha arched into her hands with a gasp, pressing closer, desperate for more. Her own hands left Rio’s face and slid down their spine until her fingers curved around the back of her thighs, pulling her in, locking them together. She grabbed their ass with both hands, drawing a helpless whine from Rio’s throat. The sound went straight to her clit.

“Agatha,” they said, breaking the kiss. Agatha chased after her anyway, mouth parted, warm and damp with heat, greedy—like she could live off the taste of Rio alone—but a gentle palm against her chest stopped her short. “Dame un respiro,” they panted, “por favor, mi amor.” The words made Agatha’s thighs clench on instinct. Her breath caught. Fuck. If she hadn’t been wet before, she was drenched now. Rio, speaking Spanish, did it for her every damn time. But it wasn’t just the way it slipped out of Rio’s kiss-swollen mouth, low and hoarse and natural—it was the implication behind it. Spanish wasn’t their go-to. Rio defaulted to Spanish when the higher reasoning part of her brain short-circuited, when language became a matter of survival rather than performance. She spoke it when she was overwhelmed, when the rational part of their brain shut down, and she was unable to produce anything articulate, teetering just at the edge of composure, the guardrail barely holding. 

Stopping was the last thing Agatha wanted to do. But Rio was trembling beside her, and they sounded wrecked, asking for a breather, and so Agatha swallowed her own hunger and loosened her grip, unclenching the death hold she had on Rio’s ass, and instead brought their foreheads together, noses brushing. “Okay,” she panted back, her voice hoarse and almost shaky. “Okay, baby—” She paused to catch her breath. “Whatever you need.”

They stayed like this for a long moment, just basking in each other’s warmth and syncing their breaths. The air between them still thick with desire, but no longer on fire. When Rio finally pulled back, the haze had cleared from her eyes just enough to refocus. She smiled—soft, wrecked, devastating. “Hi, encanto,” they murmured. Agatha felt it hit her right in the chest. She hasn't been a big fan of pet names—she thought they were a bit silly and unnecessary. But Rio had a way of reworking her, one quiet moment at a time. And at some point, Agatha found herself using different pet names for Rio. Soft nothings slipping out of her mouth when she wasn’t thinking. Surprisingly, she's also been enjoying it when Rio called her those names, too. It made her feel claimed. And it made her want to claim back. Somehow, without discussing or agreeing on anything, they began using the names in Spanish. Rio always referred to her as either encanto or mi amor, while Agatha responded with cariño or mi vida. In her mind, it just felt right. Natural. 

“Sorry for ambushing you,” she said instead of a greeting, even though she absolutely wasn’t sorry.

Rio’s weight shifted as she moved off her, sliding her palms down Agatha’s sides until she found her hands. She took them gently, fingers weaving together with a familiar ease. “You won’t find me complaining,” she said with a gentle smile, intertwining their fingers. “Although I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow night.” Agatha smirked in return, leaning in again because frankly, they weren’t kissing right now and that felt like a gross oversight. But when she leaned forward, Rio dodged with a soft huff of laughter, and Agatha let out a dramatic sigh of protest. “Agatha,” Rio attempted to sound stern, but the undertones of affection didn’t really let it hold any vibration of a warning. “I know this look on you,” they continued, scanning Agatha’s face. “You get this kind of fire in your eyes when you’re about to ravish me with your mouth alone.” It was accurate. It never ceased to astonish Agatha how well they’d learned to read each other in such a short period of time. It was as if their souls recognized one another on a deep, primal, blueprint level. When Rio spoke again, their passion from a few moments ago was still there, but now it was tempered with a hint of seriousness. “You will have to wait for this a bit, as I haven’t even showered.”

Agatha very nearly groaned out loud. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted Rio. Now. It was an essential need. Agatha’s body felt like a desert, and Rio was her rain; she needed them all over her, or she would burn alive. “I don’t care,” she said earnestly, because why would she care? They were going to get sweaty all over again anyway.

“But I do,” Rio replied softly. Of course, she did, and Agatha really had to calm down a little because she would never be this kind of person—the kind forcing their partner into doing something they’re uncomfortable with. Rio’s sensors were hypersensitive, which caused her to freak out in situations like that. “I want to enjoy this, but I won’t be able to if my system shuts down, picking up on my energy state after gym.” Their thumb started brushing against Agatha’s knuckles, a slow, apologetic rhythm. Agatha’s heart stuttered at the care Rio always took to communicate. How open she was. How firm, even in her vulnerability. It made her want to curl around her protectively like a spell. Before she could say as much, Rio added, with a sheepish edge, “I’m also starving.”

Agatha sighed and shook her head affectionately. “Fine,” she finally surrendered, shoving her libido in the back. Now that Rio said that, she realized she could eat, too.

Rio’s smile turned bright, goofy, and radiant. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Agatha snorted. Dork.

She tugged Rio’s hand and embraced her tenderly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not lifting her chin from Rio’s shoulder, placing a soft kiss on the warm curve of their neck.

“For what?” Rio asked. She couldn’t see their face, but she could hear the frown in their voice.

“For making you feel like you have to explain something,” she said honestly. “I know you need to shower, so you don’t freak out. I didn’t mean to push you.”

“It’s fine,” Rio said, threading her fingers into Agatha’s thick locks and scratching at her scalp.

“No, it isn’t,” she argued softly. “It doesn’t excuse my behavior that I’m still in my work character.” She nuzzled along the slope of Rio’s neck. “I’m sorry I let my hormones take the lead.” Agatha wondered if, eventually, she would stop feeling this way—this all-consuming desire for Rio. It was ridiculous. It felt ridiculous to still be this desperate, this undone by Rio, every damn time. She wasn’t supposed to feel this horny at this age. And yet, here they were.

“I ambushed you the day we first kissed,” Rio murmured, “I get it. I, too, want you so badly sometimes that common sense just leaves my system.” The words sent a pleasant shiver down Agatha's spine. She had been wanted before, yet being wanted by Rio felt so different. She’d been touched, praised, desired. She hated clichés, but it had never felt like this. She couldn’t explain what exactly was different, only that it was. Rio pressed a tender kiss to her temple and leaned back, creating a small distance between them. She grabbed Agatha’s hand again and tugged toward the kitchen. “Come on,” they said, “let’s feed Her Majesty.” Agatha felt a smile pull at her mouth. Small details like this—like Rio remembering something as stupid as Billy calling her that—made her feel so loved. It had never felt like this with anyone before.

Agatha had learned that a few weeks ago, the first time they spent a full weekend together at Rio’s house. They were at her home gym, both slick with sweat and adrenaline, breath coming hard from a brutal set of lifts. Agatha had to admit, sweaty Rio was very distracting. Arms flexing, skin glowing, veins popping—all Agatha could think of was running her mouth over that glistening skin, licking salt and heat and effort from the planes of Rio’s body. She was about to do just that, already moving before she even thought about it, sliding up behind Rio, running her palms up her body, under their shirt, and over their taped chest, up the ridge of her ribs. Her nose nudged into Rio’s neck, ready to press a kiss to warm skin, but just when she was about to make contact, she felt Rio freeze. Rio never froze when Agatha was touching her. Something was wrong. Their body just locked—she wasn’t moving, was barely breathing—had gone statue-still in Agatha’s arms. Agatha dropped her hands instantly and circled Rio in a flash, so that they could be face-to-face. Rio’s gaze was absent, pinned to a random, distant point across the room, unfocused. “Rio?” Agatha said softly, voice pitched low and careful. No reaction. Her heart was pounding. She didn’t know what this was. She didn’t know if she should back away because that was her touch that had caused it, or if it might be the only thing that could help. Still, she risked it, tentatively brushing her fingertips to Rio’s cheek. Their breathing changed just a notch as if registering Agatha’s presence from far, far away. “I’m not sure what’s happening,” Agatha said in a low voice, “but you’re safe.” Her thumb began stroking Rio’s skin, featherlight, spreading what Agatha could only hope was calming energy. “You’re okay, baby,” she murmured. “Well, obviously, not okay, but you will be okay.” She had no idea what had happened and what to do, but if it was anything like a panic attack, she reasoned that the only thing she could do was be there and try to emit comfort. “Try to focus on my voice.” She had no idea whether Rio could hear her, but she kept going, keeping her voice even, soothing. “Just breathe with me. In and out.” She reached for Rio’s hand and pressed their palm to the center of her chest. “In and out, just like that, baby,” she kept murmuring. “Try to match my heartbeat.” They stayed like this, suspended in time, the whole world compressed into that moment—the low hum of the air conditioning unit, the smell of sweat, iron, and rubber matting, Agatha’s thumb brushing Rio’s cheek like a metronome, in the most gentle way she could muster. She whispered whatever came to mind—sweet nothings, grounding words, fragments of comfort, and eventually, Rio blinked. Agatha exhaled in relief. She shifted her grip slightly, placing her fingers under Rio’s chin. She didn’t move otherwise, simply asking her to look up. They did. Their eyes were still a bit unfocused, but when they finally focused and found Agatha’s face, they lit up like the sun breaking over the horizon. “Hey,” Agatha breathed, smiling, aching, “welcome back.”

Rio blinked several more times, their breath even now. She swallowed as if to clear her throat, but her voice was still a little hoarse, “I’m sorry.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, trying to read all the answers to her questions in Rio’s face. “I’m the one who is sorry, cariño,” she said earnestly. Her voice dropped to something raw. “What did I do?”

Rio let out a long, steadying breath and set both hands on Agatha’s waist, grounding herself. “You didn’t do anything wrong, amor,” she said gently. “It’s just one of the distinctive features that makes most girls not want to be with someone like me.”

Agatha still had her fingers under their chin, and when she shifted to cup Rio’s jaw fully, they leaned into her touch like it was second nature. Agatha smiled. “Well, it’s a good thing that I’m not most girls, then,” she said warmly. “So… what happens when this distinctive feature is active?”

Rio held her gaze for a moment, studying her face, eyes narrowed slightly, likely trying to find proper words to describe it. “We wield different energies when we do different things, right?” they began carefully. Agatha nodded, watching her closely. “So, when I do certain things, I direct my focus within a certain egregore that governs the energy of that thing. Like a metaphysical channel. That pure concentration allows me to excel in the task at hand.” They paused, checking for understanding. Agatha murmured a soft, encouraging Okay. So far, it was understandable, although she wasn’t sure where Rio was leading with that. “When I’m at the gym or gardening, it always leaves a trace on the material plane as well. I get sweaty and messy—it belongs to that energy field. That version of me is aligned only with that task, that domain.” Agatha was following; she didn’t interrupt, although she had questions. “For you,” Rio said, gesturing gently toward her, “I am just me—a singular being on this physical plane, but for me, there are many me—each tethered to the energy field they’re currently active in. And just now you tried to get one of those me into a different energy setting that it didn’t belong to—the me with a distinguished physical trace in the form of sweat that does not belong in the energy field of intimacy.” Before Agatha could ask, Rio continued as if reading her mind. “Yes, this kind of physical trace can be obtained within the energy field of intimacy, but this way it would be native to that egregore. It originates there. You cannot take it from one and bring it into another—that breaks the internal structure.” Agatha was still and focused, listening as if decoding a spell, holding onto every word. “When I shower, all previously tangled in realms me reset as the water holds a very powerful cleansing ability.” Agatha let the silence stretch for a moment after that, absorbing the whole thing. Rio’s tone was clinical and measured, like it always was whenever they discussed topics like this. “This is what happened, and my body just locked down instinctively—it’s a protective mechanism, so that the pieces of me stay within the fields they belong to,” Rio said softly, her eyes never leaving Agatha’s face. “I don’t know whether this makes any sense to you,” they added, quieter now, almost shy.

That was… Nothing that Agtha had expected, analyzing what could’ve possibly gone wrong. It did make sense. She wasn’t going to pretend to completely understand this, but she undoubtedly saw the vision—she could understand why it affected Rio. “Okay,” she said. One word. Two syllables. The whole great meaning.

“Okay?” Rio’s eyebrows rose in amusement, her tone a bit higher than before.

“Yeah,” Agatha murmured. “So, I just won’t try to seduce you after gym or garden work then, and wait till you shower, and then do that.” Her smirk was light but sincere.

Rio looked like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re just… Okay with that,” they mumbled, searching her face, likely for any sign of dishonesty. There were none—Agatha had always been honest with Rio.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked genuinely.

“I don’t know,” Rio licked her lips as if to start an argument, although it didn’t seem that she had any. “You don't want to discuss it further?”

“What is there to discuss?” Agatha's tone shifted, crisp and executive. She switched to her business mode, hoping it would help Rio accept the fact that she was, in fact, okay with this. “I will respect your preference regarding this matter going forward. There is nothing left to be a subject for any further discussion.” Her tone was sharp and straightforward, and she raised one eyebrow to seal her statement.

Rio wasn’t saying anything for a long moment, but her grip tightened on Agatha’s waist. “You’re so hot right now,” they said at last.

Agatha’s grin turned wicked. "I'm glad you think so. Now, let’s go shower, so we can do something about it.”

Rio didn’t even wait. They grabbed her hand and unceremoniously dragged her out of the gym and toward the bathroom, making Agatha laugh breathlessly and delightedly. That memory curled warmly in her chest now, pulling a dreamy smile to her lips. God, she loved this wonderful, strange creature so damn much.

“Give me a moment, I’ll make another serving,” Rio said, leaving Agatha perched on the bar stool, in a patch of late-afternoon sun, and padded barefoot to the fridge, the hem of her loose tee swaying as she moved. But before reaching for the ingredients, she veered toward the cupboard and pulled out a specific teacup—the medium-sized porcelain one Agatha always reached for when she was here, black with faded green along the rim. There was a charming illustration at the center featuring a bubbling green brew in a cauldron, with a small note underneath that read 100% THAT WITCH. Rio placed it beside her on the bar with quiet intention, a small, unspoken gesture of knowing her. Then, without breaking stride, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Agatha’s head. The touch was so casual and tender that it made Agatha blink. Only then did she notice the ceramic teapot already steeping on the bartop, faint wisps of steam curling in the air like incense smoke. Rio moved quickly, with effortless grace—an orchestration of cutting boards, sizzling pans, and drawers opening and shutting with barely a sound. There was a lot of chopping. And an absurd amount of vegetables. Agatha grimaced without thinking. Just the sight of that much green was questionable. Rio caught the look mid-slice and chuckled, the sound a soft ripple in the room. “What’s the matter, my love?” they asked over their shoulder playfully. “You ambushed me in the middle of my routine Tuesday meal. Being with me here today means eating what I’m eating—and I’m eating salad.”

“Salad is not even real food!” Agatha exclaimed, throwing her arms up like she’d been personally betrayed. “How is it a filling post-workout meal?”

“It has a dense amount of beef,” Rio said flatly, raising one brow as she turned to face her. The look should’ve been a glare. But the corners of her mouth were twitching, fighting amusement. There was a glint in her eye that said she was enjoying this far more than she let on. “You’ll like it,” she added, more gently, tilting her head. “And after, there’s a high-protein dessert.” Agatha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile. She’d never been one for sweet things. And yet… Rio had a way of making her rethink every category she thought she had settled. There was no surface she hadn’t scratched. No rule she hadn’t rewritten. Apparently, that included after-dinner desserts.

The salad was, indeed, loaded with beef. It was Rio’s signature Korean barbecue-style beef, and Agatha couldn’t stop marvelling at how Rio was making the simplest ingredients taste so good. “How do you make your beef so caramelized?” she asked, lazily stirring said beef in the pan while Rio was finishing chopping vegetables for the second serving. “And don’t give me one of yours It’s a secret recipe. I’m your partner and I have the right to know,” she added, smiling.

“I marinate it in syrup,” she replied nonchalantly, not breaking her focus from the cutting board.

Agatha’s hand froze mid-stir. “Come again?” She turned to face Rio.

“The sugar-free pancake syrup that we use in our oatmeal every morning,” they clarified, as if that particular detail made it any less outrageous. Their voice was calm, their body relaxed, as if they hadn’t just committed a culinary crime. “I marinate my beef in it overnight.”

“You are not being serious,” Agatha narrowed her eyes, scanning Rio’s face, who was now looking at her with an open expression, not realizing that the things she was saying were making no sense.

“I’m always serious about food,” they said softly and sincerely.

Agatha stared at her for a long beat, then let out a half-disbelieving laugh. “You are the equivalent of a crazy scientist, but in the kitchen.” Rio chuckled with her, the moment light and warm. She reached for the next item, and Agatha watched her chop with practiced precision. Then her eyes caught the next piece of fruit. “Is this… mango?” Agatha frowned. Why was Rio chopping mango for a salad with beef?

As if hearing her question, they looked up, meeting her gaze. “Mango is an excellent source of calcium, with almost no sodium. It’s good for gut health, is filling, and goes well with beef,” she said calmly.

“I am very skeptical,” Agatha said, not bothering to hide the judgment in her voice.

“Have I ever fed you something you disliked, my love?” Rio asked gently, putting the knife aside, and swapping the pieces with a spatula. The expression on her face wasn’t defensive—it was calm. Loving. Confident. Well, no. That had never happened. Agatha enjoyed everything Rio cooked. Agatha paused, lips parting, then slowly closed them. She watched Rio finish assembling the second bowl with practiced ease. Her hands, elegant and sure, moved from task to task with rhythmic fluidity. After rinsing her fingers, they came to stand beside Agatha again. Rio looked at the beef in the pan, nodding slightly, and turned the stove off. “It’s good,” she said, “thanks for helping me with that.” And then, still smiling, she pressed a tender kiss to Agatha’s lips. It wasn’t rushed or showy—just a warm, anchored kiss.“You’ll like it,” Rio whispered into her, so close the words melted into her skin. “Trust me.” And she did. She trusted Dr. Rio Vidal with her life.

And, of course, just as any other promise Rio had given her, this one was true. The salad was divine. The mango gave it an unexpected brightness, sweet and tangy, cutting through the richness of the beef like a hidden chord in a symphony. It was full and bold and layered in a way Agatha had never thought possible. She savored every bite, and out of the corner of her eye, caught the pleased smile blooming on Rio’s face. It made something warm unfold inside her chest. A mirror smile crept up before she could stop it. It was a delightful feeling to realize that her enjoyment of food was bringing happiness to Rio, and it was equally making Agatha happy.

Somewhere during dinner, Ebony padded into the kitchen with the silent arrogance of a creature who owned the space. The cat circled their feet once, made a dramatic show of acknowledging Agatha, then leapt up into her lap like it was her rightful throne. Rio was just staring at them, still unable to get used to the fact that her violent, mean cat chose Agatha as her favorite human.

“I don’t understand you two,” she muttered, arms folded loosely as she watched her own cat—the one who once shredded a delivery driver’s jeans and sent the mailman into early retirement—purr loudly on Agatha’s knees, leaning into her touch.

Agatha just smirked, her fingers languidly scratching behind Ebony’s ears. “She is my familiar from an alternate universe,” she murmured. “And she’s been keeping you safe until I was finally able to get here and claim you.” Rio blinked slowly at her, visibly trying to decipher whether that was a joke, and then somehow deciding it wasn’t. They nodded, a little serious, like they’d just accepted some cosmic truth. It hit Agatha square in the chest, and she felt that wave of warmth spread all over within her. That ridiculous, endearing trust. That open face. That deep-rooted belief in all magical and mysterious. Rio was so adorable. Agatha had come over here today because she was horny. Initially, it was nothing but a booty call, and she just wanted to scratch the itch that had been making her unable to concentrate all day. Instead, she found herself engaged in… this. This domestic intimacy and closeness on a different kind of level—sitting in the kitchen, at Rio’s house, with Ebony on her lap, and Rio’s wide, sweet eyes watching her like she hung the goddamn stars. She realized then with a shocking certainty that she liked this much more. She couldn’t remember now what her life had been without Rio—didn’t want to remember. Because that old version of herself was dull, and cold, and hollow. Her life had no color, just outlines and obligations.. That woman had nothing in her life that she cared for. A queen without a court. She cared about her empire, but there was nobody with whom she could rule it. But now that she had found her prince, she caught herself thinking that the kingdom she’d built didn’t seem as appealing anymore. That wasn’t an easy train of thought to cultivate, especially because Agatha had never ventured outside her carefully constructed world. She truly didn’t know what was out there or what she could occupy herself with, and there was also that tiny voice in her head—her own voice, but younger, crueler—whispering that she was a little too old to start a journey of new discovery. Too established. That her foundation was already poured, and it would be foolish to pull it apart now. Sticking to the comfort of the old ways seemed more safe and reasonable, but Rio always said that when the energy felt stale, it was best to make your peace with that and walk away. Don’t try to give mouth-to-mouth to something that is already dead, as it is no longer serving its purpose. It is no longer creating life. Let it go. Let it return into the Universe to be reborn as something new. 

“Energy generates energy,” she always said, wrapping her fingers around a cup of tea like it was a gospel. “Energy must flow, and when you feel the stream not running as it used to, it might be time to thank it for everything it has brought into your life, and say goodbye. There is nothing permanent in life. Every single thing, no matter how much you love it and used to it, will eventually come to an end because nothing is eternal under the moonlight. You shouldn’t hold onto dead weight.” Agatha had always nodded along, as if it were something poetic. But now… now she wasn’t sure. Because now that notion was curling inside her, and she could feel that her job—something that had always been her entire life before, her legacy—was not flowing as it used to. The company was thriving, and the business had not been better—it was Agatha, who was not swimming in its current as smoothly as before because now she had finally seen the shore afar, and her tired body wanted nothing more than to float in that direction, dock, and set anchor. She glanced at Rio, at her flushed cheeks, at the gentle tension in her brow as she puzzled over the cat’s betrayal, and felt something old inside her begin to dissolve. She loved what she had created, but now she also loved Rio.

Rio’s life appeared vibrant and well-rounded, filled with more than just work and research for their book—there was also a rich mix of hobbies and personal interests. Whether it was hitting the gym, tending to the garden, or enjoying some casual gaming, Rio always had something engaging in motion. It made one thing heartbreakingly clear—they must have been intentionally reducing some activities, cutting into their own joy, to free up time and spend it with Agatha. This was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Agatha knew Rio loved her—she felt it in the way they looked at her, saw it being projected in everything Rio did, in every shared cup of tea, every hand that found hers without needing a reason. But some part of her, too old and too wounded to ever truly shut up, couldn’t help but ask Am I worth such a sacrifice? But instead of spiraling herself into oblivion, as she had always done before, Agatha did something that still felt quite new, yet she slowly began to get used to. She spoke about how she felt.

“I’m self-conscious,” she said without a preamble. There was no reason to pretend or sugar-coat things with Rio. Agatha could tell Rio anything, without worrying about getting judged. She watched Rio freeze for a split second, then immediately lifted her eyes, searching Agatha’s face so fast and so fully it nearly knocked the wind out of her. She pushed her now-empty plate aside and reached across the table. The corners of Agatha’s lips twitched. She slid her hand toward theirs, and at the first brush of fingers, they intertwined. “You enjoy so many things, and you have a lot of hobbies,” Agatha added, as if that alone might explain the knot in her chest.

“This is,” Rio poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue, “statistically accurate.” They narrowed their eyes a little, gently prompting her to go on.

“I don’t have any hobbies,” Agatha shrugged, her subconscious trying to make it sound less relevant than it was.

Rio’s thumb began tracing slow circles over the back of her hand. It was grounding, she had to admit. That small, soothing motion made something uncoil low in her ribs. “Surely, you enjoy things,” Rio said with calm certainty.

“I like reading,” Agatha agreed, but before they could reply, she added, “but this is not the same.” Rio tilted her head slightly—a tell-tale sign they were listening extra carefully. “This can barely be called a hobby,” Agatha began. “It doesn’t generate the energy of creation. Not the way a hobby does. Like your card collecting. Or when you game and get XP or achievements—that little loop of progress. It doesn’t create anything like recipes do. Or plants that grow. Or even the gym—building strength and muscle. It all moves something. It makes something.” She glanced at them. “Reading only consumes.” Rio was listening in silence, her gaze sharp and zeroed in on Agatha’s face. She saw that they were calculating something in their mind, likely running an analytical code, but without interrupting. They were giving her space to finish. Always. “For the longest time, I was fulfilling this with work, but lately I’ve been thinking that I would like this fulfillment to be more indoor. Domestic. And then I realized that I don’t have a hobby.” She looked at Rio with a barely visible nod—something that anyone else would’ve missed. Anyone, but Rio. Because Rio could read Agatha with precision, and Rio knew that gesture, she knew what it meant—Agatha’s green light to comment on the matter. 

“You look like you are genuinely enjoying doing things with me,” Rio said softly. “You look happy whenever we garden together, or do cardio, and you definitely look like you enjoy cooking with me.”

“I do,” Agatha confirmed instantly. “I enjoy doing all these things with you.” She paused, half-expecting Rio to say But? But Rio didn’t. Because Rio never interrupted her train of thought, knowing how hard it was for Agatha to open up like this. “But these are your things, and I’m just a guest participant. And I can’t help but worry that I’m taking you away from it. Like the energy that these things have to offer now has to split itself in two because I joined this current. And maybe you’d rather have it all for yourself.” Her fingers twitched involuntarily, and Rio immediately tightened their grip, anchoring her.

“Agatha,” they murmured. Agatha didn’t look up from the spot on the table, her eyes dropped to. She was getting a little overwhelmed, but she wasn’t going to back out; she just needed a very flimsy, temporary wall to hide behind for a moment. Just to catch her breath. She heard the scrape of a chair, and suddenly Rio was beside her, still holding her hand on the table, but now wrapping their other arm around her back, pulling her in. It was a little awkward in this position.  “My love, no,” Rio whispered into her ear, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “I love sharing these experiences with you. I wanted to have someone to share them with, probably for my entire life.” Agatha’s eyes fluttered closed. Her breath hitched. “You know I don’t have many friends—only a couple of people who I trust, who are always there if I need anything. But I’ve never had a real buddy, with whom I would do things.” Their lips ghosted over her pulse. “But then you came along, and you became everyone I needed—my friend, my family, my love. Of course, I want to share everything I have and do with you.” She didn’t say anything else, just stayed there, pressed into Agatha’s skin, breathing her in.

“Does it bother you?” Agatha whispered. They were still awkwardly embracing. Rio tucked against her, one arm wrapped loosely around Agatha’s middle, and their head nested in the crook of her neck like they’d been made to fit there. Agatha’s legs were tangled under the chair, and she was practically in Rio’s lap now. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t even sustainable. Agatha’s spine was protesting from the way she was half-leaning over the table—those chairs were not built for intimacy. Yet, neither of them moved. Rio hummed quietly as if in question. “That I don’t have a hobby,” Agatha clarified. 

“No,” Rio replied immediately, without the faintest hesitation. Their tone was steady, unshaken by the question. Their breath warmed her collarbone as they spoke. Agatha felt it more than heard it. She let her eyes close for a moment, grounded by the weight of Rio’s arms, the soft pressure of their body against hers.

“And it doesn’t bother you that I use yours instead?”

Rio chuckled affectionately. “Use?” she asked with a note of amusement in her tone. “Oh, please, mi amor, use it. Use everything I’ve got.” Agatha couldn’t see it from her position, but she felt Rio smirk and whisper sultrily into her skin, "Use me.” Fuck. Agatha’s breath caught. For a second, her brain just… stopped. She felt the flash of heat coil through her spine, the quick, overwhelming rush of want that made her want to laugh and groan and drag Rio into her lap all at once. Rio knew what she was doing. Because it helped. Agatha was certain that Rio, true to their nature, had noticed her tendency to revert to more sexual behavior whenever she was getting overwhelmed and needed to deflect. Sex was easy, and Agatha had always felt powerful in that setting, so that was her comfort zone, her sanctuary. She gently shifted, causing Rio to lift their head from her shoulder. When they were finally face-to-face again, she softly cupped their jaw and leaned in. “I love you,” she whispered into the little space between them, and then kissed her gently.

And then there was dessert. And because it was Rio’s recipe, it was unreasonably good. Agatha was skeptical at first. An ice cream that was not really ice cream, but made from Greek yogurt, although not a froyo. There was a pinch of Jell-O banana-flavored pudding mixed in, along with a sugar-free version of Fruit Loops, peanut powder, and two kinds of syrup, all topped with whipped cream, and kept in the freezer for a bit—not to freeze, but to give it a touch of frostbite. Agatha had rolled her eyes when Rio first described it, unconvinced. It sounded chaotic. Like someone tried to healthify a gas station sundae. She thought it was too much work, and it was easier to just get one of those high-protein, low-calorie ice creams. But then she tasted it and forgot all of her reasons for being doubtful. It continually astonished Agatha how many sugar-free products were available on the market. She had never paid it much attention because, first, she didn’t have a sweet tooth, and second, on rare occasions she had something sweet, added sugars were the least of concerns on her radar. It had always been irrelevant to her. But not to Rio. Rio had this almost magical ability to find a ‘healthy’ substitute for absolutely anything. Greek yogurt in place of mayonnaise. Monkfruit instead of sugar. Chickpea noodles that somehow didn’t taste like disappointment. Every day, Agatha was learning something new. It wasn’t that Rio demonized added sugars. On the contrary, for a dietitian, she was quite tolerant. She wasn’t one of those sadistic ‘clean eaters’. She didn’t label foods as ‘toxic’ or ‘guilt-free’. She didn’t count almonds. She lived by the golden rule of moderation and spent her career trying to untangle people from the psychological knots society had tied around their plates. Agatha could say with a hundred percent certainty that such an approach was successful—she was a prime example, after all. Rio’s avoidance of added sugars was never about the trends. It was personal. Her mother had diabetes. She hadn’t taken proper care of herself, and her nutritional habits had spiraled until the disease reached a point where doctors could no longer intervene gently. She needed an emergency amputation. And somehow, the surgery didn’t go well. There was no case of medical malpractice or anything of that nature. It simply happened. Like pre-scripted destiny, like a god rolling the dice. The surgery didn’t go well, and she got a bloodstream infection. They didn’t catch it until it was too late. Her death was sudden, and it left both Rio and her father affected. He didn’t make it through the grief, but Rio did. She came out the other side like a knight—burnished by the fire. Tempered. She gathered all the pieces and reforged herself into a protector for everyone who wanted help. They didn’t wear armor, but Agatha could see it in the way Rio moved through the world—the quiet vigilance, a sense of duty that never wavered. Like someone who had walked the battlefield of personal loss and decided, with clear-eyed resolve, that she would not let others fall where she had seen her own family fall. She had chosen her path in the ashes of that devastation—not to avenge, not to wallow, but to guard. To guide people on their nutrition paths. To teach them how to be more gentle with themselves. To help them before their crisis ever came. It felt noble. And Agatha, who had always scoffed at the idea of nobility, found herself reverent in the face of it. Not because Rio was perfect, but because they weren't. Because they'd seen pain and chosen to meet it with service. Because somewhere inside that calm, sunlit presence, Agatha could feel the weight of a sword still burning hot in her hands.

Agatha remembered what Rio had told her once—one of those quiet revelations that stuck in the soul like a splinter. Every single thing in life happens for a reason. We may think of some things as curses, or punishment, or gods’ wrath, or simply bad luck, but behind even the worst experiences lies our true path that we are destined to discover and walk, she had said. And that path will take us exactly where we are supposed to be. It made sense back then, but it made even more sense after Agatha learned that backstory. Rio did, in fact, become who she was destined to become through that traumatic life event. They both did. Agatha had never been superstitious. But ever since Rio let her into that quiet, steady mind of hers—into her soft-spoken faith in destiny—Agatha had started to believe, too. Maybe it wasn’t so farfetched, after all. Maybe there really were forces greater than them, mapping it all out. And maybe she was always meant to end up here—at this table, with Rio beside her.

Agatha was slowly chewing, wholly focused on the yogurt bowl in front of her. The energy in the room was calm, comforting, and warm, despite the chill of the frozen treat. She felt Rio’s gaze on her, a soft presence just beyond her periphery, but it didn’t feel urgent and needing an immediate acknowledgement. Agatha had learned by now that Rio simply liked to look sometimes—no reason, no agenda, just the quiet, grounding act of watching someone they loved. At the beginning of their new relationship, Rio had called it orbiting. Having Agatha in their space made the world feel steadier, they once said. So, Agatha indulged her, letting herself be looked at. They sat like that in silence for a while, until Rio’s voice broke it gently. “We will find something."

Agatha jerked a little, coughing as the spoon clattered softly against the bowl. She swallowed quickly, one hand pressing to her chest. “Shit,” she muttered, more startled than anything else.

Rio blinked, sheepish. “Sorry,” they said with a lopsided smile. “Didn’t mean to spook you.” When Agatha finally glanced at them, they looked a little concerned.

She waved it off, heart still stammering. “I’m fine. Was lost in my head, that’s all.” Then, reaching across the table, she brushed her fingers against Rio’s hand in gentle reassurance.

Rio caught her hand, cradled it between both of theirs, and brought it to their lips. The kiss was soft, unhurried, landing on her knuckles like a benediction. It made Agatha’s heart flutter. Such a simple gesture, yet it made her feel so, so loved. “We will find something that is just yours," Rio said again, firmer this time, "and then I can be a guest participant there."

Her eyes dropped to the table, settling on the now-empty bowl—leftover yogurt was creating peculiar patterns inside. She stared at it, allowing her mind to wander slightly. She hadn’t spoken about this in years. It’s been almost three decades, but Agatha could still remember like it was yesterday—how Ralph laughed when she first told him. She had been nineteen, maybe twenty, heart pounding with excitement over her new discovery, something sacred and strange she couldn’t quite name. Yet, he didn’t even consider taking it seriously, and instead began teasing her. They were just young and dumb. He laughed because he didn’t know what else to do. Still, that reaction had landed like a slap. It lodged somewhere deep and quiet inside her, and she never brought it up again. Not with him. Not with anyone. But Rio wasn't Ralph. She knew that Rio would never do anything like that; she knew she could tell Rio absolutely anything. Yet, the old wound, while numbed with time, left a deep scar that still caught in the light sometimes. Agatha exhaled slowly. That was the whole point, right? In order for her to fully commit to this relationship, she needed to let Rio in and essentially share everything. It still felt terrifying. Agatha still thought she was shit at this whole feelings thing, but she kept going. She had to admit that she liked that Rio was learning about her life. It was like she had been wandering those empty, dark halls, but suddenly there was another presence by her side—they had a lantern and an open palm, waiting for Agatha’s hand. “I—” she bit her lip, a little uncertain. Rio’s eyes were focused on her—deep, gentle, and so patient. She didn’t say anything, didn’t ask. They were simply holding her hand, giving her all the time she needed. “When I was in my late teens—early twenties, before Nicky, I discovered witchcraft,” she said quietly, almost a whisper, like it was a secret. And in a way, it was. “I was pretty good at it, too,” she added, awkward and shy, eyes darting back to her bowl. She didn’t know what reaction she was expecting, but Rio's whole face lit up like someone had thrown open a window in spring—eyes bright, mouth parted with quiet wonder.

“You were?” they said, nearly breathless. “That’s incredible.” Agatha blinked once. Twice. Three times. Suddenly, her chest ached with something soft and wild and overwhelming. Because this time, nobody laughed. "You know, I like quantum mechanics!" Rio said excitedly. Like would be an understatement. Agatha smiled, nodding. "Witchcraft is essentially the physical reflection of quantum laws of the universe,” they continued, voice alight with conviction. That… Agatha had never thought about it that way. But now that she did, it clicked somewhere deep in her bones. Not in a logical way exactly, but in the slippery, sideways way witchcraft always had. Like sensing a storm before it came. It made sense… in a sense. “I knew I was reading something witchy in your aura this whole time,” Rio babbled, barely pausing for breath, “but you never said anything, so I figured maybe I was just getting swamped by a misinformation wave. That happens more than you know.” They grinned, wide and beaming. “But I’m glad I sensed it correctly.” For some reason, it seemed like Rio was more thrilled about this than Agatha herself. “What was your favorite branch?” they asked eagerly, and Agatha had to suppress a giggle because Rio looked like an overexcited puppy, jumping up and down.. “Was it Tarot? Were you good at casting spells? Oh—how about energy draining?” Rio gasped, clasping their hands together in delight. “I bet you were exceptional at energy draining.”

Agatha lost hold of her composure and snorted. “You know an awful lot about this,” she teased, unable to wipe the grin off her face. “Have you been dipping your pen in pseudo-science ink this whole time, Dr. Vidal?” she added with mock-scandalized flair.

Rio straightened slightly, tone shifting without losing warmth. “People who call esotericism pseudo-science don’t understand the fundamental basis of physics,” they said calmly. “Einstein knew about it. Tesla used it.” Agatha stared at them, caught off guard by the sudden gravity in their words. And then something warm cracked open in her chest—something that flooded through her so quickly it left her breathless. Was this what Rio felt every time Agatha asked about their interests? That blooming, incandescent rush of being not only heard but taken seriously? She’d been supported before. But this felt different. This was faith. This was freedom. This was joy. And it felt incredible, goddammit.

Agatha remembered the feeling she had while practicing like it was yesterday—the heady rush that coiled low in her gut, the pure, unmasked power that hummed like a live wire under the skin of her fingertips. Rio would call it the raw form of primal energy, and Agatha supposed that was fitting. She found herself understanding Rio more and more each day, as if their minds were tuning to the same quiet frequency. It was subtle, like a warm breeze drifting through an open window—easy, organic, unforced. And yet, it was changing her. It was making them one—two long-wandering souls slowly finding the edges where they fit together. She remembered the intoxication of practicing alone, but now she found herself wondering what it might feel like to stand in that same current of power beside someone who not just tolerated her, but supported her. To have her hands and heart open, let the magick pour through her veins, and know that the person next to her would meet her in that realm without hesitation. That thrill she'd always felt, that feeling of being intoxicated by power—she could now share it with another soul. Some would say, but when you share your power, doesn't it mean dimming your own? And generally speaking, yes. Generally speaking, Agatha would have never even considered the possibility of sharing something that was hers, and hers alone. But not with Rio. With Rio, Agatha didn’t feel smaller—she felt infinite, and she wanted to share everything she had. And that thought alone sent a slow spark curling through her chest, blooming heat in its wake.

“You know how Dad got us that extra land, right?” Rio’s voice tugged her back from the edge of her own thoughts once again. Agatha blinked, finding their warm gaze on her. She knew the story—at least, the bones of it. Rio’s father was one of those rare creatures who could slip seamlessly between worlds, smiling in boardrooms one day and shaking hands over a backyard fence the next. He collected acquaintances the way some people collect rare Pokémon cards, and he knew exactly when and how to use each one, masterfully juggling them to provide his family with everything they could possibly need. Agatha had been trying to do something similar and recognized his type very well. Somehow, that man convinced the City to deed the strip of woods-adjacent land to him. Agatha had seen the paperwork, and it was absolutely legitimate. She had no idea how he managed to pull that off because in New York City, there was no such thing as 'doesn't belong to anyone'. Every tiny patch of dirt had a name and a deed, yet here was this man with a plot of his own, carved from nowhere. “I’ve never built anything there,” Rio continued, leaning back slightly but still keeping their knees brushing under the table. “Nothing ever felt right. Like I was waiting for something to come along, and I’d just… know when I saw it.” She paused then, a slow smile curling her lips as she reached for Agatha’s hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I know now.” Their eyes softened in that way that made Agatha’s chest tighten. “I know what I want there to be. I want to build you a witch’s hut,” Rio said simply. “De jure, a tool shed. De facto, your witchcraft nook.” Agatha blinked, her lips parting. That was so very Rio—to take care, to make sure Agatha had everything she needed, even if she herself didn’t even know she needed that yet. The sweetness of the gesture hit her first, but quickly tangled with a wholly different kind of thoughts. Rio, sleeves rolled up, muscles pumped, veins visible, hammer in hand. Rio in a sun-warmed tank top, or better, no top at all—sweat tracing the lines of their arms, catching in the hollow of their throat. The vision landed hard and sudden, and heat coiled low in Agatha’s stomach again. She had calmed down since crossing the threshold of Rio’s house, but now she was rapidly getting back to where she’d started when she came over here. Her pulse was buzzing under her skin, and she could feel herself tipping from soft, tender love into something far hungrier, and if she didn’t redirect that energy, she was going to climb right into Rio’s lap then and there.

She pushed back her chair abruptly, gathering their plates with brisk efficiency. “Go shower while I clean up the kitchen, baby,” she said, the edge of command in her voice, her tone urgent.

She had learned this one long before they’d even become a couple, back when Rio was still just the person who cooked for her. One, who was rapidly becoming a friend, but not the one she woke up beside, yet. One night, Agatha had come home practically vibrating with excitement. One of her accounts had gifted her a first-edition copy of George Orwell’s 1984 as a thank-you for a PR campaign that had exceeded every target. She’d barely been able to think of anything else on the drive home; she couldn’t wait to show the book to Rio. Still, she made herself wait until after dinner. She sat across from Rio, playing the part of a perfectly engaged conversational partner, though under the surface, she was counting down bites, willing them to eat faster. As soon as Rio swallowed the last forkful, Agatha was out of her chair. She grabbed their hand and tugged them toward the living room, unable to wait any longer, words already spilling out of her in an eager rush. She revealed the book and started ranting about how she obtained it, not noticing anything was off at the beginning. But then, after she joined Rio on the couch and handed her the book, she realized that Rio was uncharacteristically unfocused. They usually listened very carefully, especially when Agatha was sharing something personal, but now their gaze was blank, and they were not reaching for the book. Something was wrong—Rio loved Orwell, there was no way she simply didn’t care, and in such a rude way. That immediately shut Agatha up. She put the book on the coffee table and turned to face Rio fully. Their gaze was locked on the dining table in the corner of Agatha’s kitchen.
“Rio?” she prompted, her voice soft but carrying a thread of concern. Rio blinked and turned her head, finally locking eyes with Agatha. “Is there something wrong?” Agatha asked softly. Because, obviously, there was.

That was when they told her. Rio explained then that she had a severe form of OCD. She needed to bring a previously set task to 100% completion before she could invest her energy into something new. Otherwise, their mind would just refuse to focus on a new thing, getting stuck in the past, on an unfinished event—even something as small as rinsing a plate. It explained everything. And from that night on, Agatha was careful to make sure they finished anything previously started before she tried to engage Rio in something else. Tonight was no exception. No matter how much heat pooled low in her belly, no matter how urgently she wanted them, she knew Rio’s mind wouldn’t be able to meet her in that space and focus on pleasure until their dirty plates were handled and the kitchen was tidy enough.

“Oh?” Rio said, intrigued. Agatha kept her back to them at the sink, scrubbing methodically. She didn’t see them rise from their chair, but she heard the scrape of wood on the floor, the subtle shift of air as they came closer.

“Your fucking gentle care is making me horny. Surprise,” she tossed over her shoulder, her tone dry with mock-annoyance.

“Oh?” Rio chuckled, the sound warm and eager. She was close now—so close Agatha could feel the heat radiating off her, but Rio didn’t touch just yet. “How about I help you here, and then we shower together?” she murmured, voice pitched low enough to curl inside Agatha’s chest like a spell.

The mental image sent a fresh wave of arousal down Agatha’s body. Rio’s hands on her, steam curling around their bodies, the slick press of skin. Shower sex was something they both enjoyed, and she had to take several deep breaths to regain her composure before she could speak again. “You are welcome to help,” she said, forcing a measure of stillness into her voice, “but we are showering separately tonight.”

“Oh?” She could feel Rio frowning. She smiled faintly to herself. It still amazed her how well she could read them now, catching subtleties in tone, tiny hesitations in movement—things most people would miss entirely.

“I need to shave, baby,” she said softly, turning around. She reached for a hand towel and dried her hands. “I haven’t planned to come over.”

Rio’s eyes tracked her face with clinical precision, analyzing every twitch of her facial muscles. “Oh,” she replied, this time more subdued.

“Dr. Vidal, sure there are other words in your vocabulary,” Agatha teased, but she knew something was off. So, she hung the towel back on its hook by the sink and took Rio’s hand instead. “Hey,” she asked gently, pulling them a step closer. “What is it?”

Rio let themselves be tugged forward, stepping into Agatha’s personal space, and letting her arms wrap around their waist. They melted into the touch, pressing their forehead to Agatha’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m taking away all the ways to have spontaneous sex,” Rio murmured into the fabric of her shirt.

This one, Agatha learned soon after they got together.  It was one of their regular Friday date nights, and Rio was cooking. She messaged Agatha, asking to stop by the store after work to pick up nectarines, as Rio had forgotten to add them to her list. Agatha went to the store and took her time in the produce section, weighing each fruit in her palm like a jeweler appraising gems. The nectarines looked dull, their skins mottled and bruised. The peaches, though, were plump and golden, with blushes of pink under the fuzz. They were literally the same fruit, she thought, no difference except the coat. Apparently, there was a huge difference. The difference was so vast that Rio nearly went into a shock-induced coma on the spot after grabbing one. She dropped it instantly, as if it had burned her, and her eyes stayed on the bag as if it were a ticking bomb. They didn’t even taste dinner that night. Instead, Agatha sat on the couch with Rio curled into her, holding them until the worst of the reaction ebbed. Later, when their breathing was steadier and Rio could function again, they explained that it was their sensory hypersensitivity—certain fabrics and surfaces triggered a strong reaction. Rio could not stand touching velvet, unglazed ceramics, peaches, wooden popsicle sticks, and body hair. The latter was a bit tricky. Rio couldn’t stand the feel of body hair against their skin, whether it was their own or, especially, someone else’s. But somehow, head hair got a free pass. She loved running her fingers through it, twirling the strands absentmindedly. She could lose herself in the silky threads, winding them around her fingers, letting the texture soothe her. Agatha’s hair, they often said, was their favorite texture—soft, cool, and inexplicably calming.

Agatha brushed her hand over Rio’s hair now, letting the silky strands fall between her fingers. “You are not taking all the ways, cariño,” she murmured, voice low. “There are still plenty of ways for us to get spontaneously freaky.” The corner of her mouth tilted upward in a teasing smile. “I told you, I don’t see it as an issue. Why is it bugging you still?” Her nails grazed lightly over Rio’s scalp, and she felt their tension lessen by degrees. That gesture always worked, like a key in a familiar lock.

Rio’s voice was quiet but steady. “Some people think I’m being unreasonable,” she said. “That if I really loved a woman, I wouldn’t have cared about her body hair.”

Agatha tilted her head, her gaze softening. There was a kind of intimacy in studying someone this closely, in knowing which flicker in their eyes came from doubt and which from fear. “And what do you think?” she asked. It didn’t bother her, not in the slightest. So, it was another exclusive Rio feature. If anything, Agatha was thrilled to learn things about her. And so, Rio disliked the body hair. Okay. Agatha had always been neat when it came to taking care of herself in this regard. Her skin received regular treatment. She was nearly religious about it, and it paid off—Agatha looked pretty damn well for someone her age. So, instead of shaving twice a week, she would just do it every time she was about to see Rio—it didn’t make much difference to her. Agatha had very little body hair on her arms and torso, so it wouldn’t take much extra effort.

“I think that it is unreasonable to expect me to have control over something I have no control over,” Rio said, their tone even and analytical, as though they were stating a fact about climate patterns or traffic flow. Their gaze was steady, anchored. “You know that I love you.”

“I do,” Agatha said, her voice warm as a low flame. She reached up, brushing her thumb along the side of Rio’s jaw before leaning in to press a kiss against their temple. She lingered there, breathing in the faint trace of their shampoo and after-gym sweat, letting the contact speak for her. “And I love you. So let me go shave before your sensors explode.”

When she pulled back, Rio regarded her without hesitation, scanning her face the way she might check a blueprint—methodical, assured, leaving nothing unchecked. They searched her eyes as if making sure to read every single undertone, every little detail. Agatha had never been dishonest with Rio, and she knew they could read it in her energy. She stood still, letting herself be scanned and read. Whatever Rio was looking for, she seemed to find; the air between them shifted, less charged now. “There is a container under the sink in the guest bathroom,” Rio said at last. Of course, there was a container. “You’ll find disposable razors and everything you need there.”

It didn’t take Agatha long to make her skin proper for Rio’s fingertips. She’d shaved over the weekend, so tonight was just a quick touch-up, a couple of minutes work with the razor to take care of the faint, two-day stubble. Had it been anyone other than Rio, she w​​ouldn’t have paid it any mind, but she knew that it would send Rio’s sensors onto the Moon. The first time she’d learned that, she’d seen the way Rio’s whole body tensed, like they’d touched a live wire. Now, Agatha handled it without thinking—one more quiet act of care in a relationship full of them. She patted moisturizing cream into her legs, groin, and arms, the silkiness already replacing the drag of the blade. Her hair went into a deliberately messy bun, a few strands falling to soften her face. Then she slipped into the silk robe she kept at Rio’s house, its fabric whispering against her skin with every step. Perfume was unnecessary—Rio preferred her unaltered scent, skin-warm and clean. Agatha looked at her reflection in the mirror one final time and, satisfied with the image, opened the bathroom door. When she stepped into the master bedroom, the sight hit her with the force of a warm tide. Rio sat cross-legged on the bed, yellow dinosaur-print boxers bright against the dark bedding, their fingers fidgeting with something small and metallic. When the door creaked open, they looked up, and that wide, irrepressible smile spread across their face—the one Agatha had learned was reserved only for her. It had the same effect every time—a swift, traitorous flutter under her ribs. Agatha’s gaze did a lazy sweep over Rio’s nearly bare form, landing on the ridiculous pattern. “Don’t tell me this is your favorite type of dinosaur,” she said, nodding toward the boxers as she crossed the room to slide her folded clothes into the closet.

Rio’s laugh came low and easy. “Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

Agatha blinked at her. Seriously? A T-Rex? She rolled her eyes, though there was no annoyance behind them. “This is not even the strongest kind,” she argued, because honestly, there were dozens of worthier dinosaurs.

“And?” Rio’s tone was utterly unimpressed. “I like this one.” She tugged at the waistband, as if pointing out the evidence might close the case.

Agatha clicked her tongue, shook her head, and crossed the remaining space to the bed. “You’re such a nerd,” she said, sliding easily into Rio’s lap and straddling her. Her hands went to their wrists to move them aside and out of her way when she realized one of Rio’s fists was curled protectively around something. Her fingertips skimmed over Rio’s knuckles, testing, but the hand stayed closed. She lifted her eyes, questioning without a word, but not pushing.  Instead, settling on their lap and relaxing her muscles, waiting.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rio said. Her voice was quiet, but her tone held no hesitation. “It would be appropriate for you to have the key. To the house.” A small pause, deliberate. “This house.” Only then did her fingers open, and Agatha’s eyes dropped down. There, in the middle of a slightly calloused palm, lay a single key. She swallowed a lump in her suddenly dry throat.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was hoarse and deep with emotion.

Rio nodded. “I want you to be able to come over whenever you want,” she said softly. “I have the key from your penthouse, so it’s only fair.”

A slow, wicked smirk curved Agatha’s mouth as she took Rio’s jaw in her hand. “Baby, you have the key to the penthouse because you required it for the job,” she teased. “And you just… never gave it back after resigning.”

Rio’s eyes widened in shock. “Should I have?” She stumbled over words. “Did you want me to give it back?” They looked a little panicked, and Agatha may have gotten a little thrilled by this sudden withdrawal of energy. It had always affected her how she could reduce always so composed and put together Rio to a nervous mess. She chuckled, lifting their face a little. She then leaned down and bit Rio’s bottom lip, immediately soothing it with her tongue.

“No,” she whispered into her now parted lips. Her hand drifted to pluck the key from Rio’s palm. She stretched toward the nightstand, Rio’s arms instinctively wrapping around her waist to support her. The key landed on the flat surface with a quiet click. Agatha turned back to them, eyes gleaming, and smile—predatory. Rio gulped, their eyes burning indents on Agatha’s skin. Agatha wondered if it would ever stop making her feel this way—this unsated hunger for Rio’s touch. She hoped it wouldn’t. She brought her hands to their face and framed it firmly, looking deeply into their eyes. “You’re stuck with me now,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rio murmured. Her hips twitched. Deliberately or on instinct— Agatha couldn’t say, but it brought her recent obsession back into focus. The reason she’d gotten so hot and bothered today in the first place. The reason she was here tonight, in Rio’s lap, dying to touch and be touched. 

“Have you thought more about the strap?” she asked, letting her hands slide down their neck to settle on their shoulders, grounding them both.

“Yes.” The answer came instantly, certain. One word. One syllable. The whole great meaning. They lingered like that for a few beats—eyes locked onto each other's, their breaths syncing, as they shared the heartfelt significance of the moment. “I would like it to be a realistic prosthetic,” she added confidently. Agatha inhaled, slow and deep, trying to steady the hammer in her chest.

She kept looking in Rio’s eyes—so bright and clear despite the veil of arousal surrounding them. She leaned forward, brushing her lips along the line of Rio’s jaw. “Get your laptop, my love,” she whispered into the warm skin. “I’m sharing a Google Doc with you.”

“You made a spreadsheet,” Rio simply stated, her grip tightening on Agatha’s waist.

“I made a spreadsheet,” she grinned before pressing a slow, heated kiss to the side of their neck.