I have finally figured out how to make a master list and have added every single marvel/Agatha/Rio fanfic I have written on here! I will continue to update this anytime I post!
Agatha All Along Chapters:
AgathaRio x daughter!reader!
The Witches' Road?
The Witches Road...Reunion
Alice Trial
Agatha's Trial
Y/n's Trial
Coven of Chaos + Reader:
Shielded By Chaos
Snow Day Shenanigans
A Coven Road Trip
AgathaRio + Daughter Reader:
Lazy Sunday Morning
Baking Chaos
Sick Day Comforts
Rainy Day
The Storm and Revelations
Christmas Decorating
Kitchen Chaos
Birthday Surprise
Mother-Daughter Vacation
Mother's Instinct
Unbreakable
Jealousy At The Fair
A Candle Spell
Movie Marathon Night
Family Game Night
Learning Spanish
Takeout and Truths
Video Game Faceoff
Candlelit Blanket Fort Night
Echoes Of The Past
Dreamcatcher Craft Night
Lure of the Moonstone
An Unexpected Visitor (Part 1 of 2)
Spector in the Night (Part 2 of 2)
Storm's Fury
Cooking Dinner Together
Twilight Intruders
Finding Home
Sunday Pancake Morning
Nature Hike with a Surprise
Grey's Anatomy Saturday
A Simple Evening
Grey's Anatomy and Rio's Traumatized
Grey's Anatomy Turmoil
Mother-Daughter Day
AgathaRio + Daughter Reader AU
The Quiet One
Agatha Harkness + Daughter Reader:
A Stormy Night
The Frist Day of School
First Magic Spark
First Solo Spell
The Birthday Skip
Rio Vidal + Daughter Reader:
Dance It Out
AU - Fresh Start
AU - The Study Session Scheme
AU - Parent-Teacher Night
AU - Looking Out for Her
AU - The Proposal Plan
AU - Moving Day
AU - The Snow Day
AU - Family Dinner
Wagatha + Daughter Reader:
The Mistletoe Mishap
The Young Avengers Vs Loki
Actively having the craziest thought but what about an Agatha All Along crossover with the movie the old guard but somehow Y/n is the daughter of Agatha and Rio but is also married to Andromache? Thoughts? Opinions? Because I can’t get this itch out of my brain….
Okay, so I have this idea for a one-shot about like Agatha and Rio's daughter, Y/n, modern day, after Nicky passes away, and they are twins, and it goes to the song "Superboy and the Invisible Girl" from Next To Normal, and I just wanted to know if this is something, you, my readers would be interested in??? Let me know!!!
This is the second part of the chapter, The Storm, of my Aubrey Plaza x daughter!reader series! I hope you guys like it! Let me know if you guys have any ideas or if you want me to continue this series!
The next morning, the rain had stopped, but the sky still hung low and colorless, like someone had drained the blue out of it. The world smelled of damp, wet concrete, wet grass, wet air. Y/n pulled her hood tighter as she crossed the parking lot, dodging puddles. Her backpack felt heavier than usual, straps digging into her shoulders.
The school buzzed around her in fragments, snippets of conversations, laughter bouncing off lockers, sneakers squeaking on tile. She kept her head down. Her sneakers left little half-moon shapes of water with every step.
She had a full day ahead: three classes, a quiz in math, and a layout meeting for the school paper during lunch. Usually the newsroom was her escape. Today, it felt like a test she had to pass.
When she got there, a few other staffers were already scattered around, heads bent over laptops. The fluorescent lights gave everything a sickly glow. Y/n slid into her corner table, the same one she always claimed, and pulled out her camera bag and notebook.
The editor-in-chief, Marissa, swept in a few minutes later, her glossy ponytail swinging. “Okay, guys, quick updates!” she chirped. “Features, you’re on the food truck festival preview. Sports, still working on the cross-country piece. And Y/n,” she glanced over the rim of her glasses... “your photos of the pep rally were great. Can you upload the rest to the drive today?”
“Yeah,” Y/n said quietly.
Marissa nodded and moved on, already spinning toward another table.
Y/n set her camera on the desk and started scrolling through her shots. Her eyes felt tired, like she hadn’t fully woken up. She leaned her elbow on the table and pressed her palm against her cheek. The photos blurred a little, rows of cheering faces she wasn’t part of.
From across the room, a familiar laugh cut through the noise.
Hannah.
Y/n’s stomach twisted. She looked up before she could stop herself.
Hannah was standing by the window with two other track girls, all three of them huddled over a phone. She had her hair in a high messy bun, still damp from practice, and was wearing that old gray hoodie—the one she used to wear when she and Y/n would study together.
Y/n stared for a second too long. Hannah didn’t look up. Didn’t notice.
She dropped her gaze back to her laptop and forced her hands to move over the keyboard. Type, click, upload. Easy.
Her earbuds were in, but nothing was playing. It was just a prop now, a way to signal “do not disturb” without saying it out loud. The dull hum of the room pressed in on her, and for a moment she thought of the storm yesterday, how it had rattled the windows and filled the silence. This was worse.
Marissa clapped her hands. “That’s it for updates! Work hard, guys.”
Chairs scraped against the floor as people shifted, talking quietly, laughing. Hannah drifted closer to the door, still scrolling on her phone. She brushed past Y/n’s table without even a flicker of recognition.
Y/n’s chest felt like it was shrinking. She hunched further over her laptop, willing herself to disappear.
The rest of the day moved in fits and starts. In English, she underlined words she wasn’t reading. In math, the quiz numbers swam on the page. At lunch, she stayed in the newsroom, eating a granola bar over her keyboard, listening to the murmur of other people’s lives.
By the last bell, she was exhausted. Her face felt stiff from holding itself neutral.
She drove home slow, windshield wipers smearing the leftover drizzle across the glass. Her phone stayed facedown on the passenger seat. No new messages.
The porch light was on again when she pulled into the driveway. Warm yellow against the gray day.
Inside, the smell of something baking drifted from the kitchen—vanilla, maybe. Aubrey Plaza was at the counter, stirring something in a bowl. She was still in her favorite hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair clipped back.
“Hey, peanut,” she said, glancing up. “How was school?”
Y/n dropped her bag by the stairs. “Fine.”
Aubrey gave her a look. “That didn’t sound fine.”
Y/n kicked off her shoes. “Just… school.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, trying to look busy.
“You want to talk about it?” Aubrey asked, voice gentle but not pushing.
“Not really.”
“Okay.” Aubrey went back to stirring. “Cookies’ll be ready in ten.”
Y/n hesitated in the doorway, the water bottle cold in her hands. “What kind?”
“Chocolate chip. Heavy on the chip.”
That earned the tiniest flicker of a smile. “Cool.”
She wandered into the living room and sank onto the couch. Her phone buzzed once, just a notification from the school app. Nothing from Hannah. She pressed her thumb against the screen, then let it go dark.
A few minutes later, Aubrey padded in, carrying a plate stacked with cookies. “I come bearing carbs,” she announced, setting it on the coffee table. She sat beside Y/n, tucking one leg under herself.
Y/n picked up a cookie, still warm, chocolate melting at the edges. “Thanks.”
Aubrey studied her for a moment. “Rough day?”
Y/n shrugged. “Same as yesterday.”
“That bad, huh?”
“She didn’t even look at me,” Y/n blurted, surprising herself. Her throat tightened. “We were in the same room for like an hour and she acted like I didn’t exist.”
Aubrey didn’t say anything right away. She just reached over and brushed a crumb off Y/n’s sleeve. “That’s brutal, baby.”
“I don’t know what I did,” Y/n said, voice cracking. “I keep trying to figure it out, and it’s like, maybe she’s mad at me? Or maybe she just… doesn’t care anymore.”
Aubrey’s brow furrowed, but her voice stayed soft. “I know it feels like it’s about you. But it might not be. People pull away for all kinds of reasons that have nothing to do with us.”
“It still feels like it’s about me.”
“Of course it does,” Aubrey said. “You’re the one living it.”
Y/n blinked hard, staring at the cookie in her hands until it blurred. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know.” Aubrey draped an arm around her shoulders. “But it’s not forever. I promise.”
Y/n leaned into her, resting her head on Aubrey’s shoulder. “I don’t feel like I fit anywhere anymore.”
“You fit here,” Aubrey said simply.
Y/n let out a shaky breath. “I’m trying so hard to pretend it doesn’t bother me.”
“That’s the undertow,” Aubrey murmured. “You’re swimming on the surface, but underneath, it’s pulling you down. You’ve got to give yourself a break.”
Y/n closed her eyes. “It feels like drowning.”
“I know.” Aubrey kissed the top of her head. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me. And popcorn, and cookies, and every weird movie you’ve ever loved.”
That earned a small laugh. “Even Coraline?”
“Especially Coraline,” Aubrey said. “Want to watch it again?”
Y/n hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Aubrey grabbed the remote and queued it up. As the opening chords played, she pulled the fleece blanket over both of them.
Y/n curled into her mom’s side, the weight in her chest easing just enough to breathe. Outside, the sky stayed gray. But inside, the room glowed warm.
The first Saturday of October dawned with the kind of crisp sunlight that made everything seem gilded in warmth. Golden light filtered through the curtains of the Harkness-Vidal kitchen, landing on the polished wood of the table and the steaming mugs of coffee in front of Agatha and Rio.
Agatha sat with her legs crossed, robe draped elegantly over her as if it were spun silk rather than old cotton. She cradled her coffee, inhaling deeply before taking a slow sip. Across from her, Rio was perched comfortably, her own mug resting in her hands, curls falling loose around her shoulders. She looked effortlessly alive in the morning light, though Agatha suspected it was the coffee doing the real work.
The only one not enjoying himself was slouched in the chair between them. Nicholas Vidal-Harkness, Nicky to his family, had his head pillowed in his arms on the table, groaning at intervals like a wounded animal. His messy hair stuck up in odd tufts, and his socks were mismatched.
“Remind me again why we’re awake before noon?” he mumbled into his arms.
“Because civilized people enjoy the morning, darling,” Agatha replied smoothly, taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s called appreciating life.”
“Civilized people are overrated,” Nicky muttered, lifting his head just enough to squint balefully at her.
Rio chuckled, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. “He’s twelve, Aggie. You’ll have to forgive him. Mornings are his mortal enemy.”
“I’m twelve, not dead,” Nicky protested weakly, though he didn’t stop her from mussing his hair further.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted their banter. A moment later, Y/n descended with the kind of grace that could only come from confidence. Sixteen, sharp-eyed and bright, she looked like autumn herself had dressed her that morning. Her long, wavy brown hair, Agatha’s gift to her, framed her face in perfect, glossy waves, and her brown eyes, Rio’s legacy, sparkled in the light. She wore black leggings under a soft skirt, a light brown sweater tucked neatly, and ankle boots clicking softly on the floor. Her glasses had already begun their inevitable slide down her nose.
“Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Mami.” Her voice was cheerful but not overdone, warm like the day itself.
Agatha’s lips curled in a proud smile. “Good morning, darling girl.”
Rio beamed at her, soft and fond. “Mornin’, mi corazón. You look like you walked out of an autumn magazine.”
“Thanks,” Y/n said, tugging the sweater’s hem straight as she moved to pour herself a mug of coffee. She fixed it the way she liked, just enough cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon. She slid into the seat beside Nicky, giving him a playful nudge. “What’s wrong with you?”
“She’s awake,” Nicky groaned dramatically. “At this hour. It’s unnatural.”
Y/n smirked into her mug. “Some of us can function before lunch, Nicky.”
“Some of us shouldn’t,” he shot back, but his words lacked bite.
The kitchen was filled with soft laughter and the clink of mugs. Outside, the leaves drifted past the windows, flashes of orange and red against a bright blue sky.
Rio leaned back in her chair, stretching. “Feels like the perfect day to do something.”
“Like what?” Nicky asked, voice cautious. He clearly feared she meant yard work.
Rio tapped her chin, pretending to think deeply. “Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe… the farmers’ market?”
Agatha arched a brow. “Ah, the grand pilgrimage to Town Square, where overpriced gourds reign supreme.”
“You love the market,” Rio teased, nudging her with her foot under the table. “You bought three different kinds of honey last year and lectured the poor vendor about bee magic.”
Agatha smirked, unbothered. “That man was in desperate need of education.”
Y/n set down her mug, eyes bright. “Can we go? Please? I want to see what they have this year.”
Rio’s smile softened as she looked at her daughter’s excitement. “Of course we can, corazón. Nicky?”
He sighed, then shrugged. “I guess. As long as I get something out of it.”
They bundled into cozy layers before heading out, the air outside crisp but comfortable. Westview’s Town Square was already bustling when they arrived, the farmers’ market alive with chatter and the scents of baked bread, spiced cider, and roasted nuts. Stalls lined the streets, their tables heaped with pumpkins, apples, jars of jams, and hand-knitted scarves.
Y/n fell into step beside Agatha, their arms brushing as they strolled. “It smells amazing,” she said, inhaling deeply.
“It does,” Agatha agreed, though her eyes twinkled. “Mostly cinnamon, with undertones of capitalism.”
Y/n laughed, nudging her. “Mama.”
Ahead of them, Rio had already been dragged toward a booth by Nicky. He was tugging on her hand, pointing eagerly at a display of carved pumpkins with faces ranging from goofy to grotesque.
“Mami, look at this one!” Nicky’s voice carried. He pointed to a pumpkin carved with a lopsided grin and one missing tooth. “That’s me.”
Rio laughed, pulling him closer to inspect. “It is you! Maybe we should buy it and put it on the porch.”
“Yeah! Then everyone’ll know how terrifying I am.”
“Terrifyingly adorable,” Rio corrected, pinching his cheek.
Y/n shook her head with a grin. “He’s finally waking up.”
“Your Mami has that effect on people,” Agatha said wryly. “She’s impossible to resist when she’s in playful mode.”
As they wandered, they sampled cider and admired handmade crafts. Y/n tried on a knit scarf that matched her sweater perfectly, and Agatha, without hesitation, purchased it for her. “Consider it an investment,” she said. “You’ll need it when the frost comes.”
“Mama,” Y/n murmured, touched despite herself.
Nicky, meanwhile, convinced Rio to buy him a candied apple, though most of it ended up on his face. He offered her a sticky bite, which she bravely accepted with exaggerated delight.
By the time they’d circled the market, their bags were heavy with small treasures: fresh bread, a jar of pumpkin butter, the scarf, and, yes, the lopsided pumpkin that Nicky declared was his “twin.”
Back home, the afternoon sunlight had mellowed, spilling golden over the yard. “Alright,” Rio said as they set down their bags. “Who’s ready to decorate?”
“Me!” Nicky shouted, racing for the boxes of Halloween decorations they’d pulled from the attic the night before. “But we need music! It’s a rule.”
Agatha raised a brow. “A rule? Since when?”
“Since forever,” Nicky declared. He was already scrolling through the old speaker system. Moments later, a familiar spooky tune began to play, filling the house with playful Halloween energy.
Y/n groaned, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” he shot back, brandishing a string of orange lights.
And so the decorating began. The living room slowly transformed: cobwebs stretched across corners, ceramic pumpkins lined the mantle, and the lopsided “Nicky pumpkin” claimed its rightful spot on the porch. Rio balanced on a chair to hang a garland of bats, only to wobble dangerously until Nicky steadied her with a triumphant “Gotcha, Mami!”
Agatha, ever elegant, flicked her fingers at a stubborn strand of lights, coaxing them to untangle themselves with the faintest spark of magic. Y/n caught it, eyes narrowing playfully. “Cheater.”
“Efficient,” Agatha corrected smoothly.
By the time they finished, the house glowed with cozy spookiness. The sun had set, casting everything in soft shadows, and the music had shifted to slower, more atmospheric tunes.
They collapsed together on the couch, tired but content. Rio tucked Nicky under one arm, pressing a kiss to his hair, while Y/n curled against Agatha, still wearing her new scarf despite the warmth.
“This,” Rio said softly, looking around at her family, “is perfect.”
Agatha’s eyes softened as she glanced at her wife and children. She reached over to squeeze Y/n’s hand, the smallest flicker of magic in the air making the candle flames on the mantle dance.
Y/n smiled, her heart full. “Best first day of October ever.”
Nicky yawned, already half-asleep against Rio. “Told you I’d survive.”
Agatha chuckled, brushing his hair back. “Barely, darling. Barely.”
The room filled with their laughter, warm and unhurried, as the October night settled in around them, cozy, magical, and full of love.
The rain came down in steady curtains outside the little house in Westview, New Jersey, making the windows blur with droplets. The kind of day where the whole world felt tucked under a gray blanket, and the perfect excuse for staying indoors. Inside, however, the energy could not be more different. The living room lights glowed warmly against the stormy gloom, and the coffee table was already buried under a mismatched feast of popcorn bowls, chips, candy, and a plate of Agatha’s questionable but deliciously enchanted cookies that sometimes sparkled faintly when the light hit them.
“Okay, Mama, Mami, no excuses today!” Y/n stood in front of the couch, remote clutched triumphantly in one hand like it was the staff of a victorious warrior. At seventeen, Y/n had inherited both her moms’ dramatic flair and a streak of stubbornness that could move mountains—or at least move her mothers onto the couch for a movie night. “Netflix finally released the K‑pop Demon Hunters sing‑along edition, and we are watching it. Together. All of it. You promised.”
Agatha, curled on one end of the couch in a cozy cardigan that didn’t quite hide the glimmer of a pendant at her throat, arched a brow. “Darling, I distinctly recall saying I might be persuaded, should the right bribes be offered.”
“Mama,” Y/n groaned, pushing her dark hair out of her face. “We already made snacks, I put your blanket in the dryer so it’s extra warm, and Mami said she’d watch it with me.”
Rio, who was leaning against the doorway with a mug of coffee, smirked over the rim. “That I did. And if I’m suffering through two hours of neon demon boy bands, then you, babe, are suffering right along with me.”
Agatha rolled her eyes dramatically, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, my love, why must you conspire with our daughter against me?”
“Because she asked sweetly,” Rio said, striding over and pressing a kiss to Agatha’s temple before settling on the other end of the couch. “And because she knows that deep down, you’ll love it.”
“I will not,” Agatha sniffed, crossing her arms. “Musicals are one thing, but...Singing demons?”
“Mama,” Y/n interrupted, planting herself firmly between them on the couch, blanket in her lap. “Trust me. This is art. It has fighting, it has magic, it has music, basically your whole personality.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes playfully. “Flattery will get you most things, my darling girl.” She sighed and reached for her own mug of tea. “Fine. But if I end up hexing the television, it’s on you.”
Y/n squealed in victory, hitting play before either woman could back out. The Netflix logo pulsed onto the screen, thunder rumbling outside in perfect theatrical timing. Y/n burrowed between her mothers, throwing one half of the giant blanket over Agatha and the other over Rio.
“See? This is perfect.”
“Perfectly damp and sugary,” Agatha muttered, eying the pile of candy, though her hand reached for a chocolate bar without hesitation. “What is this movie even about, hm? K‑pop singers slaying demons with the power of jazz hands?”
“Close,” Y/n said, popping popcorn into her mouth. “It’s about Huntrix, this girl group who fight demons disguised as a boy band. And the music is part of their magic rituals. Like, the songs are spells.”
Agatha blinked, looking mildly impressed despite herself. “Spells set to music… That’s actually not the worst idea.”
“I know,” Y/n said smugly. “Just watch.”
As the opening scene unfolded—bright lights, glittering Seoul skyline, and five animated idols bursting into choreography—Agatha let out a small snort. “Their costumes are ridiculous. Who battles the undead in sequins?”
“Mama,” Y/n whined, nudging her with her elbow. “Suspend your disbelief.”
Rio chuckled, already a little too invested. “I like her hair,” she admitted, pointing to the leader of Huntrix. “Full on purple hair. Fierce.”
“That one’s Rumi,” Y/n said instantly. “She’s my favorite. She’s the lead singer. Everyone on the internet loves her...and Zoey...and Mira.”
Agatha tilted her head. “Hmph. She’s got presence, I’ll give her that. Though her kimbap sniffing technique is questionable.”
Y/n choked on her popcorn, laughing. “You saw that meme?!”
Rio smirked. “Of course we saw it. Your mother tried to replicate it in the kitchen last week.”
“I was testing a theory!” Agatha said defensively, though her ears went pink. “Perhaps food can be enchanted by inhaling its essence...”
“...Or you just looked like you were trying to hex your lunch,” Rio teased, nudging her ankle against Agatha’s under the blanket.
Y/n beamed, soaking in the banter. “See? You’re already quoting memes. You’re practically fans.”
An hour in, the room had fully transformed into the coziest movie haven. The rain hammered harder against the roof, thunder punctuating the dramatic moments on screen. The three of them had melted into the couch, the blanket a tangled cocoon. Agatha had given up pretending she wasn’t enjoying herself; her hand tapped absently against her mug in time with the songs, her eyes narrowing in focus when the choreography doubled as spell-casting.
“This scene, this is basically a gut ritual,” Agatha muttered, half to herself.
“Mama, shh,” Y/n whispered, though she was grinning. “You’re ruining it for Mami.”
Rio shook her head. “No, I like it. It’s like watching with director’s commentary. Except sassier.”
Agatha smirked. “Sass is a family trait.”
Y/n threw a handful of popcorn at her, which Agatha caught with a lazy flick of magic and popped into her mouth smugly. “Cheater,” Y/n accused.
“My love, if you can do it, it’s not cheating.”
Rio leaned her head back against the couch, chuckling. “You two are impossible.”
“And you love us,” Agatha said, leaning across Y/n to brush a quick kiss against Rio’s jaw.
Y/n made a gagging noise. “Ew. Parents kissing during my movie night. Illegal.”
Agatha raised a brow. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve seen nothing yet...”
“Mama, don’t you dare.”
Rio just laughed and pulled Y/n tighter against her side. “Don’t worry, mi corazón. We’ll keep it PG.”
By the time the credits rolled, the living room was a nest of empty bowls, crumpled candy wrappers, and the faint glow of the TV screen. The storm outside had quieted to a gentle drizzle, raindrops pattering softly like applause.
Y/n sat up, stretching. “See? Wasn’t it amazing? The music, the fights, the symbolism?!”
Agatha hummed thoughtfully, but her lips twitched upward. “I’ll admit, it was… engaging. The demon transformations were nicely grotesque. And the "spells," clever.”
Rio nodded. “The songs are stuck in my head already. That ‘Golden’ one? Very catchy.”
Y/n gasped, eyes sparkling. “Mami, you liked it too?!”
“I did,” Rio admitted, smiling. “You were right, querida. It was worth it.”
Agatha gave her daughter a long look before sighing in defeat. “Fine. Yes. It was entertaining. But if you tell anyone I enjoyed a sing‑along edition of anything, I will deny it until my dying breath.”
Y/n giggled and leaned over to hug her. “Thanks, Mama. Best rainy day ever.”
Agatha softened instantly, squeezing her close. “Anything for you, my darling girl.”
Rio wrapped her arms around both of them, pulling them into a warm pile of tangled limbs and blankets. “Family movie nights,” she murmured. “We should do this more often.”
Agatha rested her head against Rio’s shoulder. “Next time, though, I pick the film.”
“Deal,” Y/n said, grinning. “But only if you promise not to hex the remote.”
Agatha smirked. “No promises.”
The three of them laughed, their voices mingling with the fading storm, the warmth of their little home wrapping tighter around them than any spell could ever hope to weave.
Rio had done what she could, swept away the ashes, repaired the shattered windows with precise flicks of magic, set the walls back to rights. The house looked whole, as if nothing had touched it. But the silence made it unbearable.
Upstairs, the clock ticked steadily, loud in the hush of Y/n’s bedroom. She lay curled on her side, staring at the blank wall. Her eyes were dry. They had been for a day now. No more tears would come.
The clock ticked. Tick. Tock. Tick.
Hear the clock ticking on the wall…
Y/n pulled the blanket tighter around her. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and that had only been a few bites. She hadn’t really slept either, just drifted in and out, haunted by dreams she never wanted.
Her door creaked open. Soft footsteps. The mattress dipped slightly as someone sat at the edge of her bed.
Rio’s voice, low and careful: “You should eat, minha filha. Even a little.”
Y/n’s lips parted, but no sound came. She didn’t look at her. She just traced a crack in the wall with her eyes, pretending it was something else. Anything else.
Rio sighed and set a bowl on the nightstand. The smell of soup drifted through the room, but it might as well have been ash.
“You’ve been lying here for two days,” Rio murmured. “I don’t think she would want this for you.”
That, finally, made Y/n turn. Slowly. Her voice cracked, hoarse from disuse.
“Don’t tell me what Mama would want.”
Rio froze, shoulders stiff. For a moment, the mask of Death was there, stern and cold. But then it cracked, and her eyes softened.
“You’re right,” Rio whispered. “Forgive me.”
Y/n exhaled shakily and turned back to the wall. “She’s not here to want anything.”
The words landed heavy between them.
But it feels like an eternity / Since I had you here with me…
Rio reached out, brushing strands of hair from her daughter’s face. Y/n flinched at the touch, not in anger, but in exhaustion.
“Do you remember,” Rio asked softly, “when you were little? And she used to sit you on the counter while she baked? She’d always let you eat the batter before it went in the oven.”
Y/n closed her eyes. The memory flashed bright and cruel: Agatha’s laugh, her teasing warnings of “don’t eat too much or you’ll spoil dinner,” the way she’d swipe flour across Y/n’s nose like a painter.
Her throat closed. “Stop,” she whispered.
Rio’s hand lingered on her shoulder. “I don’t want you to forget her. Not the way she lived.”
Y/n rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her voice was hollow. “All I can see is how she died.”
Rio looked down, grief washing over her face. She clasped her hands together, as though to keep them from trembling.
“She chose it,” Rio said finally. Her voice was soft but firm. “I begged her not to. I thought…” She broke off, shaking her head. “But she looked at me, and I knew. It was never about the boy. It was about you. She wanted you to live.”
Y/n sat up slowly, her blanket falling to her lap. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale. She looked older than sixteen.
“Do you think that makes it easier?” she asked, her voice breaking. “That she chose it?”
Rio met her gaze, steady and unflinching. “No. It makes it harder.”
The words cracked something in Y/n’s chest. For the first time since that night, her eyes stung. Not tears, just the ache before them.
Why’d you have to chase the light / Somewhere I can’t go?
Y/n’s voice shook. “I keep waiting for her to walk in. I keep thinking I’ll hear her humming downstairs, or scolding me for leaving books everywhere, or…” She broke off, covering her face with her hands. “And then I remember. And it feels like, I can’t breathe.”
Rio pulled her hands away gently, forcing her to look up. “Then breathe with me,” she said quietly. She took her daughter’s hands, pressing them to her chest. “Feel this? I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”
Y/n’s lip trembled. “I don’t want you. I want her.”
Rio’s expression twisted. For a moment, she looked like she might crumble. But she held steady, her voice low, almost breaking: “So do I.”
The silence that followed was heavy. The ticking clock filled the space.
Finally, Y/n leaned forward, resting her forehead against Rio’s chest. She didn’t sob. She didn’t scream. She just sat there, hollow, letting the weight of her mother’s absence press down on her.
Rio wrapped her arms around her, holding her close.
“You don’t have to forgive me,” Rio murmured. “You don’t even have to like me. But I will stay. As long as you’ll let me.”
Y/n didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
But she didn’t pull away either.
It’s an endless night, it’s a starless sky / It’s a hell that I call home…
Downstairs, the repaired house stood perfect and empty, like a stage set waiting for someone who would never come back.
Upstairs, mother and daughter sat in the quiet, clinging to what little they had left.
The soup on the nightstand had gone cold. Neither of them touched it.
Y/n sat slumped against Rio, not crying, not sleeping, just existing in the quiet weight of her absence. The clock downstairs chimed softly.
It’s a long goodbye on the other side / Of the only life I know…
The words ran through Y/n’s mind like a cruel lullaby. She whispered them under her breath without realizing.
Rio tilted her head. “What did you say?”
Y/n swallowed hard. “It feels like she’s just…gone. Like one second she was holding me here, and the next…” She pressed a fist against her chest. “It’s like my whole life ended with her, and now I’m stuck in this…half-life.”
Rio smoothed her hand through Y/n’s hair, voice quiet. “I know that feeling better than anyone.”
Y/n looked up, eyes red-rimmed. “How do you live with it?”
Rio hesitated. “You don’t. You just…carry it. Some days, it weighs less. Some days, it crushes you. But you carry it, because that’s all you can do.”
And it feels like an eternity / Since I had you here with me…
Rio brushed her thumb across her daughter’s cheek. “You’re stronger than you believe.”
Y/n shook her head. “No. She was the strong one. She could’ve kept fighting. She could’ve chosen Billy. She could’ve chosen—anything else. But she didn’t. And now…” Her voice cracked. “Now I have to learn to be someone she won’t even know.”
Since I had to learn to be / Someone you don’t know…
Rio closed her eyes, pained. “That’s not true. She knew you. She loved you. Every piece of you.”
“Then why wasn’t I enough?” Y/n asked, barely above a whisper.
Rio’s heart clenched. “You were everything. She didn’t leave because of you. She left for you.”
Silence. The air was thick with all the words neither of them could fully say.
To be with you in paradise / What I wouldn’t sacrifice…
She clenched her fists in the fabric of Rio’s shirt. “I’d give anything. Anything to bring her back. I’d trade places. I’d…” She stopped, choking on her own voice. “Why’d she have to chase the light somewhere I can’t go?”
Why’d you have to chase the light, Somewhere I can’t go?
Rio kissed the top of her head. Her own voice trembled when she spoke. “That is the question I have asked myself for centuries. Every soul I’ve taken. Every love I’ve lost. But Agatha…” She paused, voice breaking. “Agatha ran to it. She always did. And that is what I loved about her, and what I hated.”
The clock ticked. The house groaned in the silence.
Y/n whispered, “So now what? What do I do?”
Rio pulled her close, wrapping her arms tight. “You walk. One step. Then another. Even when it feels impossible.”
The words lingered in the air, almost tangible.
“I don’t want to be alone,” Y/n admitted. “I can’t do this alone.”
Rio hugged her tighter. “You won’t be. Not while I’m here.”
Y/n didn’t answer. She didn’t have the strength. But for the first time since that night, she leaned into Rio fully, letting her weight rest against her.
The house was too big, too empty, too full of ghosts. But in that small upstairs room, there was a flicker of something fragile. Not hope. Not yet. But something like survival.
And as the night stretched on, Y/n let the song play in her head like a heartbeat:
The sky over Westview cracked with emerald lightning. The smell of burning earth and ozone filled the air, the remains of spells still humming through the battlefield. Agatha Harkness stood at the center of it all, her dark cloak whipping in the wind, her face pale but burning with grim resolve.
Sixteen-year-old Y/n Vidal-Harkness stood just behind the crumbling greenhouse, her hands clutching at the edges of her sleeves, knuckles white. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had seen her mama like this before, hungry for victory, determined to win. But something was different this time. There was no greed in Agatha’s eyes. Only heartbreak.
Y/n thought she knew the ending. She thought Billy Maximoff, the witchling with Wanda’s eyes—would be sacrificed. That was the bargain. Mama had promised her as much with a whisper days ago: “I’ll make sure you and I walk out of this. You’ll see.”
But as Agatha looked back, meeting her daughter’s gaze across the battlefield, her lips trembled into a smile that looked like goodbye.
“Mama?” Y/n whispered, shaking her head. “No. No, don’t you dare..”
Billy was confused, already bracing himself, his magic flickering nervously in his palms. Rio, Death cloaked in human form, stood with her hand extended, waiting for the boy she had been promised.
And then Agatha did the unthinkable.
She turned her back on Billy.
Straight toward Rio.
Her steps were heavy, deliberate. Rio’s brow furrowed, the certainty in her stance faltering.
“Agatha?” she asked, her voice cutting through the chaos. “What are you…”
But before she could finish, Agatha surged forward, fisting Rio’s collar and crushing her lips against hers.
The kiss was desperate, bruising, filled with years of love and hate and grief. Violet magic sparked between their mouths, tendrils wrapping around Rio’s form. Rio gasped, stunned, trying to pull back, but it was too late, Agatha was siphoning her, pulling the essence of Death itself into her.
“NO!” Rio cried, grabbing Agatha’s shoulders, trying to wrench her off—but Agatha held fast.
Y/n’s scream tore the air: “MAMA!”
The siphoning reached its peak. Agatha’s body glowed violently, then dimmed, and she floated upward, hair wild around her face. For a single, eternal moment, she looked peaceful, eyes flicking to her daughter. Then her body collapsed in on itself, brittle bones shattering into dust, her form dissolving into a bed of blooming flowers.
Silence.
The fight was over.
But Y/n’s world had ended.
“No, no, no, no…..” she whispered, stumbling forward, dropping to her knees in the dirt. She clawed at the flowers, yanking stems out by the roots, desperate to find flesh, bone, anything left of her mother. “Please! Don’t leave me, Mama! Please!”
Her chest ached so hard it felt like her ribs were splintering. Tears blurred her vision until the flowers melted into a smear of color. She screamed, raw and broken, pounding her fists into the earth.
And then her grief twisted.
Her head snapped toward Billy.
“This is your fault!” she roared, hands crackling with violet energy. “She did this because of you!”
Billy froze, wide-eyed, his own palms glowing faintly blue. “I…I didn’t ask her to…”
“SHUT UP!” Y/n screamed, hurling a bolt of raw power at him.
Billy barely managed to throw up a shield, stumbling backward as the force slammed against him. The shield cracked, spiderweb fractures spreading across the shimmering barrier.
Y/n advanced, her magic pulsing brighter with every sob. “She was supposed to give you to her! That’s what she promised me! She wasn’t supposed to die! You should have died!”
Another blast ripped from her hands, more violent than the first. Billy grunted, straining as he reinforced his shield, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Y/n, please…stop!”
But she didn’t stop. She screamed again, a guttural sound of pure rage, flinging a barrage of bolts, each one hitting harder, faster, shaking the ground beneath them. Billy dropped to his knees, the shield trembling.
And then a figure stepped between them.
“ENOUGH!”
Rio’s voice thundered like a church bell, like the end of all things. With a wave of her hand, the battlefield stilled. Y/n’s magic fizzled out mid-air, absorbed into nothingness.
Y/n’s chest heaved, her arms trembling. “Get out of my way,” she snarled at Rio, her voice broken. “I hate you. I hate you more than anyone.”
Rio’s face was unreadable, but her eyes shone with something rare, grief. She reached for her daughter’s wrist, steady but gentle.
“You can hate me,” Rio said softly. “Hate me until the stars go dark. But I will not let you throw your life away because of mine.”
Y/n wrenched her arm free, sobbing. “She’s gone because of you! You took Nicky. And now you took her, too. You take everything!”
Rio flinched, her jaw tightening. For once, Death had no defense.
Billy, still on the ground, struggled to rise. His eyes flicked between them, guilt written across his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible. “I didn’t want this either.”
Y/n’s magic flared again, instinctive, but Rio raised her hand, holding her daughter back with a soft but unbreakable barrier.
Rio’s gaze shifted to Billy, her voice low and sharp. “Go.”
Billy hesitated. “But…”
“Now.” Her tone brooked no argument. It was not the request of a witch. It was the command of Death itself.
Billy swallowed hard, then turned, disappearing into the shadows of Westview.
The quiet that followed was unbearable. Only Y/n’s ragged sobs filled the air.
Her knees buckled, and she crumpled into the flowerbed, clutching fistfuls of petals, pressing her face into the dirt. “Mama…”
And then, arms. Not Agatha’s. Not warm, not familiar. But steady. Death’s arms.
Rio knelt beside her, pulling Y/n against her chest. The girl struggled at first, pounding weakly against her shoulder, but eventually the fight bled out of her, leaving only shaking breaths.
“I hate you,” Y/n whispered, broken.
Rio’s throat tightened. She pressed her lips to her daughter’s hair, a single tear streaking her cheek.
“I know,” she murmured. “And I’ll never stop deserving it. But I won’t let you carry this pain alone.”
The battlefield lay still. Flowers swayed where Agatha had fallen, their fragrance heavy in the night air.
A daughter wept. A mother held her. And Death, for once, felt unbearably human.
Rain came in sudden sheets, slamming against the house in cold, rhythmic bursts. Wind clawed at the shutters and whistled through the old eaves, and every few minutes lightning split the sky, making the walls flicker pale blue for a heartbeat.
The coven had retreated to the living room with blankets and candles, their chatter dim against the percussion of rain. Jen complained about the WiFi cutting out; Alice tried to charm the popcorn bowl into refilling itself. Billy was gone with Eddie, and for once the house felt… tolerable.
Upstairs, though, the noise of the storm pressed louder, closer. The thunder sounded like it was cracking open the roof itself.
Agatha walked the hallway with a mug of tea cradled in her hands, her violet robe swishing against her ankles. She paused in front of her daughter’s door, listening.
A faint scratching of pen. The occasional sigh.
She knocked lightly. “Y/n?”
There was a pause. Then: “Come in, Mama.”
Agatha pushed open the door.
The room smelled of parchment and lavender. Books were stacked everywhere, neat piles on the desk, messy towers on the floor. A half-burned candle guttered on the windowsill, its flame fighting against the wind sneaking through the glass.
Y/n sat at her desk, hunched over her journal, pen moving quickly as if racing her own thoughts. Her hair, still in Rio’s braids, gleamed in the flicker of candlelight. She didn’t turn when Agatha entered.
Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, placing her tea down on the nightstand. “Writing?”
“Yes, Mama,” Y/n said softly. “I didn’t notice the storm until it was already here.”
Agatha leaned back against the headboard, crossing her arms. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
Y/n hesitated, pen hovering above the page. “…Doing what?”
“Losing track of things. Forgetting to eat, skipping tea with your mami, hiding away with your books. You’ve always been a little bookworm, but…” Agatha’s gaze softened. “It feels different this time.”
Y/n closed her journal quickly, hugging it to her chest. “I just didn’t want to…” She stopped, biting her lip.
“Didn’t want to what?”
“Burden anyone.”
The words came out too fast, like she’d been holding them too long.
Agatha frowned, pushing herself off the headboard to sit forward. “Burden me?”
Y/n didn’t answer. Her knuckles were white against the leather cover of the journal.
Agatha reached out, but didn’t take the book. She touched Y/n’s braid instead, smoothing it gently.
“Y/n Vidal-Harkness,” she said, her full name like thunder rolling low and steady. “You could never be a burden to me. Do you understand?”
Y/n’s throat worked. “But you already… Mama, you do everything. You carry the coven, you carry me, you even carry Billy..”
“Barely,” Agatha muttered, then softened again. “Go on.”
Y/n turned finally, looking at her mother with eyes too old for sixteen. “And you carried Nicky. And when you lost him, I… I thought I had to be good. Perfect. So you wouldn’t lose me too.”
Agatha’s heart cracked open. She slid from the bed to the floor, kneeling so she could look directly into her daughter’s face.
“You do not have to be perfect for me, Y/n,” she whispered fiercely. “You don’t have to be quiet, or easy, or hide your storms inside. You are mine. My daughter. You can scream, cry, rage, make mistakes. And I will still be here. Always.”
Tears spilled before Y/n could stop them. She buried her face in Agatha’s shoulder, journal forgotten on the desk.
Agatha held her tightly, rocking her gently as the storm outside beat harder against the windows. Thunder roared, but in the room it was just the two of them, their breaths uneven, tangled together.
After a long time, Agatha coaxed her toward the bed. “Come. Lie down with me.”
Y/n obeyed, curling against her mother as if she were six again instead of sixteen. Agatha stroked her hair, humming under her breath, an old, haunting lullaby from centuries past.
The door creaked open softly.
Rio leaned in, her own robe pulled tight around her shoulders. She took in the scene, her wife stretched across the bed, her daughter tucked safe against her, both wrapped in the soft glow of candlelight, and her heart squeezed.
Without a word, she crossed the room and sat on the other side of the bed, slipping in behind Y/n. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s temple, then reached across to brush her fingers against Agatha’s hand.
“Storm’s rough tonight,” Rio whispered.
“Mm,” Agatha murmured, eyes closed. “But I’ve got what matters most right here.”
Y/n sniffed, managing the faintest laugh. “You’re both sappy.”
“Correct,” Rio said, holding her tighter. “And you love it.”
Agatha smirked, kissing Y/n’s damp cheek. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
The thunder rolled again, but none of them flinched. In that room, in that bed, surrounded by each other, the storm felt far away, like just another sound in a world that couldn’t touch them.
The late afternoon light had dimmed to an eerie shade of amber, casting long, slanted shadows across the crooked floorboards of the Westview house. Wind pressed against the windows like breath on glass, the trees swaying in long, slow arcs, dancing lazily for now, but waiting.
Agatha was trying. Trying to stay patient. Trying to keep her tone measured. Trying not to let her eyes roll back so hard they conjured a portal.
“Again,” she said, biting off the word like it tasted bad. “With your focus this time.”
Billy huffed, flicking his hand upward. The sigils cracked in the air like angry chalk. They were… almost right. Almost stable. But the energy was wild, fractured, like it was fighting him instead of answering.
“You’re forcing it,” Agatha snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “Magic isn’t a tantrum, it’s a contract. Respect it.”
“I am respecting it!” Billy’s voice had that high-pitched, defensive edge. “I’m just…”
“…Being dramatic?” she offered coolly. “Inventive, perhaps. But sloppy.”
He rolled his eyes and let the spell die with a loud, frustrated sigh. “I’m done for today.”
“Excellent,” she said, smiling with sweet acid. “So am I.”
Billy trudged off, muttering something about Eddie waiting anyway, cloak flapping behind him like a sulky crow. Agatha waited until he was halfway up the porch steps before letting out a long, irritated breath, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“Saints and spirits,” she murmured to no one. “Let that boy fall into a bottomless pumpkin spice latte and emerge reborn.”
She brushed dirt from her sleeves, composed her expression, and headed toward the house. What she needed now was a cup of tea, a sarcastic remark from Jen, maybe a blanket thrown over her shoulders without asking, but mostly, she needed her family.
Her wife and daughter.
Inside, the living room was its usual chaos: enchanted candles hovering midair, one of Lilia’s jackets slowly knitting itself back together on the armchair, and a bowl of levitating popcorn spinning in lazy spirals above the coffee table.
Jen and Alice were still watching the potion reality show. Lilia had vanished.
“Has anyone seen Rio or Y/n?” Agatha asked, stepping into the room.
Alice looked up. “Weren’t they with you?”
Agatha arched a brow. “Do I look soothed and emotionally balanced?”
“Point taken,” Jen said. “They weren’t upstairs. Maybe the study?”
Agatha checked. Empty. She checked the bedrooms again. Still nothing.
She moved back to the kitchen, tension building low in her chest. It wasn’t like Rio to disappear without leaving a note or a charmed whisper in the air. And Y/n….well, Y/n didn’t usually vanish without at least sighing about it first.
Agatha poured herself half a cup of tea before something caught her eye through the kitchen window. A shape. Two of them.
She leaned in, squinting.
There, under the weeping willow.
Rio and Y/n sat nestled into the roots of the tree like a painting. One in a white sweater, the other in Agatha’s favorite deep burnt orange sweater, both with books in hand, heads tilted in perfect concentration. They were reading. Just reading. As if the storm hadn’t curled its fingers around the horizon, as if the winds weren’t already teasing at the edge of the wardline.
Agatha blinked. A soft sort of ache blossomed in her chest.
Her lifelines.
She didn’t grab a coat. Didn’t say a word. She just opened the back door and strode across the lawn, her boots quiet against the cooling earth. The temperature had dropped sharply, and the wind picked up a sharp whistle as it moved through the branches.
By the time she reached them, the sun had fully disappeared behind bruised gray clouds.
“What,” Agatha said dryly, “are the two of you doing out here?”
Both startled. Y/n gasped softly, her book snapping shut in her lap. Rio looked up with a small, guilty smile.
“Hey, Mama,” Y/n said sheepishly.
Agatha crossed her arms. “You’re reading. Under a tree. While a storm rolls in.”
Rio winced. “It wasn’t this dark when we got out here.”
Lily stood, brushing off her leggings, her cheeks pink from the wind and her own embarrassment. She glanced at the sky and blinked.
“Oh,” she said simply, as if just now noticing the roiling clouds and sudden drop in pressure. “It’s really pretty.”
Her voice was soft, but Agatha caught the strange distance in it. The words didn’t have their usual sparkle. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
It stung.
Agatha stepped forward to inspect her daughter, but Y/n had already moved, placing a light kiss on her cheek and murmuring, “Sorry, Mama,” before walking briskly toward the house.
The wind picked up just as she reached the porch. The sky cracked faintly with thunder.
Agatha watched her go.
“You saw that, didn’t you?” she said without turning.
Rio stood now, brushing leaves from her skirt. “I did.”
Agatha exhaled slowly, the chill nipping at her fingertips. “She’s never distracted like that. Never.”
Rio moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “She’s been carrying a lot lately. And you know she doesn’t like to show it.”
“I just…” Agatha’s voice trailed off.
They stood in silence for a beat as the wind pulled at their clothes and hair. The willow above them danced restlessly.
“I don’t know how to help her,” Agatha admitted, voice quieter now. “I’ve protected her from the world since the day she was born. From grief. From danger. Even from me. And now… she looks at me like I’m not the safest place anymore.”
Rio squeezed her side. “That’s not what I saw.”
“No?”
“She looks at you like she’s afraid you’re hurting too. And she doesn’t want to make it worse.”
Agatha’s jaw clenched. “I hate that she feels that way.”
Rio reached up, cupping her wife’s cheek gently. “That’s because you’re a good mother. And she knows it. She just needs time. And maybe a little less of Billy’s nonsense poisoning the air.”
Agatha chuckled darkly, resting her forehead against Rio’s for a moment. “You’re the only person who ever makes me feel like I’m not failing.”
Rio smiled, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re allowed to stumble, mi amor. But you’re not failing. Not even close.”
A gust of wind stronger than before rushed through the trees. Thunder rumbled again, louder now, closer.
“Come on,” Rio murmured. “We should go in before the first drop falls.”
“Fine,” Agatha said, linking their fingers. “But I’m not doing clean-up if someone leaves the windows open.”
Rio laughed as they walked back toward the house, the first droplets beginning to fall, slow and cold.
Behind them, the willow swayed in the wind, shedding leaves like sighs.
Amber and burnt orange clung to branches like fragile memories, and the air carried that clean, sharp scent of early fall, crisp apples, chilled dirt, and the faintest echo of smoke from a neighbor’s hearth. The house at the end of Sycamore Lane sat just a little crooked, overgrown with creeping ivy and protected by layers of enchantments no one but the witches inside could see.
Inside, Jen and Alice sat curled on the sunken couch, half-watching a reality show about cursed love potions and bad coven breakups.
Jen leaned in toward Alice with popcorn. “She totally hexed him to fall in love with the bartender, right?”
Alice, chewing loudly: “Oh, absolutely. That wasn’t chemistry. That was chamomile and desperation.”
Jen cackled. “My favorite blend.”
Lilia rolled her eyes but smiled, half-listening as she turned the page of her grimoire. A loose strand of silver hair floated around her temple like a warning beacon.
Somewhere deep in the backyard, Agatha’s sharp voice snapped through the wards:
“Try again, Teen. Slowly. You’re pushing too hard. That spell isn’t going to cooperate with you just because you’re sulking.”
A beat passed.
Billy’s voice, all sarcasm and fatigue: “I’m not sulking. I’m channeling.”
From where she stood in the kitchen doorway, Rio let out a long-suffering breath. She set down the tea kettle, unopened and now forgotten, and looked down the hallway again. Y/n room was empty. Study? Empty. Her and Agatha’s bedroom? Still untouched from that morning.
Rio’s brows furrowed. Her daughter never missed their breakfast ritual, tea, scones, and at least one round of affectionate gossip. She’d even made the cranberry-chili jam Y/n liked.
Something was off.
She walked barefoot to the back door, stepping onto the porch with its cracked wood and flickering wards. The yard stretched into the forest, the training circle set in the middle of the browned grass. Agatha stood, arms crossed, wrapped in a deep green sweater. Her face was tight, annoyed, the way it always got when she had to babysit someone she didn’t respect.
Billy stood across from her, hands glowing faintly violet, eyeliner smudged, black cardigan fluttering dramatically in the breeze like it had feelings.
Rio didn’t even try to hide her frown.
But her gaze moved beyond them, following the faint path of flattened grass and scattered leaves down to where the woods opened up just enough to reveal the weeping willow. And under it, a small, familiar figure, hunched over a thick book, her legs crossed, hair wild in the wind.
Y/n.
Without a word, Rio left the porch and crossed the lawn, the wind catching at her hair, her arms crossing over her white turtleneck sweater. She walked silently past Agatha and Billy, only slowing to glance at her wife. Agatha gave her a brief look, exasperated and exhausted, with that familiar glimmer of apology in her eyes.
Rio nodded faintly.
She followed the path down to the willow, each step crunching on fallen leaves that scattered like thoughts too heavy to hold.
When she reached the tree, she didn’t speak. She just sat.
The breeze tugged at Y/n’s long, dark curls, and for a moment she didn’t look up. She was lost in the book, The Hunger Games cradled in her lap, thumb absently flipping a page back and forth.
Rio didn’t interrupt.
After a long pause, Y/n turned her face slightly, her eyes catching her mother’s with a small, tired smile.
“Hola, Mami,” she said softly.
Rio gave her a gentle smile in return. “You missed tea and scones.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“I brought jam,” Rio offered, teasing lightly. “The spicy one.”
That earned a slight tug at Y/n’s lips, but her shoulders stayed hunched.
Rio didn’t push. She simply patted the grass in front of her. “Come here, mija.”
Y/n hesitated, then closed her book, placing it carefully beside her. She crawled over and turned her back to her mother, sitting cross-legged in the grass, her hair a tangled mess of waves.
Rio pulled the comb from her pocket like she had known she’d need it. She parted the hair with practiced fingers, starting to braid gently, letting her hands work in rhythm with the wind.
Y/n was silent for a long while. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “You ever think it should’ve been me?”
Rio paused, fingers tightening briefly in the braid. “Y/n…”
“I know it’s a stupid thing to say.” She tilted her chin upward slightly. “But I think about it a lot. He was braver. He wanted me to live. He… he fought for it.”
Rio resumed braiding, softer this time. “He didn’t win, cariño. He chose.”
Y/n blinked hard. “Same thing.”
“No,” Rio whispered. “It’s not.”
She finished the first braid and started the second. “Your brother was many things, wild, stubborn, too loud, too smart for his own good. But he didn’t die because he was stronger. Or weaker. He died because he loved you more than he feared leaving.”
Y/n was quiet again, her head bowed.
“And now you carry that love,” Rio added. “Which I know is heavy. But not wrong.”
Y/n sniffed, her voice small. “Billy talks about him like he was just… an idea. A weapon. Some pawn.”
“I know,” Rio murmured. “Believe me, I know. I hear it too. I see how he looks at your mama, how he tries to twist that loss into leverage. It makes me want to hex his eyeliner off.”
Y/n snorted, a tiny laugh, barely there, but enough.
Rio smiled against her daughter’s back and finished tying off the last braid. She took the comb and set it aside, then gently pulled Y/n back against her chest.
Y/n melted into her mother’s arms, letting her head rest against Rio’s shoulder.
“I hate that she still trains him,” Y/n muttered. “He doesn’t deserve her time.”
“She knows,” Rio said softly. “She sees it. But your mama… she’s got this belief that everyone can be better. That people want to be better. She’s always been that way. Even when it hurts.”
“She’s too good for him.”
“She’s too good for a lot of people,” Rio agreed. “But yeah, especially him.”
They sat in silence, watching the clouds pass, thickening in the distance. The air had shifted, cooler now, and heavier. The scent of wet earth lingered, and the sky darkened to a smoky gray.
“Storm’s coming,” Y/n whispered.
“Mm-hmm,” Rio said, holding her daughter tighter. “Let it.”
Y/n Vidal-Harkness was not one for all things summer. Sure it can be nice not to be on school and sometimes there are great summer activities but the town of Westview liked to overload on activities. Not to mention the heat being absolutely unbearable. The young witch was done.
Y/n sat up in bed like she’d just heard a ghost scream in her ear.
Which would’ve been weird…if that hadn’t already happened three times this summer.
But this wasn’t ghosts. This was something worse.
Summer.
Sticky, loud, aggressively sunny summer.
She squinted at her window, where a shamefully bright sunbeam had the audacity to break into her room. It danced across her bookshelf like it belonged there. Y/n narrowed her eyes.
Nope.
Not today.
She kicked off her blanket dramatically (then immediately regretted it….what monster invented August heat?).
Then, with all the calm and quiet fury of a girl who had just had enough, she declared:
“It is now fall. I have decided.”
Downstairs, the coffee machine sputtered its last drop just as Rio turned, eyes wide. “Did… Did anyone else feel that?”
Agatha, seated at the kitchen table with her third cup of tea and a thick novel on rune theory, didn’t look up. “Feel what?”
“That,” Rio gestured in the air, eyes darting toward the ceiling. “That sudden drop in temperature. A… shift. In the universe.”
“I felt nothing.”
Rio gasped and pointed upward. “It’s Y/n. She’s doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The fall thing.” Rio’s grin stretched. “She’s declared it.”
As if on cue, a puff of cinnamon-scented wind whooshed down the stairs. Agatha’s tea leaves flurried in her mug. A tiny bat—one of the decorative ones from the attic—fluttered past her head with a cheerful squeak.
Agatha blinked. “…It is August first.”
Rio, already halfway to the stairs, called, “The girl knows what she wants, Aggie! Let’s lean in!”
Y/n stood in the living room in her Halloween pajama pants, a Hocus Pocus sweatshirt three sizes too big, and pumpkin socks. She held a small, leather-bound grimoire open in one hand, and in the other her black cat ironically named Binx. Her long wavy brown hair was half up in a messy bun, and her face was deadly serious.
“Mami. Mama.” She turned slowly to face them as they entered. “It’s time.”
Agatha crossed her arms. “Time for what, exactly?”
“Summer is evil and I am declaring it banished from this house. Effective immediately.”
Rio snorted.
Agatha raised a brow. “Darling, it’s still ninety-five degrees outside.”
“I know,” Y/n hissed like a Victorian ghost. “That’s why it must be destroyed. Halloween begins now. Fall begins now. I want leaves. I want pumpkins. I want questionable themed candles. I want thunder. I want enchantments that make the fireplace crackle even though we don’t technically need heat.”
Rio clutched her chest. “My girl.”
“She’s sixteen and dramatic,” Agatha muttered, though she was clearly trying not to smile.
“Mami,” Y/n turned to Rio, “You’re with me, right?”
“I’ve already summoned the spirit of Halloween,” Rio said, snapping her fingers. A wreath of tiny jack-o’-lanterns exploded into existence above the mantel with a cackle. “It’s literally hanging out in the kitchen.”
“Rio.” Agatha gave her a look.
“What?” Rio said innocently. “He was bored!”
Y/n looked between them. “Mama, please. Just a little fall magic?”
Agatha sighed, but her resistance was soft. “Fine. But we do it properly. No summoning talking skeletons again.”
“I apologized for that!” Rio threw up her hands. “Larry was very polite…”
“He tried to unionize the ghost mice.”
“They needed representation!”
Y/n giggled.
With Agatha’s reluctant blessing (and under her strict magical supervision), the Vidal-Harkness household underwent a seasonal transformation.
Y/n waved her wand and murmured an incantation, golden-orange leaves tumbled from the ceiling like confetti. They crunched under their feet, but never got messy. A glamour.
Rio enchanted the entire pantry to smell like cinnamon rolls, which was wildly confusing when you opened it looking for cereal.
Agatha begrudgingly charmed the windows to show cloudy skies and rolling thunder, even if outside it was still 95 degrees and sunny. “Don’t mess with the thermostat spell, Rio. I swear…”
“I won’t!” Rio said, clearly already doing it.
Y/n stood in the middle of it all, smiling so wide her face hurt. Brown eyes sparkling. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” Rio said, scooping her into a side hug.
“Too early for mushy nonsense,” Agatha said, though she ruffled Y/n’s hair on the way to the kitchen. “We still haven’t done the porch.”
“Oh!” Y/n’s eyes lit up. “Can we do the scarecrow?”
Rio gasped. “The evil one?”
“Not evil! Just a little… sinisterly charming.”
Agatha sighed again. “You both are chaos goblins.”
Y/n beamed. “We get it from you.”
By mid-afternoon, the whole house was fully transformed. Cobwebs (enchanted to only tickle, never tangle), cauldrons, lanterns, softly glowing pumpkins, and glowing potion bottles lined every shelf. The air smelled like rain, books, and chai tea.
Y/n lay back on the couch, legs tossed over Rio’s lap, her head on Agatha’s shoulder.
Agatha was pretending to read. Rio was absolutely not pretending to sneak a spell that played spooky jazz through the house.
Y/n sighed happily. “Best first day of fall ever.”
Hey!! I miss your fics, it’s so hard to find such good daughter reader fics! do you have anything in the works and anything coming soon?? 💜💚
Hi!! Thank you so much! That truly means a lot to me! I don’t really have anything planned right now, I have a few ideas, I kinda want to try crossing Agatha and Fantastic Four but I’m not sure yet! I have a terrible case of writers block right now 😭😭💚💜
The soft hum of the dishwasher in the background blended with the golden glow of the early evening as Y/n scurried into the living room, her arms overflowing with blankets, popcorn bowls, and bags of candy. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her oversized hoodie practically swallowing her, and her sock-covered feet slid a little as she navigated the hardwood floors. She plopped everything onto the couch with a proud grin.
“Alright, people!” she announced, clapping her hands together. “Operation Best Movie Night Ever is officially underway.”
From the kitchen, Agatha emerged with a tray carrying three steaming mugs of cocoa topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, Rio’s idea, of course.
“You really went all out,” Agatha said, amused as she set the tray down. “This is serious business, clearly.”
“Only the most serious,” Y/n replied with mock solemnity, then cracked a grin. “I even made a viewing schedule. No interruptions. No phones. Just snacks, blankets, and movies.”
Rio followed Agatha in, tying the sash of her robe with a lazy grace, raising one perfectly plucked brow at the sight of Y/n’s setup. “We’re going to need a survival kit,” she said, surveying the pile of sweets and pillows. “Are we watching movies or going into hibernation?”
Y/n laughed. “You’ll thank me later.”
Agatha and Rio both sank into the couch on either side of their daughter, nestling into the pillows with playful groans of comfort.
“Okay, whose pick is first?” Agatha asked, sipping her cocoa.
“Mine, obviously,” Y/n said with a mischievous gleam in her eye as she grabbed the remote. “You guys are about to be educated. And no complaining.”
She hit play, and the TV screen lit up with the bright, dramatic intro of Disney’s Descendants. Upbeat music blared. A dramatic voiceover kicked off. Auradon shimmered in high-definition pastels.
Rio blinked. “What is this?”
Y/n clutched her blanket to her chest, grinning from ear to ear. “This,” she said, dramatically, “is Descendants. And it is peak cinema.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes playfully. “Is this one of those modern musical things with teenagers and excessive eyeliner?”
“Yes,” Y/n said proudly. “And you’re going to love it.”
The opening number launched, introducing the villain kids. Agatha and Rio exchanged skeptical glances, but neither said anything… yet.
Ten minutes in, Y/n was mouthing the words to Rotten to the Core, completely in her element. Her moms, meanwhile, were slowly sinking into the chaos with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.
Rio leaned in conspiratorially. “Wait. So that one’s the son of Cruella de Vil?” she whispered, pointing to Carlos.
“Yep,” Y/n replied, smiling.
“And the other’s the Beast and Belle’s son?” Agatha asked, nodding toward Ben.
“Mmhmm,” Y/n said, popping a gummy worm into her mouth. “Try to keep up.”
After a particularly dramatic scene between Mal and Ben, Rio elbowed Y/n gently. “You’re awfully invested in this. Is someone a little starstruck by Prince Ben?”
Y/n nearly choked on her popcorn.
Agatha joined in, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Or maybe Carlos?” she said, her smirk knowing. “You were definitely blushing when he showed up in that little fencing scene.”
Y/n’s face went pink for real this time.
“Okay, first of all,” she said, sitting up straighter, “if anyone’s cute, it’s Mal and Carlos.”
Both Agatha and Rio blinked.
“Oh,” Agatha said, blinking again.
“Carlos and Mal?” Rio echoed, then her eyes widened just a bit.
Y/n nodded, eyes flicking between them, cheeks still warm, but her voice steady. “Yeah. I like both. Guys and girls. I thought... I figured you knew? You didn't know?”
Agatha and Rio both opened their mouths and promptly closed them again.
There was a long beat of silence.
“I mean,” Rio finally said, slowly, “I guess we kind of assumed you’d tell us when you were ready, but...”
“We didn’t know you were already… you know,” Agatha added, struggling slightly, her hands fluttering.
“Already sure?” Y/n offered.
“Exactly,” they both said at once.
Y/n laughed softly, pulling her blanket up around her shoulders. “I figured it out a while ago. It just never felt like a big announcement, you know?”
Rio blinked again, then gave a quiet laugh. “Right. Of course. No grand press release required. Just a casual ‘Mal and Carlos are cute.’”
Agatha let out a little huff of laughter, then reached over and gently squeezed Y/n’s knee. “Well, thank you for telling us, sweetheart.”
Rio leaned in on the other side, bumping her head lightly against Y/n’s shoulder. “And for the record,” she said with a wink, “you’ve got great taste. Mal’s a badass.”
Y/n smiled, her heart warming at the way neither of them made it weird or awkward, even if they were a bit stunned.
“Thanks, guys,” she murmured.
Agatha wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Always, my darling. Always.”
“Even if you make us watch an entire franchise of singing villain kids,” Rio added dramatically.
Y/n snorted. “Oh, we’re watching all three. And the animated special. I’m not kidding.”
“I think I liked it better when I thought we were doing Pride and Prejudice again,” Agatha joked, cuddling closer.
“You just like Mr. Darcy’s brooding,” Y/n teased.
“Nothing wrong with a little brooding,” Rio murmured, then gave a wicked grin. “Although none of those guys sparkle like your original pick.”
Y/n groaned. “Let it goooo.”
They watched on, curled into each other on the couch. The movie carried on with wild magical plotlines and pop songs, and despite their initial reactions, Rio and Agatha were surprisingly entertained.
When Carlos and Mal shared a sweet scene, Mal teasing him and Carlos laughing shyly, Agatha glanced sideways at Y/n.
“Okay, I see it now,” she said.
Y/n beamed. “Right?”
By the time the first movie ended, Y/n was stretched out between her moms, Agatha’s hand absently playing with her hair, Rio’s legs thrown over the edge of the coffee table.
“So, we good for round two?” Y/n asked, grabbing the remote again.
Rio groaned but held out her mug for a refill. “Only if there’s more cocoa.”
“There’s always more cocoa,” Y/n said, hopping up and disappearing into the kitchen.
Agatha watched her go, then turned to Rio with a soft, thoughtful smile. “She’s really growing up.”
Rio nodded, eyes warm. “She really is.”
Y/n returned a moment later, mugs carefully balanced in her hands. “Okay, refueled and ready to descend deeper into Auradon.”
Rio groaned again. “Pun intended?”
“Always,” Y/n replied, grinning.
As the next movie began, the room settled into a quiet buzz of contentment, the flickering light of the screen dancing over the cozy sprawl of blankets and limbs. Outside, night had fully fallen, but inside, everything was warm, safe, and glowing with the soft kind of love that didn’t need grand declarations.
Only movie nights, gentle teasing, and cocoa with sprinkles.
Hey guys! I’m so sorry I haven’t been posting recently, my college class is kicking my butt right now but I promise within the next week or two I will get some more stories out! I see your suggestions/requests I just haven’t had the time to get to writing them! I promise I will get to them so don’t feel discouraged about sending me prompts to write!! I hope you all have an amazing day/night/week/weekend!!!💜💚
heeeey! just wondering if you'd be willing to write for any other aubrey plaza characters aside from rio? I saw your list, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask lmao. thank you! <3
Hey! Yes I am willing, I love Aubrey I just haven’t watched a lot of her movies (I have a list and am planning on binging lol) but yes! I will do my research on a character if I haven’t seen it yet!
could you write an aubrey plaza x daughter r? could she be 17 please?
she's a bit of a loner at school, only one friend. but her friend is becoming weirder (like ditching her sometimes and just pushing away almost).
she's always been close to her mom. always wanting to be with her but now that her friend is pushing away, she never has any plans or any activities to do other than homework, so now she is alwwaaaayyss with her when she can be. she's just comforting. always has been. can u add cuddles pleaaaase
THANK YOU!!! <3
Chapter: The Storm
A/n: I really enjoyed writing this one! If you want me to either continue this with a few more chapters or like write more about this I gladly will! Just let me know!
It was one of those days where the sky stayed gray, like it had been holding its breath all morning. The kind of day where even the hallways of school felt heavier, thick with voices that weren’t yours, eyes that never met yours, and footsteps that always passed you by.
Y/n Plaza sat at her usual corner table in the news room, hunched over her laptop. The sound of rain had just started to tap gently against the windows, a warning whisper of the storm rolling in. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, editing the grainy photos she’d taken of the junior class assembly the week before. Her earbuds were in, but she wasn’t listening to music anymore—just the dull hum of nothing, a buffer between her and the echoing silence of the room.
For the past few weeks, this was her sanctuary. It had started after Hannah joined the track team. First it was just a few missed lunches, a “Sorry! Practice ran late, next time!” text here and there. Then it was lunch skipped altogether. A quick wave in the hall. A text that went unanswered for hours, sometimes days. And then today.
Y/n looked at the clock again. 4:13 p.m. Hannah was supposed to meet her at 3:30. They were finally going to hang out. Just like old times. Y/n had even picked out her favorite playlist for the car ride home, old indie songs and film scores they used to talk over, laughing until the music drowned them out. But the parking lot had emptied. And she was still here.
She refreshed her messages. Nothing. The storm picked up.
By 4:30, she gave up.
The car ride home was quiet. The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm, almost like a metronome to her thoughts: stupid stupid stupid. Her hands clenched around the steering wheel. Her heart ached with something sharp and dull all at once—a betrayal too quiet for anyone else to notice, but big enough that it took up all the space in her chest.
She pulled into the driveway, headlights slicing through the rain. The front porch light was already on, glowing warm and safe. Home.
Inside, Aubrey Plaza was sprawled on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest, the other clutching the remote. The TV played quietly, some documentary on haunted houses, half-watched. She turned her head when she heard the door open.
“Hey, peanut,” she called casually. “You’re home late. Everything okay?”
Y/n didn’t answer. She closed the door softly behind her, kicked off her soaked sneakers, and dropped her backpack by the stairs. Her shoulders were slouched, hair slightly frizzy from the humidity, eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses.
Aubrey immediately muted the TV and sat up, alert. “Y/n?”
But Y/n didn’t respond. She just walked over and climbed onto the couch, slow and silent, like she was made of glass. She curled into her mom, resting her head on Aubrey’s stomach, her face hidden.
Aubrey’s arms moved instinctively. One hand cradled the back of Y/n’s head, the other began combing gently through her damp hair.
“Oh, sweetie,” Aubrey murmured. “You okay?”
Y/n shook her head, barely a movement. Just enough.
Aubrey didn’t push her. Instead, she reached for the remote and navigated through the menu. “Coraline?” she asked softly.
A barely-there nod.
The opening chords of the film played, and for a while, that was all there was. The eerie lullaby of the soundtrack, the glow of the screen, and the sound of the storm hammering outside like it had something to prove.
Y/n didn’t cry. She just stayed there, curled against her mom, eyes open but unfocused. Aubrey rested her chin gently on the crown of Y/n’s head.
“She bailed, huh?” Aubrey asked after twenty minutes, her voice careful.
Another small nod.
Aubrey sighed, her fingers still weaving through Y/n’s hair. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“She said she’d be there,” Y/n mumbled, voice muffled against her hoodie. “I waited for over an hour.”
“I know.”
“I just feel so dumb.”
“You’re not dumb. You’re one of the smartest, kindest people I’ve ever met. And I’ve met Amy Poehler.”
That earned the smallest of huffs.
Aubrey smiled. “There she is. My sarcastic little marshmallow.”
“I just… I don’t get it,” Y/n whispered. “I didn’t do anything wrong. She just… stopped caring.”
“That’s not on you,” Aubrey said. “Sometimes people get caught up in their own little worlds. It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but it happens. You didn’t mess anything up. You’re just growing in a different direction than she is.”
“It hurts,” Y/n admitted, voice cracking.
Aubrey kissed the top of her head. “Of course it does. Losing a friend like that? That’s heartbreak, baby. It doesn’t have to be romantic to hurt.”
“I thought I could be okay with it,” she went on, finally lifting her head and looking at her mom. “But it’s like… I don’t fit anywhere anymore.”
“You fit here,” Aubrey said, placing a hand over Y/n’s chest. “With me. Always.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out.”
Y/n blinked quickly, a tear slipping down her cheek. Aubrey gently wiped it away with her thumb, then pulled her closer again. The storm outside grew louder, lightning flashing against the windows.
Aubrey grabbed the soft fleece blanket draped over the couch and wrapped it around both of them, tugging Y/n securely into her arms. “Let’s just stay right here. I’ll make popcorn later. You can pick another movie after this one.”
“I like it here,” Y/n whispered.
Aubrey smiled. “Me too. Best seat in the house.”
They sat like that through the rest of Coraline, curled up like they were the only two people in the world. And maybe, for tonight, they were.
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