Dear devil, wtf?

The warning that flashed in Agatha’s eyes was enough, and Rio choked the words down, stepping back. Agatha hadn’t let her say them since that day in the woods. Agatha hadn’t said them since she had begged and bargained for Nicholas’s life. In that moment, Rio had felt those words warm and weak around her heart, pleading. Whenever she thought back on that moment, they felt more like a knife. 

Nicholas was playing with a small rabbit in the field outside, and Rio could just see the back of his head through the open door. He had grown at least three inches taller since she had seen him last, his hair a shade darker. His trousers skimmed the tops of his calves. 

The ache of lost time twisted, familiar and hot, in her chest, and she shoved her hair away from her face before turning to the dead bodies strewn across the floor and setting to work. 

Agatha waited, perched up on the kitchen counter beneath the window, legs crossed and thumbnail between her teeth. The setting sun filtered through the grubby glass, bathing her in light. She looked ethereal, and it was everything Rio could do not to fall to her knees in worship. Beg forgiveness for a crime she had not yet committed. 

She led the young women through the bedroom door, taking them each by the elbow and speaking to them softly. 

Through it all, Agatha waited. 

It wasn’t until the youngest of the women was finally through, tears staining Rio’s dress and scratches down her arms, that Agatha slid down off of the counter. 

She was watching Rio carefully, lip between her teeth, eyes pinned to blood. She extended her hands. 

Rio gave her arms over willingly, easily. It was a game that had been played too many times. Agatha knew that she didn’t need it, and Rio knew that Agatha couldn’t do quite as good of a job as she could do herself. But still, she let her. 

She let her skim fingers over the claw marks — a desperate act from a desperate soul — and heat her skin with purple. 

It burned and it soothed and it felt like Agatha, like all of Agatha, falling short only to those small glimpses of moments when Agatha would come apart beneath her, hands in her hair and eyes glowing purple, Rio’s name a plea to a god that Agatha didn’t fully understand. 

Agatha’s fingers lingered for a moment longer than they should have, and when Rio looked up at her, she realized Agatha was watching her face. Unguarded, vulnerable eyes skidded from hers as Agatha set her shoulders and cleared her throat. 

“We should be going. They’ll come looking soon.” 

“Agatha.” Rio grabbed at her wrist, forcing her gaze back. 

Disinterest. Agatha was so good at it, so practiced and precise. The art of the con. But Rio could see the cracks, and she knew Agatha understood what she was asking. 

Agatha leaned back on her heels, craning her neck to look for Nicholas outside. 

Rio took a hesitant step forward. “I won’t touch him. I prom—“ A long sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “I won’t touch him.” 

Agatha’s calculated gaze fell back to her, pinned into her. A sniff, and then one swift nod. 

“Fine.” 

—————— ⋆˖⁺‧ ☾ ‧⁺˖⋆——————

“And what color is this one…?” 

Rio held the orchid out to Nicholas, snatching it back when he grabbed for it. Just in case. 

“Uh uh,” she tutted, extending it slowly again. “Just look.” 

He squinted at the flower, nose scrunched in concentration. He looked just like his mother that way, save the eyes. He had obviously inherited his father’s brown, and it made something in Rio’s throat prickle. 

A long moment of consideration, the forest quiet and still as it held its breath. And then— 

“Purple?” 

Rio gasped, loud and over-enthused. “Very good! Can you name something else around here that’s purple?” 

At that, she received a self-satisfied smile. 

“Mama,” he said with certainty, and Rio fidgeted with the flower stem to keep herself from reaching out to tousle his hair. 

Agatha snorted from a few feet away, bent over and gathering berries off of a bush. 

“Mama’s magic is purple, Nicky. My skin isn’t purple.” 

“You certainly wear a lot of purple,” Rio chimed in, and Agatha shot her a glare. She smirked. 

It was a split second miscalculation, Nicholas taking the small distraction as an opportunity to lunge into a hug. Rio side-stepped just in time, heart staggering as he went tripping down into the dirt. Again, the instinct came to reach down and pick him up. 

Again, she smothered it. 

“Nicholas!” Agatha chided, dropping her basket and instantly rushing to his side. She helped him up with a hand on his elbow. “What did we say about hugging strangers? You cannot touch people you don’t know.” 

The knife lodged under Rio’s heart twisted. For a brief moment, she lost her breath. 

Then, Nicholas murmured a soft “Rio isn’t a stranger, Mama”, and she lost her breath all over again. 

Agatha swiped her hands down his trousers, brushing away the leaves and debris. “Rio is nice, I know. And you’re right, she is one of Mama’s friends—“ 

The knife caught fire. 

“—but you must never touch her. Understood?” 

When he spoke, his voice wobbled with the watery pitch of a child about to burst into tears. 

“I’m sorry…” 

Agatha let out a long breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “You don’t need to apologize, mijo. Just please be more careful.” 

The word caught Rio off guard, and she fumbled the orchid. It fell from thin fingers and landed with a dull thud in the mess of leaves at her feet. 

It was a word that Rio had taught her, a lifetime ago. When Agatha had hesitantly shown her clean undergarments for the third month in a row, and pressed Rio’s hand just above her pelvis. She had asked then, and Rio had told her. Rio had taught her a lot of words that afternoon, all with the intention that she would be saying them too, someday. 

She watched as Agatha wrapped Nicholas in a warm hug before he could cry, crouched down close and chin resting atop his head. There was another urge, then. Not unfamiliar. The first time Rio had felt it had been the first time she dared visit Agatha after she had let Nicholas go. 

Rio had found her alone in the woods — always alone — cradling Nicholas close to her chest. No. Breastfeeding. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, face tilted to the sun and a serene smile on her face as she hummed. A twig had snapped under Rio’s foot, and Agatha’s eyes had darkened in the way only an animal’s could when protecting their young. Scrambling to her feet. Backing away from Rio. Purple in her palm. It had taken too much time for Rio to convince her that she wasn’t there for him. She was there for Agatha. She would always be there for Agatha. 

They had ended up sitting together on the ground, Agatha’s back against Rio’s chest and her head dropped to her shoulder. Agatha had told her every moment that she’d missed, every new discovery with Nicholas, and Rio had listened with rapt attention, playing with the ends of Agatha’s curls and eyes trained on the baby in her arms. The urge had come to wrap her arms around them both, and then the bone-aching despair in the realization that she couldn’t. For a long while, she wouldn’t be able to hold Agatha at all. Agatha would be too busy holding Nicholas, and Rio wouldn’t dare. 

“What does it feel like...?” It had been a quiet question on a quiet evening, rain dripping down through the leaves around them. It bounced and slid off of the small, translucent canopy Rio had made, the last rays of misty sunlight filtering in and bathing Agatha blue and gold. She had been reclined against the stump of tree Rio sat on, between Rio’s legs, Nicholas in her arms and suckling softly. And Rio, leaning forward, braiding dark curls away from Agatha’s face. The three of them, safe in their own little world. 

Agatha had looked up at her, smiling softly as Nicholas moved gently against her breast, shaking her head. “It feels like magic.” 

Rio let the memory pool around her as she followed Nicholas through the woods, and Nicholas followed Agatha. She walked along behind them until they reached a clearing at the edge of a small lake. And then they stopped. 

The urge seized Rio again as Agatha leaned down and tucked Nicholas’s jacket up around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and murmuring a gentle goodnight. Her fingers twitched, and she summoned a piece of fern so that she would have something to occupy her hands. 

Agatha rose, stretching out her neck and sighing before setting to work fixing up the rest of the camp. Rio watched her carefully, watched the way Agatha’s hands worked, the way her brow creased down in concentration, the way she mumbled to herself. She watched and she waited, but Agatha didn’t dismiss her and no tug of fate came to break the moment. 

Time. 

She had time. 

“Do you need to go?” Agatha asked, glancing up as she shuffled a few sticks into a pile. It was dripping in nonchalance, but Rio saw the hesitation. She felt the air shift. 

A swallow. “Do you want me to go?” 

“I assumed you would have… responsibilities.” Agatha’s eyes flicked up to Rio again before skirting over to Nicholas, sleeping a few feet away. She dropped her gaze back to her hands. 

“The living are quiet tonight,” Rio murmured, taking a tentative step forward. The second she moved, Agatha straightened. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but Rio took another step forward, closing the distance between them, and Agatha’s eyes fell to her lips. 

“We have time…?” Her voice cracked, tongue peeking out and wetting her lips. 

Rio felt the heat rise within her, an old instinct. She had been almost certain it was lost to the distance between them. But before she could act on it, Agatha pulled her gaze from her lips and cleared her throat. 

“I need to bathe.” She turned away, seemingly searching for something, and Rio closed her eyes against the pain of the almost. 

“Alright.” 

And then Agatha surprised her. She turned back, a spare set of clothes in her hands. 

“Would you like to join me…?” 

—————— ⋆˖⁺‧ ☾ ‧⁺˖⋆——————

The area was well hidden and intimate, nestled deep in the dense wood. A small waterfall fed into a small pond, trees heavy where they bent over water, rock and stone slippery with moss and closing the space in. It was quiet. It was safe. 

Rio stood at the edge of the water, watching as Agatha walked all the way in. It was with a confidence she wished she could possess. Maybe one day, she would gain the courage. But for now, she simply watched. 

Agatha was still fully clothed, water seeping up her skirt where it skimmed around her waist. She leaned down and submerged her hands, scrubbing them clean slowly and methodically. Rio watched her fingers work over wet skin, transfixed. When Agatha’s eyes met hers, she turned away. 

Rio found her own space in the water, some feet away and with her back to Agatha. She had unclipped her cape and left it folded over a rock, but her dress still weighed in the water. 

Moments like this made her long for a part of herself she would never be able to show Agatha again. The darkness cloaked around her, light as air, shifting through space and covering her body like a second skin. 

Home, within her truest form. The way she had looked the day Agatha set eyes upon her for the first time. When Agatha had looked at her with such hope and awe, lifetimes ago. And the moments, deep into the night, when Agatha would beg for it— fingers gripped in hair, nose against her cheek as she rolled her hips against Rio’s hand. And then, when Rio gave in, lips skimming raw bone, foreheads pressed together. Agatha gasping her name — “you are so beautiful” — and falling apart pressed flush against Death, saying that she loved her. 

In one single moment, Rio had lost the sole person who had craved her, bare and exposed and nothing but exactly what she was. That woman had been replaced by a mother, and the yearn for Rio’s attention had been smothered by the potential threat always held within her hands. A threat that Agatha had never seemed to mind before. A threat that Agatha had loved, once. 

“Nicky lost a tooth a few days ago.” 

Rio stiffened, fingers skimming water. Agatha’s words came out quiet, rough. But they were there. She was there. A slow turn, skirt catching the resistance. And then Agatha, standing feet away, watching Rio carefully. Cautiously. 

Information was dangerous, now. Time passing. A child, aging. The threat of death looming closer with every tooth lost, every inch grown. 

Rio arched a brow, eyes tracking Agatha. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

She was glistening in the moonlight, water beading off of her skin from the tips of her fingers to the smooth shadow slicing her jaw. 

A nod. “One of the back ones. He almost choked.” 

It was meant as a charming anecdote, but when the words passed her lips, a darkness fell over her features. Almost. He had almost choked. 

Rio gave her a soft smile. Reassuring. “I hope you told him to bury it.” 

The words worked just as planned, Agatha’s mouth twitching as she huffed out a laugh. “Somehow, the threat of witches cursing him didn’t quite take.” 

Rio chuckled, shaking her head. “I wonder why.” 

Agatha was still smiling, just barely, and she reached down to run her hands through water. Gently, absently, her eyes somewhere far away as she watched the ripples form. “He was so proud…” 

“He should be.” 

Agatha’s gaze snapped to hers, then, and after a long beat, dropped. She cleared her throat, turning away and busying herself with scrubbing at her arms. Her neck. Again. 

It was a slow decision. A small step through the water, waiting for Agatha to whirl around and bolt. Fingers grazing cool ripples, almost smooth from the distance travelled. A tiny piece of Agatha’s touch, even so far away. 

The way those hands had woven the protection spell around Nicholas as he slept, peace of mind as they walked to this sanctuary. The way those same hands used to unravel Rio in the most intimate ways— dragging over her cheek, skimming down her spine, threading fingers through hers and promising a forever that Rio couldn’t comprehend. 

No one wanted her forever. The endless darkness of death. Not one soul she reaped dove into eternity. It was always small steps, trembling steps. Hesitating at every turn of the unknown. 

Rio found herself behind Agatha, water barely moving around her. She wasn’t washing anymore, but she hadn’t stiffened. She wasn’t gone. She was simply looking ahead, arms crossed protectively over her stomach, the edges of her fingers twitching at her elbow. 

A breath, and Rio closed the small space between them, stepping forward and reaching out and— fingers, carding through the bottom of curls, tangling in the ends. 

Agatha tipped her head back, the softest moan falling out of her and echoing off the water. A shaking breath, and then she leaned back, pressed herself into Rio’s chest. When Rio’s hands found her waist, Agatha let her head loll back onto her shoulder. 

Rio’s touch was careful, trembling. Her thumbs brushed over elbows, and then Agatha unravelled in her grip, arms falling limp at her sides as a soft sigh dropped from her lips. 

Hands skimming down, sliding over wet skin and fingers tangling together. And then, because Rio caved to her greed, the pad of her thumb pressed into the vulnerable space of Agatha’s wrist. 

Life, beating on. Life, in her hands. 

Rio let out a shaky breath against Agatha’s cheek, and her pulse skittered under her touch. 

“How many have you killed,” Rio breathed, turning her head and skimming lips over Agatha’s ear, “just to see me again…?” 

Agatha hummed, nuzzling into her. Her hand came up, sliding behind Rio’s head and holding her in place. Fingers through hair, nails scraping along her scalp. “You would know better than I.” 

Trembling fingers, sliding up Agatha’s thigh. Hesitant, where Agatha seemed so sure-footed. 

“Tell me you missed me.” Rio’s voice had hardened, a stark contrast to the shake in her chest. It wasn’t a request. 

Agatha whimpered, turning her head away. Giving Rio access. Placing a barrier. 

“Every second,” she breathed, fingers tightening in Rio’s grip. In her hair. “Always every second.” 

The words were warm, a flame of hope that Rio hadn’t realized she needed. She let herself feel them fully, ducking her head to press her lips to Agatha’s neck. 

Hitched breath, hands locking their grip. Pulling her impossibly closer. 

Rio pressed in again, dragging her nose over the line of Agatha’s jaw, letting her lips skim in the wake. She felt Agatha’s pulse thrum faster against her thumb, and oh what beauty lie within her hands. Nothing she could create would ever compare. Her miracle. Hers alone. 

“Please,” Agatha breathed, leaning further against her. A pause, and then, “Make me forget.” 

Rio complied easily, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw. Another to the base of her cheek. Another, just under her ear. Agatha shivered, and Rio kissed her there again, letting her lips part and her tongue press against skin. 

Another shiver, wracking through her body and making her pulse skip. Rio smiled into her neck. All these years, and still the same. Her Agatha. Body and soul. 

“I want to see you,” Rio murmured, pressing a final kiss to the curve of her jaw, just over her heartbeat. 

Agatha’s hands untangled from her instantly, and Rio fought the biting loss that twisted against her heart. In the next second, lithe fingers were untying, unbuttoning. And then her skirt, sinking down into the water and lost to the darkness below. Agatha paused, and Rio let her hands slide over the thin fabric of her underdress, tugging. 

“All of you, my love.” 

Agatha swallowed, Rio’s eyes tracking the bob of her throat. And then— 

“Then you must take what you want. You already have all of me.” 

Wet hands covered Rio’s, guiding, guiding. Leading her up to the tie of her top, laces pulled tight. Rio closed her fingers around one of the ends, sliding it slowly free. It all came away slowly— the top, the shoulder of her underdress. Agatha’s composure, as Rio pressed her lips to the juncture of her neck and sucked. 

Darkness bloomed beneath her lips, her teeth, and Rio hummed as she left her mark on skin. She nipped, and Agatha gasped, and then her hands were being pushed down into water, Agatha forcing her grip into the hem of her dress and dragging the fabric up. 

Water soaked as Rio pulled it over Agatha’s head, pulled it free, leaving wet lines trailing down her skin. She watched a single rivulet, catching in the moonlight. It tracked from the end of a curl, down between her shoulder blades and over the dip of her spine before disappearing into the water. She could just see the curve of her hips, barely wider. The shift looked beautiful on her. Perfection before, perfection now. 

Curiosity spiked, a sudden need overwhelming. Rio gripped firm hands into her waist, turning Agatha in the water until she was facing her fully. Agatha was watching her, eyes wide, but Rio’s focus pinned instead to her stomach. 

Tears pooled as she found them, glinting softly in the moonlight and disappearing under the surface of the water. Rio reached out with trembling fingers, hesitating just before she made contact. An inch away from a memory. 

Agatha’s fingers closed around her wrist, and then she was guiding her forward. Closing the space between them. Pressing Rio’s palm to skin. 

A stuttered sigh as she smoothed her hand over the stretch marks, the most minute indentations streaked across warm flesh. Nicholas, seared into her skin. 

Agatha hummed at the touch, and Rio dragged light fingers over every single mark. Roots and limbs climbing up her torso. The mark of creation. She was so, so beautiful. 

“More.” It was a breath, a plea, and Rio bent so easily beneath it. She folded in Agatha’s palm, hands sliding up her waist and holding her firm as she knelt to the rocky ground beneath the water. Agatha’s brow knit, clearly not what she was asking for. But Rio couldn’t stop. 

She couldn’t stop if she tried. 

It was as close to him as she would ever get again, and so she pressed her lips to those roots, to that path of creation, in gentle kisses. Over and over again. Pressing her love and devotion for their child into every single one. Every single memory of him that she could hold in her hands. 

Agatha called her name softly, but Rio only shook her head, lips trailing up from the tops of those jagged limbs and against the smooth skin beyond. She kissed and kissed until her nose nudged the curve of Agatha’s breast. 

Hands in her hair, urging her up. 

“Please,” Agatha whined, grip tightening as Rio stood. “I need… I need—“ 

Deft fingers pulled Rio’s clothing apart, fast and efficient, as if Agatha couldn’t breathe until her hands met skin. It went sinking down into the lake, heavy and thick. 

The final barrier between them, gone. 

Hands, brushing damp strands of hair from Rio’s face. Hands, tucking them safe behind her ears. Hands, cupping her cheeks for the briefest moment before caressing her neck, fingertips dragging across her collarbones. 

“Tell me that you missed me,” Rio breathed, and again, it wasn’t a request. 

Agatha’s gaze trailed down her body, catching on the curve of her hips as they disappeared below the water shifting softly around them. Her eyes were dark, unfocused and yet exacting in their calculations. Rio felt every single piece of that gaze, vibrating into her skin. 

A single finger, tracing along the line where skin met water. Rio’s eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her. 

“No hunger,” Agatha murmured, trailing her finger up her stomach, “no pain.” Her nail caught over the ridges of Rio’s ribs, bumping softly. “No ache, no thirst.” She dragged her finger further, tracing the curve of Rio’s breast before dipping into the space between. Another finger joined, sliding down until they pressed against the pounding of Rio’s heart. “No endless running, no threat of fire.” The fingers dragged up again, and then her thumb, swiping over the dip of her clavicle. A palm, pressed to Rio’s throat. Rio’s eyes snapped open, and Agatha was already there, watching her carefully, pupils blown wide. “Nothing compares to the agony of distance from you, my love.” 

She pulled Rio forward, leaning in to close the space. And oh— oh… 

Life sparked in her chest as Agatha’s lips brushed against hers. Barely anything, but enough. Enough. 

Agatha pulled back, eyes searching. Her hand flexed against Rio’s throat. “I’m sorry, I…” 

Rio watched her for a long moment, waited for the regret. 

It never came. 

She surged forward, mouth meeting Agatha’s with a desperation, an urgency that she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe she hadn’t known it at all. It felt foreign and hot and dangerously damning. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care. 

Agatha moaned into her mouth, melting against her. Hands on Rio’s face, gripping in tight and keeping her there. Keeping her close. Rio’s own hands came up to grip around Agatha’s wrists, smoothing down her arms in a weak attempt at reassurance. But it only lasted a moment, Agatha sliding a hand up into the hair at the base of her neck, and Rio’s hands falling greedily to her hips. 

She kneaded the skin there as Agatha’s tongue pressed against hers, a constant reminder that Agatha was alive and safe. Alive and safe. 

Agatha moved to break the kiss, but Rio nipped at her bottom lip, catching it between her teeth. Another soft moan, from one or both, Rio couldn’t tell. But Agatha’s head fell back, and Rio’s mouth latched to the column of her neck, tendons flexing under teeth. 

“I’ve missed you,” Agatha sighed, fingers carding through Rio’s hair and holding her in place. “Oh, mine nightmare… how I’ve missed you.” 

Those words unhooked something buried too deep, unhinged a desire that had been caged for too long. A memory. The first time. Agatha’s fingers brushing so delicately over bone, the ridges of her nose, the smooth of her jaw. Thumb skimming the ghost of lips. A smile. Touch, warm and worshipping. The sheer want that always dripped off of her, lips parted in awe. 

“Beautiful.” 

The word echoed across the lake, Agatha’s ragged gasp cutting across it as Rio pulled their bodies flush together. Fingers firm, thigh nudging legs apart. And through it all, she watched. Watched Agatha’s brow crease, head tipped back, lip between her teeth. Watched her eyes flutter shut as Rio shifted, pressed, mouth falling open and a soft moan catching. 

Agatha’s hands fell to Rio’s shoulders, nails pinching into skin, and Rio pressed her thigh further against her. There— there was the heat. The desire. Slick and damning. The truth. 

Agatha had been telling the truth. 

Rio felt the tears before she could stop them, hot and biting at the bridge of her nose. Sticking in the back of her throat. It was an emotion that she hadn’t quite experienced before, something she couldn’t name. The weight of want, desire. And yet somehow, entirely all-consuming. Hope, vibrating through skin. A promise, that nothing had changed. Everything had changed. 

Agatha whimpered, fingers slipping over shoulders and digging into biceps as she rocked her hips slowly, tentatively. “P-Please…” 

Wide eyes met Rio’s, glassy under the white of the moon, pleading. Pleading. 

And there, in the simple stillness of sanctuary, time and existence melting away around them, Rio saw it. She felt it. 

Forgiveness. 

This vulnerability, regaining what was threatened as lost… this was what forgiveness felt like. Reforming a flower lost to time, planting it in the earth, and watching it thrive in a different world. Under different conditions. But thrive, nonetheless. 

Rio grabbed for Agatha’s hips, thighs, hands firm and demanding as she hauled her up and against her. Agatha wrapped her legs around Rio’s waist easily, melting against bare skin, palms cupping Rio’s face as she kissed her deeply. 

“Yes,” she murmured against lips, kisses growing hungry, desperate. “Yes, yes—“ 

Rio let herself smile against the desperation, let herself melt into the desire being pressed against her. The warmth of palms against her skin, the ice of water dripping from Agatha’s hair, coating her shoulders, skating over her back. The heat of Agatha, hips rolling softly against her stomach as she lost herself in the kiss. 

Having Agatha like this, already unravelling against her, felt too much like before — last time, like the last time — and the pain that bit and clawed deep in Rio’s chest started to tremble with need. 

Fear. 

Suddenly, all at once, Rio understood. She understood why humans feared her. She understood why they grieved loss. It was the lasts— so much more devastating when they were unexpected. So much more, ripped from their fragile hands like it was nothing, breaking fingers along the way. The endless promise of another, turning to ash in her grip. Rio knew what it felt like, now. She understood the agony, the terror now of losing it all. Their future, in moments— not lost to death, but lost to fear. Betrayal. And then getting it all back, just for this one, singular point in time. Impossible, just like her Agatha. 

Rio felt the tear hit her cheek, and she flinched. That one wasn’t hers. It burned. 

Agatha sniffed above her, mouth parting wider as she deepened the kiss. Lips sticking, breaths desperate. Fingers bruising skin. 

“Don’t leave me,” Agatha panted, voice breaking on a sob. She pulled back, just enough to drag her lips over Rio’s jaw. A stuttered breath, fingers trembling as they gripped in desperately. “When you— When…” 

Rio threaded her fingers through soaked hair, guiding Agatha’s face back, back. Eyes screwed shut, brow creased deeply, lips pressed together in a hard line. A rough attempt at composure. 

“Look at me.” The request was gentle, Rio’s voice soft in the stillness. Agatha ducked her head. Rio’s fingers tightened, forcing her face up. “Agatha…” 

Her face contorted in pain before eyes fluttered open, blue dark and blown wide. “Please, my love.” A ragged breath, fingers trailing over the ridge of Rio’s nose, down her jaw. Agatha’s head tilting, lips quivering as another tear fell. “When you ta-ake…” Her breath hitched over the word, brows pulling together as a sob fell out of her. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here alone.” 

Rio’s eyes fell shut, a heavy breath filling the space between them. It wasn’t her decision. It fell to Agatha. She would never leave, she would never leave. The question was, would Agatha ever let her stay? 

“I won’t,” Rio murmured, nodding softly. “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.” 

Agatha’s face broke open, a fractured laugh splitting over a sob. She pulled Rio forward, kissing her desperately, and Rio let herself have this moment. This one moment, to hold onto forever. One last moment, for the rest of time. 

“You’ll never be alone, Agatha.” 

“Take me.” It was desperate, pressed firmly against Rio’s mouth. “Like you used to. Under the stars.” 

Rio wrapped an arm around Agatha’s waist, tugging her closer. “Whatever you want, my love. Whatever you want.” 

“Make me forget.” The words were repeated, pressed urgently into any piece of Rio that Agatha could reach as Rio walked them slowly, carefully back to shore. “Make me forget.” 

She laid her down softly on stone, the pale of her skin meeting white rocks and soaking them dark, deep. Hair fanned out around her head as Rio traced the back of her hand over Agatha’s cheek, color flushing in its wake. Agatha held her close, hands gripped desperately into skin as she writhed under Rio’s touch. Fingers, tracing down to the curve of her breast, Rio’s mouth following and sucking every drop of water from skin. Memorizing every line, curve, plane of her body as she worshipped it, inch by inch. She already knew. She never could have forgotten. No time, no distance, no cosmic force could ever steal the home of Agatha’s body from her memory. 

Agatha arched off of the rocks beneath her as Rio’s hands traced patterns down over her ribs, her waist, her stomach. She shifted, pressing her thigh back between Agatha’s legs, and the softest moan, a breath, filled the air like she was breathing life back into the world. She was breathing life back into Rio’s world. 

A choked “please” as Agatha’s hands twisted up into Rio’s hair, rolling her hips over Rio’s thigh. And then Rio’s hands slid between them, one gripping into her hip and pulling her up, pulling her closer, as the other dipped between Agatha’s legs. Agatha’s mouth fell open, then, brow screwing down on a silent gasp, and Rio’s own mouth parted, breaths heavy and thick as her fingers slid through hot, slick arousal. She coated her fingers easily, Agatha’s hips stuttering as nails scraped softly. When she pulled her hand away, blue eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy and so, so desperate. Devoted. 

Rio brought her fingers to her mouth, her own eyes closing as the taste of that devotion hit her tongue. Agatha’s hand snared around her wrist, and her eyes snapped open again. 

“I want…” Agatha murmured, her gaze flicking to the fingers in Rio’s mouth for the briefest second. “I want to see you. When you… I want to see you.” 

Rio nodded, just enough, and went back to work, eyes locked on Agatha’s as she sucked her fingers clean. 

There were stories, so much mythology, of liquid gold, nectar, life-giving drink. An elixir that, when consumed, would save you, reveal the secrets of the universe, grant you everlasting life. And those insignificant, desperate humans, clawing for anything that touched the edge of divine. There was no font, no blessed chalice, no river. It was this— the devotion of one woman, laid bare and spread beneath the end of everything. Offering her body, her soul, to Death’s hands. It was this, and nothing more. There was nothing more than this. 

Agatha pulled Rio’s fingers free, guiding her hand slowly, so slowly, to her own mouth and closing her lips around them. A quiet moan, low and pleased. Her mouth fell open a moment later and Rio dragged her fingers away, glistening in the pale moonlight. She smeared the wet down over Agatha’s chin, down her jaw, down her throat, eyes locked to blue, swimming dark at the rim of blown pupils. When her hand flexed, pressing flat against the long column of Agatha’s throat, it pulled a gasp from parted lips, and Agatha’s eyes widened, rolled back, before falling shut. 

The softest squeeze, Agatha’s pulse thrumming desperately beneath her thumb, her middle finger. Rio allowed herself one shaking, ragged breath, holding Agatha there in her grip, just at the edge of something more. Something impossible. And then Agatha squirmed, rolling her hips up into nothing, and Rio complied so easily, too easily, slipping her hand back down into heat, fingers flat as they pressed against her. 

Agatha whimpered, brow twitching as her eyes screwed impossibly tighter. The slow drag of fingers, spreading her open, pressing hesitantly against her. A sharp breath, Agatha’s hands grabbing for any piece of Rio that she could reach, dragging her body down further as Agatha arched against her. Rio’s fingers found their mark, then, circling slowly into the arousal pooling, skimming over her entrance. 

A jagged curse at the touch, Agatha’s hips jerking against her hand, but Rio pulled her fingers away, replacing them with the soft brush of her thumb. Just enough to give her something, until she gave Rio what she wanted. 

She leaned down, bumping her nose against Agatha’s. Her brow creased deep, hips rolling desperately against Rio’s light touch. 

“Agatha,” Rio breathed, nudging her nose again. “Open your eyes.” 

The smallest shake of her head, just a twitch, a whimper falling out of her. 

Rio’s thumb circled slowly, smearing her arousal completely through her. “Yes, my love. Look at me.” 

It took a moment, a long moment. But then Agatha’s eyes fluttered open, brow pinching up as a tear fell. Rio watched it track down the line of her cheek, leaning down as it crested bone and kissing it free. 

“You are not alone, Agatha. You are never alone.” 

A shaky nod, her hips moving, rocking against almost nothing. And then her grip tightened over Rio’s skin, a determination settling over her features as she shifted further into Rio’s touch. 

“I need you,” Agatha breathed, one hand tracking up and brushing over Rio’s jaw. Holding her face impossibly close. Holding Rio with a firm, unwavering tenderness that she had never felt before. “Please, I need you… mine nightmare.” 

There was such sweetness in acquiescence, in the way Agatha’s brow tipped up as fingers slid against her, in the way her breath caught as Rio pressed two deep inside of her. 

“Oh,” Agatha gasped, pulling Rio’s forehead to hers. “Oh.” She swallowed thickly, sound sticking in her throat as another tear fell. “I never want to be without you. Never leave me, never—“ 

Rio curled her fingers, a promise, and the words died on Agatha’s tongue. Her breath came in ragged, fast pants, warmth blooming against Rio’s mouth as she arched and writhed against her. Another press of fingers, curled deep and firm within her, and then Agatha’s hand slid into Rio’s hair, tugging, pulling. 

She let herself smile at the silent plea, gripping a hand into Agatha’s thigh and pulling it up over her hip. She added a third finger with the new angle, and Agatha’s leg flexed against her, heel instantly digging into her back. Bone against spine. 

Rio lost herself then, for a moment, in the shape of them, the molding of a world, a universe, that was all their own. Something so unique, so perfect, in its imperfections. Something that could only be built of them, giving fully to the other. Limb and bone and breath, held tight together and coiling in this one space, this one moment. Locked away from the rest of the universe, from any other plane of existence. Heaven, in her hands. 

Agatha pulsed and throbbed and contracted around her fingers, drawing them deeper as she grunted softly, chest heaving, hips working frantically against Rio’s movements. Rio rolled her own hips down, pressing her hand, her wrist, harder against Agatha, and she cried out, gripping desperately at Rio, wrapping her arms tight around her as she buried her face in her neck. 

“Please, please, please.” The word was panted against skin, punctuated by sloppy, starving kisses, Agatha’s mouth hung open as she dragged lips over any piece of Rio that she could reach. 

She fluttered against Rio’s fingers, the rhythm of her hips breaking as Rio ground down into her. Her nails bit into Agatha’s thigh, dragging it higher, forcing her closer. 

A broken whine. A curse, muffled against skin. 

“I love you,” Rio murmured, her own breaths ragged in anticipation. 

“I know,” Agatha whimpered, the words almost a sob as she nodded against her. “I know you do. I know. I… I—“

Rio could feel the muscles constricting, the soft shape of her body tensing, vibrating, climbing closer, closer. 

“Look at me, cielo.” 

Agatha did sob, then, the sound wet and broken as she buried herself further against Rio’s neck. A shaking breath, frozen and cracking, and then she bit down. 

Rio hissed, fingers stuttering inside of her, and she didn’t mean to. She didn’t mean to. But her nails scraped, too sharp, and Agatha threw her head back, face contorting. 

“Fuck, yes—“ She grabbed sloppily for Rio’s face, fingers bruising skin as she blinked her eyes open, wild and glassy. “Again. Again—“ 

Rio let her nails scrape again, dragging them roughly down before shoving her fingers deep inside of her, just a bit too hard. 

Agatha lost herself then, head falling against stone as she rocked desperately, frantically, into Rio’s hand. Rio held her tight, wrapping her arm around her back and forcing her body up and against her, forcing the angle just a bit too far to be anything but raked pleasure. A sharp thrust of her fingers, curled and biting, pushing harder as Agatha throbbed against them. 

“Rio—“ Agatha choked out, her grip, her movements, messy and clawing. And this pleasure, this all-consuming thing that was eating at Agatha from the inside out, suddenly, with the scrape of nails and the sound of Rio’s name falling from a perfect, gaped mouth, became so much more than just love, pressed into her. It built, climbed, bloomed to adoration, frantic and searing, burning her alive. Burning them both alive. 

Rio growled, dipping her mouth to catch at Agatha’s lips, to nip, to bite, to keep her right there, right on the edge. 

“You can do it,” she panted against Agatha’s mouth. “Let go. Give in. Give me—“ 

“Everything,” Agatha gasped, arching up to capture her mouth. “You’re everyth— ah— Rio—“ 

And with that drawn out, keening cry of her name, Agatha shattered to pieces beneath her, falling apart in her hands. Her hips rocked frantically, bucking and twitching and rolling to draw out every second of pleasure as she gasped and panted into Rio’s mouth, hands scratching wildly over skin and biting in as she held Rio desperately against her. 

One last thrust of her fingers, heart pounding as she let them shift through this reality, let those claws of fate wrap around her and pressed them into that soft spot that always— 

Agatha screamed, body jerking violently. And then the purple flashed — lightning cracking over the blue of her eyes — and magic exploded out around them, pulsing violet and black as Agatha clutched at Rio, “I love you”s pressed desperately into her, over and over and over again. 

Eventually, the purple eased, dissipated, jagged tendrils stilling and dissolving into the air. Agatha pressed her forehead to Rio’s as her body trembled, mouths breaking apart, breaths uneven and ragged. And Rio cradled her close, nudging their noses together as the miracle in her hands went completely boneless. Completely vulnerable and unguarded in the arms of the only thing that could actually hurt her. Her body, her soul, her heart, given over with a blind trust that could only be reached by forgetting, just for a moment. 

“Stay with me, tonight.” Agatha’s voice shook, fingers coming up and carding carefully through Rio’s hair. When her eyes met Rio’s, swimming and wide and too hopeful, too raw and exposed, Rio could do nothing but nod. 

Agatha’s hand slid into hers as they walked back through the woods, soft smiles and tentative laughs passed between them. Almost exactly as it used to be. At some point, Agatha shifted closer, resting her head on Rio’s shoulder as they wound through the trees. Rio’s arm slipped around her waist, the fabric of fresh clothes soft and warm as she held her, grip almost sure. 

When they made it back to the small clearing, Nicholas sleeping soundly, Agatha pulled herself from Rio’s arms. A familiar ache, at the loss. But before she could grieve it, Agatha laid out a spare blanket and raised her brow at Rio, nodding to it. It was only as Rio laid down carefully, watching Agatha kneel beside her, hand smoothing through Nicholas’s hair before she turned and curled into Rio’s side, that she realized— there were three blankets. Agatha’s bag was small, and she had no reason to carry a spare. But there were three. Maybe there had always been three. 

Agatha watched her, in the dark of the woods, eyes tracking every inch of Rio’s face as if memorizing it all over again. Rio felt herself slip, felt the facade waver, flicker, under that gaze. She caught it a second too late, cursing herself, bracing for whatever hate and terror and betrayal would break over Agatha’s face. But her eyes only widened, almost nothing, and the flicker of a smile twitched at her lips. 

“Don’t,” she whispered, fingers coming up to brush a strand of hair from Rio’s face. To expose her further. “You don’t have to hide.” 

A thick swallow, hope sticking in her throat. “He doesn’t know.” 

Agatha leaned up, pressing a kiss to the space of her cheek where skin would melt away into bone if she let it, the placement so precise. She lingered, nose nudging, before pulling away. 

“He would love you, just the same.” 

Agatha sighed against her, nuzzling into her chest just like she used to, her fingers lagging, tracing soft runes into the dip of Rio’s side as her eyes fluttered closed and her breaths evened out. She was heavy, content in Rio’s arms and completely unburdened for the first time in too long, and Rio felt the heat pool down her cheeks before she could stop it. She forced herself still against the emotion wracking through her, still so new and unfamiliar as salt hit her lips. When she held Agatha tighter, it all burned so much deeper. 

It was there, in the foreign pain of a sob bitten into, that the tug pulled in her stomach. She froze, looking over at Nicholas, breath seizing in her chest. But he was sound asleep, the softest smile on his face, and the voice that floated through the forest, milky and distorted, was one of a young woman. 

And so, Rio left, just as she said she wouldn’t. She turned back for a small moment, allowing herself the weakness to look at her heart, broken in two, both laid peaceful and still on the forest floor. Agatha turned in her sleep, reaching for Nicholas, and he instantly curled against her, burying himself into her chest. A kiss, unconscious, pressed into his hair. Rio closed her eyes against the emotion that swelled, forcing a slow breath in. And then she walked away, deep into the woods as the tug of fate pulled her into darkness.