Chapter Text
Rio clicks on her ring light on her desk, the soft glow illuminating her carefully constructed set up. Her phone is secured in the center surrounded by her arsenal of her foundation, blush, eyeshadow. She takes a steadying breath, smiles into the camera and starts recording another make-up routine.
Forty-five minutes and several takes later, she’s uploading the final video to her social media page and watches the likes and comments flash on the screen. The typical comments come rolling in “so fire” “what foundation is that” and “mommy mommy mommy.”
Rio smirks before tapping back to her home page. She leans back in her chair and starts scrolling. The usual flood of videos appears: a dance video, followed by a commercial, and influencers peddling Bloom again. But her scrolling halts at a clip of Agatha Harkness, beaming on a talk show couch about an upcoming movie project.
God, what she would give to actually do make-up for something big. A movie, a show. No, specifically an Agatha Harkness movie. Her stomach twists in equal parts longing and determination. Before she can think about it further, she hits the “follow” button and scrolls down to another one of Agatha’s videos. But one stops her dead in her tracks. Agatha stalks toward the camera in an oversized suit jacket and jeans, her hair wild. She oozes effortless power. But there is more than that. Rio draws in a sharp breath. It’s like Agatha is eye-fucking the camera. Rio swallows hard, trying to will her professional instincts to kick in as her eyes trace Agatha’s features. It’s the perfect canvas. High cheekbones that only need the lightest dusting of blush, maybe some highlighter. Full, perfectly defined brows. And those lips - full, soft and Rio swears they would be demanding when kissed.
She doesn’t know if it’s professional desire or sexual desire that fuels her next decision, but she clicks the message icon and begins typing. The surge of impulse carries her forward and she types out: “If you ever need a professional make-up artist, I’m your girl.” Her message will likely be lost into a sea of unread fan messages. She chuckles but really, she’s shouting in the void. The page is probably run by some intern or social media team, but still, a girl can dream.
Her finger hovers over the send button. At the last second, she gathers the courage to attach a photo from her camera roll. Later, she’ll rationalize it was to showcase her work: a flawless red lip paired with a smokey eye. But really, the button down collar shirt, she’s wearing, completely unbuttoned, might be a tad unnecessary.
She presses send anyway.
It’s 3am when her phone pings. Groggy, Rio rubs her eyes, squinting at the sudden brightness of the screen. A Tik Tok notification flashes across the top. For a moment, she considers rolling over and ignoring it - until the name registers.
Agatha.
Rio freezes. Her body tenses as the realization sets in. She grips the phone tighter, trying to will herself to calm down. Her body betrays her as her breathing becomes faster and her heart rate tick up as she opens the message.
Now what’s a girl like you doing sending me this message with clearly ulterior motives?
Rio stares at the words, a slow smile creeping up on her face in the dark. Rio pends the reply without thinking too much about the implications.
What’s a girl like you doing messaging me at 3am? I was clearly trying to be professional….
Rio adds a wink for good measure, in case the ellipses weren’t obvious enough.
Couldn’t sleep.
The reply comes almost instantaneously but with no further flirting. It feels like the conversation is shutting down. Rio desperately wants to kick it up a notch. Before she has a chance, her phone pings again. It’s a photo.
Agatha’s sitting up in bed. A soft warm light highlights her features. She’s wearing a loose white tank top, one strap carelessly falling down her shoulder. The fabric is thin, too thin, and Rio can see her nipples hard and peaking underneath. Her hair is wild around her, unbrushed messy waves frame her face. She’s staring directly into the camera with one arm thrown behind her to grip the headboard.
Holy shit.
So that’s how she’s going to play it.
It couldn’t be that you’re worked up, could it? I can help you out with that. Rio hits send before she can second guess herself.
But there is no reply.
Rio stares at the words she just wrote, her mind starting to race. Maybe she was too bold? Her thumb hovers over the screen for a full minute. She’s not sure whether to add a follow-up message and backtrack or apologize, or try to delete it, hoping Agatha didn’t see it yet.
And so begins Rio’s restless sleep. She internally fights herself not to pick up her phone again, trying to will herself to sleep.
Then 24 hours go by. Then 48. And Rio gets left on read. It figures.
———
Four months go by and Rio has long since forgotten the short exchange with the older actress. Or she’s told herself she’s forgotten it. She’s tried to pour herself into her work, posting 3 videos a day now just to give the appearance of being busy.
If you ask her, she’ll pretend she doesn’t remember who Agatha Harkness is (she’s lying). If you ask her about her recent movie, Rio will tell you she’s never seen it (she’s masturbated to it at least 9 times).
It’s ridiculous, really, to pine over someone so untouchable, unattainable.
The memory of those messages make her cringe. It must have been a scam, she realizes. Or some AI generated picture that she should have caught onto. She feels stupid and embarrassed about the entire thing.
Until one night, Rio is lounging in her grey sweatpants in her favorite tank with the holes along the seam. She’s three whiskeys deep and starting to feel the warm familiar haze coursing through her veins to pull her under. She’s made up her mind - It’s the last time she’ll look at Agatha’s profile and then she’s blocking her. Tonight.
But before she even gets the chance to type her name in the search, her phone pings. She’s mentally creating an excuse to tell her friends she’s not going out tonight when she realizes the text isn’t from them. It’s another god damn Tik Tok message. She really should turn those notifications off.
Her stomach twists the moment she sees the name. But the nerves quickly turn into irritations as she reads the overly formal message:
Hello,
This message is for Rio Vidal. This is Billy, Ms. Agatha Harkness’ personal assistant. Ms. Harkness has requested your presence at 315 W 84th Street tomorrow at 4pm. Please create a formal make-up look for Ms. Harkness for a charity gala.
Thank you.
Billy Maximoff
Personal Assistant to Agatha Harkness
A small smile creeps onto Rio’s lips at the prospect of this job. Which means meeting Agatha. Touching Agatha. Professionally, of course. But the feeling is quickly replaced by straight up annoyance. It’s not an offer. It’s a demand. With no mention of pay or styling or wardrobe. She has absolutely nothing to work with. And she sends her errand boy to do her dirty work.
Well, two can play at that game. Rio quickly pens a reply.
I charge $500 an hour.
It’s borderline ridiculous. Nowhere near what she actually charges. But if anything, it might get a rise out of Agatha, and with the shit she pulled months ago, she deserves it.
Your dress code is formal attire.
The reply comes almost immediately with no room for questions. But still, Rio has some. Like who the fuck gives their make-up artist a dress code?
I need to coordinate the look with the wardrobe and hair stylist. Please pass on their contact information.
And…once again, no reply.
When event day rolls around, Rio has no more information but still she’s standing in front of what looks like a multi-million dollar brownstone, sure she’s about to watch Agatha Harkness ruin any prospects of her future career in the industry.
As she makes her way up the steps, she sees the large oak door is already slightly ajar. Her left hand grips her make-up bag tightly; stuffed inside is every shade of everything she could think of. Since she had no stylist’s look to go off of, Rio tried to be prepared for anything. No one responds to her knock, so she gently pushes the heavy door out of her way, coming face to face with a large foyer.
“Hello?” She calls out to no one in particular, her voice echoing across the expanse of the room. “I’m looking for Agatha Harkness. I’m here for…”
A teenage boy with thick black eyeliner and too tight jeans runs across the foyer, cell phone in one hand, iced coffee in the other. He looks somewhat frantic and definitely rushed. Must be that annoying assistant, Rio realizes.
“She’s in the sitting room.” He says, pointing the iced coffee in the room directly to Rio’s right. Rio doesn’t even get a chance to introduce herself before he’s off to another task.
Her heels click sharply against the wood floor as she descends three steps into the sitting room. She takes a second to take in the room. Agatha sits perched in a director’s chair, facing the window away from Rio. The long expanse of her legs are peeking out from a silk robe, her ankle twirling with unspent energy.
She clearly already had her hair styled. Her hair is parted in the middle with soft brown waves cascading down her back. A black jumpsuit with a plunging v-neck hangs from a hanger perched on a tall wooden wardrobe. Two black gloves lay flat across an ottoman directly under the outfit.
The room is conspicuously empty. There is no stylist, no hairdresser, and the assistant is long gone. It’s eerily quiet except for the soft sound of Agatha’s nail tapping along her phone as she types. Rio decides to use the silence to her advantage.
“What’s up, I’m Rio. I know I’m not your usual makeup artist. Your assistant hired me because…”
“I didn’t ask.” Agatha replies dismissively. She doesn’t even turn to look at her. Okay fine. So Rio moves more deliberately, stepping into Agatha’s line of sight and planting herself directly in front of the chair. She releases the make-up bag from her hand and it hits the hardwood floor with a thud. The decision feels bold for only a moment, until Agatha’s head snaps up. Her eyes land on the black heeled boots directly in front of her. And then slowly, deliberately, she draws her eyes up to scan all of Rio, from her black knee high boots, to her black slacks, and Agatha’s eyes linger unapologetically at the lace black bra beneath a sheer long sleeve top. Rio wants to regret wearing this. She swears she does. But Agatha’s eyes land upon Rio’s lips as her own tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. She’s drinking her in. Consuming her with just a look.
“I knew who you were when I asked Billy to hire you.” Her tone softens at the next words, “Your work is good. But you, in person…” her gaze drags down and back up again, “are clearly better.” The words land like a spark, igniting the tension in the room. Rio suddenly feels like prey tossed into a lion’s den, ready to be devoured. She offers a wry grin as she bows into a crude little curtsy, as if to say here’s dinner. Eat me up.
Agatha purses her lips and smirks, her eyebrow raising slightly but she stays silent.
Rio rises back up and draws in a sharp breath at the exchange. The air feels heavier, warmer somehow. Rio has to fight every instinct to stay professional and instead starts to focus on the task at hand. “I’ll just get started then…” her words trail off as she begins to unpack her make-up bag, lining up foundation, blush, mascara and lipstick. She moves again to hover in front of Agatha’s chair, spreading her legs into a semi-squat to get a closer view to her client. She uses the opportunity to dive into her work, checking out (no, just analyzing ) Agatha’s skin - the moisture level, the skin tone. She’s mentally creating the perfect combination of foundations and highlights. Her gaze follows the contour of Agatha’s nose, lingering on the slight bump and the elegant slope; the way her upper lip forms the perfect cupid’s bow when she smirks.
And then there’s the way Agatha’s teeth chew on her bottom lip, the way her her tongue soothes over the mark, how that tongue would feel on her pu –
“...make up girl, did you hear me?” Agatha’s sharp voice cuts through the haze. Rio blinks several times until Agatha’s face comes back into focus. The soft haze clouding her brain is dissipating as she realizes that Agatha can’t even recall her name from 5 minutes ago.
“I have a name.”
”Yes, yes of course. It’s….” There is such a fake confidence in Agatha’s words, but it’s obvious to Rio she has no idea what to say next.
“It’s Rio. Again.”
Agatha flicks her wrist like she’s physically brushing away Rio’s comment. “Fine. Rio. But did you hear me or were you too busy checking me out?” Clocked.
“Please. If I was checking you out, you would know it. You’d feel it.” Rio smirks as she feels the words land with their intended impact - Agatha’s chest rises quickly, a blush creeping up her neck, stopping just under her chin.
Rio isn’t done with her yet. She pretends to distract herself with her work, squeezing a few different foundations on the palette. She scoops some up on her brush, but pauses just before she paints the blob along Agatha’s jawline.
“Would you like me to match this foundation to the flushing along your chest or your usual skin tone?”
“Oh, so you admit it, you are looking at my chest. ” Agatha’s voice drops to a dangerous tone, her words dripping with provocation.
“You’re imagining things,” Rio tries to keep her voice steady, but the tension is obvious. “I’m a professional. My focus is solely on your makeup” It’s a bold faced lie and they both know it.
“Am I?”
After that Agatha seems to make it her personal mission to see how much of a rise she can get out of Rio. She tries to focus on her work, but that means with every swipe of the brush, she’s inches away from Agatha. And every single time she glances up, Agatha is staring at her with an intensity that she’s never witnessed before. When she brushes the blush along Agatha’s cheekbone, she swears she hears her moan. Agatha bats her eyelashes - literally bats them- when Rio grabs the mascara.
When she hesitates between two lips colors, Agatha speaks up, “Honey, everything looks good on me. Just pick one.” Rio grabs a light pink and a small makeup brush. As soon as she gets close to Agatha, she parts her lips, instinctively. Rio rests her pinkly along the soft skin of Agatha’s chin while she paints her lips pink. As she finishes, Agatha grabs Rio’s thumb, then slowly, painfully, rubs it along her bottom lip, her tongue darting out to rub along the skin.
“Had some extra,” But her words are breathy as they come out and Rio swears she sees her thighs clenching together beneath her robe.
Eventually Rio can’t take it anymore. Rio is the one in control here, isn’t she? This is her job. This is a job, right? She isn’t so sure anymore, but she should be at the advantage here, she’s the one with Agatha literally in the palm of her hand.
Rio threads her hand into Agatha’s hair at the nape of her neck, her fingers grasping at the roots. She pulls, just enough to elicit a groan from Agatha. The sound is rough, dragged out from somewhere deep in her chest. It sounds needy. “What the fuck was that for?”
Rio tries to feign innocence. “Just needed your head tilted back a bit.”
“Who knew my new make-up artist liked to play rough?” Agatha’s sharp eyes shift to something darker.
Rio smirks and takes the opportunity to run the thumb of her right hand over Agatha’s jawline toward her lips. She pauses to fix an imaginary smudge. With the remaining fingers still threaded through Agatha’s hair, she pulls again, harder.
“Maybe I just like seeing you lose your composure.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to disappoint you.” Agatha juts her chin out proudly, like she’s won some award for resisting her then promptly goes back to scrolling on her phone as if nothing unusual happened.
This woman is giving her fucking whiplash, she doesn’t know if this is some sick power play Agatha gets off on or she actually wants something out of this exchange. Rio focuses on not focusing on Agatha anymore and eventually finishes the look with setting spray. She must say, she’s proud of how well it turned out, despite the initial lack of direction. She hands a mirror to Agatha and flashes her a gap toothed smile.
Agatha immediately frowns at her reflection. “The eyeshadow needs to change.” She hands the mirror back with a look of disapproval.
“Excuse me?” Rio snaps back.
“I don’t like it. Redo it.”
Rio leans in to wipe the smokey eye off, her lips pursed. “It went well with the black of the jumpsuit.” She grumbles under her breath, clearly pissed off at the lack of confidence in her work.
“What was that?” Agatha bites back sharply
“Nothing. Ma’am ,” her words dripping with sarcasm.
Agatha’s eyes are still closed as Rio gently wipes away as much of the old eyeshadow as she can. “Eww no. Don’t call me ma’am. That makes me feel too old.” Agatha softens, her nose crinkling slightly. Then she pauses, tilting her chin up slightly, which puts her nose centimeters from Rio’s pulse point of her neck when she says, “You smell nice by the way, Something spicy, but floral.”
The Catholic church should bestow some kind of sainthood upon her for resisting this woman’s advances. Rio Vidal: Patron Saint of Lesbians.
Apparently the neutral eyeshadow Rio swept across her eyelids was enough to satisfy Agatha because she’s out of her chair now and making her way toward the wardrobe where she drops the robe. And she’s completely bare underneath.
“What, what are you doing?” Rio blurts out, turning away instinctively. She wills herself to find a small speck of dust on the floor and focuses all her attention on it. Suddenly telling herself it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
But Agatha apparently doesn’t find the dust nearly as exciting and strides over to stand directly in front of Rio, mirroring her move from earlier. Except she’s standing close, so close that Rio can feel the heat radiating off of her naked form.
“I’m getting dressed.” Agatha practically sneers, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “I need your help.” She extends her hand, a roll of fashion tape balanced on her palm. Rio takes it, turning the roll over in her hand to read the label. By the time she looks up, Agatha is already halfway across the room again now stepping into the black jumpsuit. She slips her legs in before stopping right at her waist, leaving her chest bare.
“I need one piece. Right here.” Agatha’s voice drops slightly as she presses a finger to the curve of her breast. She raises her eyebrow at Rio like it’s a challenge, a dare for her to close the space between them and touch her.
Rio’s breath hitches. This is so beyond the scope of my job , Rio thinks, but the thought is dissolved by the heat pooling in her lower belly. Everything about Agatha feels magnetic - like Rio is being pulled by some unseen force to follow this woman to the ends of the universe, even after just this meeting. It’s cosmic, electric. She’s growing tired of pretending this game between them isn’t going to lead to the inevitable.
Rio tears a piece of tape before slowly, deliberating pressing the tape along Agatha’s breast, her eyes drawing up to watch the actress’s face. Agatha inhales sharply, her lips then falling open as she follows it with a heavy sigh.
“And here.” With every command, her voice drops down an octave, the words more drawn out as Rio continues her task with terrible precision. Every piece of tape becomes a new opportunity to trace along her milky skin and each time, Rio becomes more bold. Her thumb traces the underside of Agatha’s breast until suddenly, she decides one of the pieces of tape is falling off. She MUST use her entire hand to get it back on. Rio cups her entire breast before moving to rub her thumb against the hardened nipple.
She’s rewarded with a moan. And now she wants nothing more to hear that from Agatha again; to see how loud she can make her scream. Agatha's hand is pushing her head down using it as leverage to push Rio down to her breast. Rio is more than willing.
Rio’s lost all control at this point. She sees nothing beyond Agatha’s chest in front of her eyes, wants nothing but to swirl that nipple with her tongue. She’s hovering just above her to make contact….
Suddenly from somewhere across the room, Agatha’s phone shrills, slicing through the silence. The cloud of arousal dissipates and in its place, the sharp sting of reality - Agatha still stands in front of her, half dressed, nipples peeked. Rio quickly takes several steps back. Needing something to occupy her fingers, she absently picks up a strand of her hair, threading it between her fingers.
“Come on, the limo is here.” Agatha announces after glancing at her phone. She slips her arms into the remaining pieces of her jumpsuit, quickly presses it into the tape along her chest to keep it in place and grabs her gloves.
Rio feels the moment slipping away and she starts to pack her supplies, her movements brisk and deliberate.
She trails two steps behind Agatha out the front door and down the steps of the brownstone. As they reach the curb, Rio pulls out her phone to call a car.
“Well, are you coming?” Agatha practically yells from the limo, her body leaning on the door.
“I’m just calling my car.” Rio replies, her tone guarded. She doesn’t know how to leave this. Hey, can I have your number? It feels too formal. Hey, can we just fuck out the tension in the back of the limo? Also can you pay me for the make-up job? It feels a little too on the nose. Her thoughts are interrupted by Agatha’s voice cutting through the night.
“No, you are coming with me.” It’s not a question or a suggestion. It’s a command and leaves no room for negotiation. That seems to be a theme with Agatha. And damn, does Rio love it.
Without further protest, Rio slips wordlessly into the seat next to her. This time, she moves more deliberately, opting to settle close enough to brush up against Agatha’s leg. “You know make-up artists don’t usually come to the event.” There is a hint of sarcasm, knowing that she is far past caught onto this game Agatha is playing.
Agatha smirks, leaning in just enough to make the space between them feel electric. “I might need a touch-up. You never know who is going to ruin my lipstick.” And then she winks, fucking winks and Rio decides she’ll follow this woman to the ends of the earth.