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the-winter-spider · 10 days ago

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Invisible | Part 15

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: unrequited love, angst, heartache...

A/N: A lot is said in this one lol not between bucky and her yet but you'll see lol. Also the flashbacks kinda tie into the chapters! The mike flashback will finish in the next chapter when her and bucky finally hash it out lmao

The city buzzed around you, but it all felt distant—like you were moving through a world that didn’t quite belong to you. Your feet carried you aimlessly, dodging crowds and cars, your mind swirling with everything you’d just said to Bucky. Everything he’d done. Everything you’d felt for so long but couldn’t say out loud until tonight.

Eventually, you found yourself in a quieter part of the city. The hum of traffic and voices softened, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional bark of a distant dog. You spotted a park bench under a flickering streetlight and sank onto it, your body heavy, your heart even heavier.

You sat there for a while, trying to steady your breathing, focusing on the cool air filling your lungs. In and out. In and out. But no matter how hard you tried, the tears wouldn’t stop. You wiped at them furiously, frustrated at how raw and exposed you felt.

You just don’t understand. Your brain can’t even begin to piece together how Bucky could do this. How have you been hurting him? You’ve been nothing but a great friend—loving him from the sidelines for so long. And now, when you finally have a chance at something outside of him, he crushes it.

A dark thought creeps in, twisting the knife further. Maybe, deep down, Bucky never truly was your friend. Maybe he secretly resents you because you could never do to him what he’s done to you. Maybe he hates you for making him feel something he can’t figure out how to handle.

But then another realization crashes over you, colder than the first. Have you been doing this to Steve the whole time? All these years, if what Bucky said is true—if Steve really is in love with you—oh god. Have you been breaking his heart, too?

The thought hits you like a freight train, leaving you breathless. Steve. You’ve been so consumed by your feelings for Bucky, by the endless cycle of longing and heartbreak, that you never stopped to consider the weight of your own actions. If what Bucky said was true, if Steve really had been in love with you all these years…

Your chest tightens as you think back to every lingering glance, every reassuring touch, every moment when Steve was there, steady and unwavering. He had always been your rock, the one person who could ground you when everything else fell apart. How many times had you leaned on him, venting about Bucky, crying on his shoulder, seeking comfort without a second thought?

And all the while, he was—what? Silently pining for you? Loving you in a way you never noticed because you were too busy looking at someone else?

The guilt settles in your stomach like a lead weight. What have I done to him?

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers trembling. Have I been doing to Steve exactly what Bucky’s doing to me? Leading him on, even if unintentionally? Letting him love you while you poured all your love into someone else?

It’s too much. Your thoughts spiral, memories flashing like scenes from a movie. Steve’s quiet smiles, the way he always showed up when you needed him, the way he seemed to know you better than anyone else. How could you have been so blind?

But then your mind snaps back to Bucky. Bucky. The thought of him twists the knife in your chest all over again. His words, his actions—they’re like a tangled web, one you can’t seem to escape. You replay the fight in your head, the way his blue eyes burned with frustration, with something deeper and more vulnerable hidden beneath the surface.

He said you hurt him. That you hurt Steve. That you think you’re the only one who’s been in pain. How could he say that to you?

But the worst part is, he wasn’t entirely wrong. You’ve been so consumed by your own heartbreak, by the years of loving Bucky in silence, that maybe you didn’t see the ways you’ve hurt the people around you. Maybe you were so focused on surviving your own pain that you ignored theirs.

Your tears blur your vision as you stare at the empty park in front of you. What if Bucky’s right? What if you’ve been selfish this whole time? What if, despite everything, you’ve been blind to the way your actions ripple through the lives of the people you care about most?

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, and bury your face in your hands. The city feels impossibly big around you, like it could swallow you whole. The weight of your thoughts presses down on you, suffocating in its intensity.

But there’s one thought that refuses to let go: Why does it feel like everything you touch falls apart?

You’ve spent so many years loving Bucky, holding onto a hope that maybe, someday, he’d see you the way you see him. And now? Now you’re not even sure what any of it means anymore. The fight, the hurt, the years of unspoken feelings—they’re all crashing down around you, and you don’t know how to make sense of it.

And Steve. Sweet, dependable Steve. You think about the way he looked at you earlier, his eyes filled with something you now recognize as quiet resignation. How long has he been carrying that? How long has he been holding onto a love he knew you couldn’t return?

A fresh wave of tears threatens to spill over, but you blink them back, your hands clenching into fists. You’ve been selfish. Blind. And now it’s all unraveling.

The night stretches on, cold and unyielding, as you sit there, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your relationships. You feel like a puzzle with missing pieces, and you’re not sure how to put yourself back together. Or if you even can.

You didn’t even flinch when someone sat beside you. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Because of course, it was Steve.

It was always Steve.

He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his broad frame a steady, comforting presence. You could feel his eyes on you, filled with quiet concern, but he didn’t push you to speak. He just waited.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally wiped at your cheeks one last time, sniffling softly as you turned to face him. The weight of everything Bucky had said still lingered, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“Is it true?”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

You held his gaze, searching his face for any sign of denial. But he only looked confused until you asked again, this time without words. Just a look, one that carried all the weight of Bucky’s earlier confession.

Steve’s face softened, his shoulders sagging slightly as he let out a quiet sigh. He didn’t look away, didn’t try to deflect or change the subject. He just nodded, his voice low and steady.

“Yes.”

The world seemed to tilt for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You blinked at him, trying to process what that single word meant, what it changed.

“How long?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave you a sad, almost apologetic smile. “Since high school,” he admitted. “Maybe even longer.”

Your heart ached, the weight of his words settling over you. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Steve looked down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting slightly. “Because I saw how you looked at him. And as much as it hurt, I wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.” He paused, his voice softening further. “You’ve always been happiest when you’re with him.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. All the moments you’d shared with Steve over the years—the lingering glances, the quiet support, the unwavering presence—it all made sense now. “Steve…”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’m not telling you this to make things harder. I just… I wanted you to know the truth. You deserve that much.”

The tears threatened to fall again, but you swallowed them back. “You’re such a good friend, Steve,” you whispered.

He nodded, his smile bittersweet. “Yeah. I’ll always be that, no matter what.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of the conversation settling between you. But despite the heaviness, there was a sense of clarity—a new understanding of the bond you shared.

Steve sat quietly beside you, the weight of your conversation pressing heavily between you. The hum of the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets. After a long stretch of silence, he took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I ask you something?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his cautious gaze. “Yeah, of course” you said softly.

Steve hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was bracing himself. “Do you think… you could ever love me? More than a friend, I mean?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. You froze, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. It wasn’t unexpected, not after everything Bucky had said and the way Steve had just confessed his feelings. But hearing it out loud was different. It made it real.

For a moment, you didn’t answer, your mind racing. You thought back to all the times Steve had been there for you, all the quiet moments you’d shared, the safety and comfort he provided. You thought about how easy it would be to fall for him—to love someone as steady and kind as Steve.

And maybe… maybe you could have. Before the last couple of weeks, before everything with Bucky had come to a head. There was a time when things weren’t so complicated, and you might have let yourself feel more for Steve. But now?

Now your heart was a tangled mess of longing and pain, and you couldn’t see past Bucky.

You exhaled shakily, your voice breaking. “I don’t think I can,” you admitted, tears pricking at your eyes. “Not now. Maybe… maybe once, I could have. But everything’s different now.”

Steve’s face didn’t change much, but the way his shoulders sagged slightly told you he’d braced himself for this. “I see,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with sadness.

Your chest tightened painfully. “I’m sorry, Steve. You have no idea how much I wish I could. It would make everything so much easier.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you buried your face in your hands. “You deserve so much better than this, better than me,” you choked out. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart.”

Steve reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near your shoulder. “Hey, don’t—”

But you pulled away, shaking your head. “Please don’t, Steve. I can’t let you do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t let you be the one to pick me up when I’m falling apart. Not like this.”

His hand dropped, and he swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I get it.”

You both sat in silence again, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you. Steve was always the one who stayed, the one who tried to make everything okay. But now, you’d drawn a line, and it felt like a small piece of your heart broke just from doing it.

“I’ll still be here,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “Whenever you’re ready, however you need me. That doesn’t change.”

You nodded, the tears still falling. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything. You’ve always been too good to me, i've never deserved this, i never deserved you”

Steve gave you a small, bittersweet smile, “You deserve the world” and you could see the depth of his love in his eyes. Even now, even when it hurt, he was still there. And that was what made it all so much harder.

Steve sat beside you, silent, the weight of your shared history and unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the cool night air. You’d both said so much, yet there was still an ache between you, a lingering sense that this moment wasn’t finished.

After a few moments, Steve reached into his jacket pocket, his hand hesitating before he pulled out a small, familiar object. The soft glow of the nearby street lights reflected off the delicate gold of the locket, the one you’d seen weeks ago at the farmers market, the one that reminded you so much of the one your mother gave you, and hers before that, the one you carelessly lost at that stupid party. He turned it over in his fingers for a moment, his expression unreadable, before holding it out to you.

Your breath hitched as you recognized it immediately. “Steve…”

He gave you a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been holding onto this for a while,” he said softly. “I wasn’t sure when the right time would be, or if there even would be a right time.”

You stared at the locket, your heart twisting painfully. “You bought it?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded. “I saw how much it reminded you of what you loss, when i brought it home to exam in i opened it up” he paused opening it up and your heart stopped, your grandma's note “The lady said her daughter found it at some party and thought she could make some money at the market”

Steve’s words lingered in the cool night air as he handed the locket to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a second. The warmth of his touch, so brief yet grounding, contrasted sharply with the whirlwind of emotions surging through you.

You took the locket gingerly, your eyes wide, the gold chain glinting in the soft glow of the streetlights. Your fingers traced the familiar curves and edges as though to confirm it was real. You opened it carefully, your breath catching when you saw the tiny, worn note tucked inside—the same one your grandmother had written years ago. You traced the intricate design, your mind flashing back to the day you’d first seen it, the quiet hope you’d felt, and the weight of everything that had happened since.

Tears blurred your vision. “Steve… I can’t believe this.” Your voice wavered, thick with emotion. “You didnt even know if was the one i lost, i didnt even, why would you—”

He shrugged, his smile soft, tinged with the kind of quiet understanding that only Steve could give. “I saw the way you looked at it and even i knew it was the one you lost, i just figured it could help give you a little piece of what the original one meant to you. I got lucky, when i opened it and saw that" He's gestured to your great grandma's note, "I thought, maybe—just maybe—it was meant to find its way back to you.”

You shook your head, overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this,” you whispered, clutching the locket tightly. “I was so careless, and I thought I lost this forever.”

Steve leaned back slightly, his hands now resting on his knees as he looked at you with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. “You didn’t lose it forever,” he said gently. “It found its way back. Just like it was suppose to. I just… I wanted to make sure it did.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of everything—your fight with Bucky, your complicated feelings for Steve, the memories of your mother—all pressing down on you at once. “Steve…” you started, but your words faltered as you searched for the right thing to say, the gratitude and guilt tangling inside you.

He seemed to sense your struggle, his eyes softening even further. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I wanted you to have it back.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that allowed you to think, to breathe, to feel. You closed the locket carefully, holding it against your chest. The cool metal pressed against your skin, a small but powerful reminder of everything you’d lost and found.

Steve’s voice broke the silence, low and full of emotion. “I know it’s not my place to fix things or to make things easier for you. But… I wanted you to know that I see you. I always have.”

“Steve,” you said again, your voice a broken whisper. “You’re… you’re too good.”

He shook his head, his eyes glistening. “No. I’m just someone who loves you, in whatever way you’ll let me.”

That broke you. A sob escaped your lips, and you covered your mouth, trying to hold yourself together. But the tears kept coming, and Steve just watched, his own eyes brimming with unshed emotion.

After a moment, you managed to look up at him, your voice barely audible. “I wish I could love you the way you deserve.”

Steve smiled gently, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “And it’s okay.”

You held the locket to your chest, as if it could somehow steady the storm inside you. “You’ve always been there for me,” you whispered. “Always. And I’ve never deserved it.”

Steve reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to deserve love,” he said softly. “You just have to let yourself feel it.”

You both sat there for a while longer, the world around you blurring into the background. Finally, Steve stood, offering you a hand to help you up.

“Come on,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s get you home.”

You nodded, slipping the locket around your neck, feeling its weight settle against your heart. It was a piece of him, a piece of everything you shared, and it would stay with you, no matter where life took you next.

As you walked beside him, the silence between you was full of understanding. It wasn’t the ending either of you had imagined, but it was a moment of truth, a quiet acknowledgment of what had always been there and what might never be.

Summer

The sun was high, casting its golden rays over the park as laughter echoed through the wide-open fields. It was one of those rare Saturdays where everyone’s schedules aligned, and the entire group had decided to spend the day outside.

Sam had commandeered the grill, expertly flipping burgers with a pair of tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. “I’m telling you, my secret seasoning is gonna blow your minds,” he bragged, tossing a wink over his shoulder.

Natasha smirked from her spot on a picnic blanket, her sunglasses perched on her nose. “Your secret seasoning better be more than just salt and pepper, Wilson,” she shot back, taking a sip from her drink.

Wanda giggled, her legs stretched out in front of her as she picked at a bag of chips. “Sam’s been talking about his ‘grilling skills’ all week. It better be good, or we’re ordering pizza.”

“You wound me,” Sam said dramatically, clutching his chest.

Steve stood nearby, setting up a game of cornhole with Bucky. “Alright, who’s teaming up?” Steve asked, holding up the bean bags. His eyes flicked to you for a second longer than necessary before he quickly looked away.

“I’m with Nat,” Wanda chimed in, grinning as she elbowed Natasha. “We’re unbeatable.”

Natasha nodded confidently. “Damn right we are.”

Steve turned to you and Bucky. “Guess it’s us versus you two.”

You raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who was leaning lazily against a tree, sipping from his bottle of beer. “Think you can keep up, Barnes?”

He smirked, pushing off the tree to stand beside you. “I think the real question is, can you?”

The game started off competitive, with Sam and Steve shouting exaggerated encouragement from the sidelines. “Aim for the hole, Buck!” Steve yelled, laughing when Bucky glared at him after missing.

“Oh, brilliant advice, Captain Obvious,” Bucky muttered, his cheeks tinged pink. He turned to you, leaning in. “You got this, right? Show ‘em how it’s done.”

You laughed, tossing your bean bag and landing a perfect shot. “Boom,” you said, giving Bucky a playful nudge. “That’s how it’s done.”

Bucky grinned, holding up his hand for a high five. “We make a good team,” he said, his voice softer, his blue eyes twinkling.

Natasha, ever observant, raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses but said nothing, nudging Wanda when Bucky wasn’t looking.

By the time lunch rolled around, everyone was sprawled out on the blankets, full of Sam’s surprisingly good burgers and Wanda’s homemade cookies. Steve sat cross-legged next to you, while Bucky leaned back on his elbows on your other side.

Natasha watched the scene unfold, a small smile playing on her lips. She caught Steve stealing a glance at you when you weren’t looking, and her smile faltered slightly, her fingers toying with the edge of her cup. Wanda noticed and gave her a reassuring nudge, mouthing, You okay?

Natasha nodded, brushing it off. She wasn’t about to ruin the moment.

“Alright,” Sam said, clapping his hands together. “Who’s up for some frisbee?”

Steve stood immediately. “I’m in.”

“Same,” you said, hopping up and pulling Bucky along with you. “Come on, let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Bucky groaned but let you drag him to his feet. “I’ll show you sweetheart.’”

Natasha and Wanda stayed behind on the blanket, content to watch as you all ran around like kids. Wanda sighed happily. “This is nice,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “Feels like we haven’t done this in forever.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes following Steve as he ran after the frisbee. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice a little distant. “It’s perfect.”

Wanda glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re still not gonna tell him?”

Natasha shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not the right time.”

Wanda sighed but didn’t push. Instead, she watched as Steve tossed the frisbee to you, his face lighting up when you caught it with ease, your laughter ringing out. Bucky cheered you on, his arm slinging around your shoulders for a brief moment, and Wanda couldn’t help but notice the way Steve’s smile faltered, just for a second.

Despite the complicated dynamics, the love and friendship within the group were undeniable. It was in the way Sam teased everyone mercilessly but was the first to help when needed. In the way Natasha always had a sarcastic quip but fiercely defended her friends. In the way Wanda’s quiet warmth balanced out everyone’s chaos. And in the way Steve and Bucky—despite everything—always had each other’s backs. And in the way you were the glue always keeping everything and everyone together.

The afternoon faded into a golden sunset, and as you all sat together, sharing stories and laughs, it felt like nothing could break the bond you all shared.

For now, at least.

The alley was dimly lit, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp. Bucky stormed out of the bar, his jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. The cool night air did little to calm the fire raging inside him. He barely made it a block before he heard the familiar sound of heels clicking rapidly behind him.

“Bucky Barnes, stop right there!” Natasha’s voice was sharp, cutting through the noise of the city.

He barely had time to turn before she grabbed his arm and shoved him against the rough brick wall of the alley, her hands pressing firmly against his chest.

“What the hell, Nat?!” Bucky snapped, but she wasn’t having it.

“No, you don’t get to talk right now!” she shot back, her green eyes blazing. “I am so sick of this, Bucky! So sick of you and her dancing around each other like you’ve got all the time in the world!”

Bucky’s mouth opened, but Natasha cut him off with a furious glare.

“You love her,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’ve always loved her. And she’s loved you since before any of us even knew what love was! But you’re both so goddamn stubborn, so scared, that you’re wasting your lives.”

“Natasha, you don’t—” Bucky tried, but she jabbed a finger into his chest, stopping him cold.

“Shut up, Bucky! Just shut up and listen for once!” She stepped back, running a hand through her hair. “We’re all in our mid-twenties now. We’re not kids anymore. You and her? You were supposed to set the tone for love. You were supposed to show the rest of us that it’s worth it, that it’s real. But instead, you’re both stuck in this endless loop of fear and self-sabotage.”

Bucky’s throat tightened, his eyes flickering with guilt. “Nat, it’s not that simple…”

“Bullshit!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the narrow alley. “It is that simple! You’re scared. You’ve always been scared. But guess what? So is she! And you know what else? You’re not just hurting yourselves—you’re hurting everyone around you.”

She took a shaky breath, her voice lowering but no less intense. “Steve’s been in love with her for years, and it’s killing him. And me?” She laughed bitterly. “I’ve been in love with Steve since high school, Bucky. But do you think he’ll even look at me the way he looks at her? No. Because he’s stuck, just like you.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock, but Natasha wasn’t done.

“I’ve been waiting, Bucky. Waiting for Steve to see me, to love me the way he loves her. But he can’t, because you and her keep dragging this out, making it impossible for any of us to move on! And god if i told her..”

Her voice cracked, and for the first time, her anger gave way to raw vulnerability. “I can’t do it anymore, Bucky. I can’t keep watching the two people I love most in the world destroy themselves and everyone else around them.”

Bucky looked down, his heart pounding. The weight of Natasha’s words hit him like a freight train. “Natasha, I…”

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “You need to tell her, Bucky. Tell her you love her. Stop running, stop hiding, and stop making excuses. She deserves to be happy. You deserve to be happy. And if you can’t do it for yourselves, then do it for the rest of us, do it for me Bucky” she pleaded

Bucky swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides. “What if… what if I’m too late?”

Natasha sighed, her anger softening as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then at least you’ll know you tried. But you won’t be too late, Bucky. She’s been waiting for you her whole life.”

She pulled back, her eyes searching his. “But this? This has to end, tonight. Go to her. Fix this. And maybe, just maybe, the rest of us can start to heal too.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his chest tight. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do more than try,” Natasha said firmly, stepping back and crossing her arms. “Now go. Before I change my mind and punch you again.”

Bucky gave her a small, appreciative nod before he opened his mouth “Does anyone else know?” He asked, referring to her confession about Steve.

Natasha smiled sadly and said “Wanda”

College

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the campus was bathed in soft, honeyed light, and the air carried the faintest chill. You sat cross-legged on the quad, a pile of books spread out in front of you. The vibrant reds and oranges of the trees framed you like a painting, the wind occasionally tugging at your hair and making it dance in the sunlight.

Steve watched from a distance, leaning against a tree with a sketchbook balanced on his lap. His pencil hovered over the page, but he hadn’t drawn a single line in minutes. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you.

You were laughing, your head thrown back as Bucky said something undoubtedly ridiculous. Steve couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He could see the way your eyes lit up, how you leaned in closer to Bucky as if the rest of the world had melted away. The way Bucky looked at you—grinning, but with an ease that Steve envied—made Steve’s chest tighten.

“You’re staring again,” Natasha’s voice broke through his thoughts, jolting him back to reality. She plopped down beside him, her sharp gaze cutting right through his defenses. “Not a good look, Rogers.”

Steve sighed, lowering his pencil. “I’m just—”

“Sketching,” she interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

He didn’t argue. There was no point. Natasha had known for a long time—probably since the day the three of you met her. She was good at reading people, and Steve was an open book when it came to you.

“She doesn’t see it, you know,” Natasha said after a beat, her tone softer now.

Steve glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “Doesn’t see what?”

Natasha gave him a look, one that said she wasn’t going to let him play dumb. “You. The way you look at her like she’s the only thing that matters.”

Steve let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, does it? She only has eyes for Bucky.”

Natasha sighed, leaning back on her hands. “And Bucky… Bucky’s too blind to realize what he’s got right in front of him.”

Steve’s eyes flicked back to you. You had your hand on Bucky’s arm now, laughing at whatever joke he’d just made. Bucky, for his part, seemed blissfully unaware of the way your touch lingered just a second too long, the way your eyes softened when they met his.

Steve felt a pang of something between longing and resignation. “I just want her to be happy.”

“And what about your happiness?” Natasha asked, her voice low.

Steve didn’t answer. Instead, he flipped the page of his sketchbook, finally putting pencil to paper. He didn’t need to look up to draw you; your image was already burned into his memory. Every line of your face, every curve of your smile, every glint in your eyes.

“Maybe some people aren’t meant to have that kind of happiness,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Natasha.

Natasha sighed, her expression softening. She reached out, giving his arm a light squeeze. “You’re a good guy, Steve. But you deserve more than being someone’s second choice.”

Steve didn’t respond, his focus locked on the sketch forming beneath his hand. But deep down, he knew she was right. He deserved more. He just wasn’t sure he could ever want anyone else the way he wanted you.

Natasha’s gaze lingered on Steve for a moment longer, her hand still resting on his arm. Her heart ached, not just for him, but for herself. She’d seen the way Steve looked at you for years, and every time, it chipped away at the small sliver of hope she held onto. Steve was kind, strong, and everything she wanted, but his heart belonged to you. It always had.

“Steve,” she said softly, almost hesitant. When he didn’t respond, she pulled her hand back, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the tree beside him. “You deserve someone who sees you.”

Steve’s pencil paused, his hand hovering over the sketch. He glanced at her, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them. But then his gaze shifted back to you, and Natasha felt her chest tighten.

The sound of your laugh carried across the quad again, pulling both their attention back to you. You looked so radiant, so alive, and so hopelessly, irretrievably in love with Bucky.

And Steve? Steve would keep loving you silently, from the sidelines, even if it tore him apart.

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small smile. She’d keep loving Steve the same way, even if he never looked at her the way he looked at you.

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cabinetofquriosities · 18 days ago

Text

Nothing Matters

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Violence and Smut

Just a note: These are based on actual historical events that happened, which is why I aged Nicky down to 5 when he died in order to fit the dates. They are pretty fascinating events. I encourage anyone reading to fall down the same rabbit holes I did while researching them!

(Listen along while reading)

——————————————————

1755 - Lisbon

Classical music filled the stuffy air of a palace in Lisbon as nobles danced with one another. The rich were flirting, feeding, and forgetting the world beyond their gilded walls. Outside, families were celebrating All Saint’s Day on the first of November. Children ran from door to door, collecting treats from their neighbors. Little did they know, the shadow of death was amongst them.

Agatha Harkness was still marked by grief only six months after losing Nicholas. She had killed and drained enough witches to fill a town, but Death still hid from her. After the hell she had been plunged into, Agatha yearned to pull her former love down with her. So, she had something planned that Rio would not be able to ignore.

1872 - Boston

Summer Street was packed with people who were going through the motions of a frigid November day. Men walked arm in arm with their wives. Teenagers blushed as they wooed one another. Merchants had their doors open to the cold in hopes of welcoming passerby’s.

In the thick of the crowd was Agatha Harkness. She wore a scarlet two piece silk dress with a lace lined jacket and bustle at the back of the skirt. Her hair was pinned up with banana curls spilling down the back of her neck. Her hands were snug in a fur hand muff.

Her power felt completely renewed. She went on a bit of a bender with killing witches. She had been betrayed by her own emotions as Rio showed up in every dream for the last few years. She was used to one here and there, but not every night. She needed to get that beast out of her system. So, she killed and stole power in hopes of summoning her. The two were still diametrically opposed to one another, still “separated” or estranged spouses for lack of a better term, but could never stay away for too long. Every so often, Agatha would find a way to see her and the two would reunite for a night at most in a tangle of bodies and limbs. It had been over a decade this time around.

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

The gentle sway of the ocean rocked the passengers to sleep as their destroyer treaded the boards overhead. Her heels clicked as she walked over the deck.

“Ma’am?” the captain called.

Agatha turned, her curls falling loose around her shoulders and still wearing a long, sheer bejeweled dress from dinner. After all, she had to dress for her Lady.

“Yes?”

“It’s too cold to be taking a walk out here.”

“It is,” she said with a smirk.

1755 - Lisbon

Death always had a sense of when a seismic event was coming. Whenever a wave of death was about to strike, she would feel the pull of it. Rio had tried to avoid revealing herself by waiting longer after a witch would die to claim her soul. This, though, this was so far away from Massachusetts. She incorrectly assumed that Agatha wouldn’t be traveling overseas.

She couldn’t show up late to an event of this size. With how massive the event promised to be, she figured it was a natural phenomenon rather than anything that could be caused by Agatha. So, she donned an elegant dress, her hair pinned in curls, and appeared at the epicenter.

Agatha heard the music shift to a Minuet. Couples made their way to the ballroom floor to dance. She stood and saw the woman who had been just out of reach for the past several months. She strode over and swiftly took her by the hand before Rio even had a chance to register it was her. Agatha whirled her into a spin before stepping back, giving a deep bow with the rest of the ladies in the dance.

Rio looked like a trapped animal, her eyes betraying the panic she felt at being so thoroughly tricked. She went along with the dance, one that was playful in nature and felt so inappropriate for their situation. Agatha straightened up and raised her hand, pressing her forearm against Rio’s as they walked around one another, their gazes locked.

“Did you really think you could run from me?” Agatha hissed.

1872 - Boston

Rio knew there was a likelihood of Agatha being close to this given its location, but knew she had to arrive for this. While it wasn’t the same bodycount as a natural disaster, the violence and discord she could sense coming required her presence.

She walked down the cobblestone road. A little boy accidentally ran into her. She grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from falling. He looked up at her with wide eyes, feeling the aura of decay around her. Those eyes looked too familiar to ones she had seen before. This one wasn’t meant to be lost today. There was no need for him to witness it at all. She led him into an alleyway before the child knew what was happening and swirled her fingers. A small door appeared on the side of the building. She opened it, motioning for the five year old to walk through. He did, not noticing he was on a street in a nearby town until the door shut behind him.

“Special treatment, I see,” a voice said behind Rio.

“He wasn’t meant to die today,” Rio said.

She turned around.

“Agatha.”

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

“Do you need an escort back to your cabin?” the captain asked the wandering passenger.

“Oh, no need,” Agatha said, redirecting her gaze to the stars above, “My love will be here soon.”

“Okay, well, please be careful,” he said, “And stay away from the edge of the ship. The ocean is deadly at night.”

“That it is,” she said, nodding at him.

A dapper young man wearing a suit crossed his path before making his way to the Agatha. The captain noticed how feminine the man’s features were. He felt unnerved by the interaction, feeling something of a chill down his spine as if Death had brushed past him.

“Your love?” Rio asked, Adjusting her top hat.

She turned around to face Rio with a cruel smile.

“It would have sounded suspicious if I said my enemy.”

1755 - Lisbon

“I wasn’t running,” Rio said as they danced.

“You were hiding,” Agatha said.

“I don’t always show myself to others every time I collect.”

“You used to with me,” Agatha said.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me after-“

“DON’T… say his name. You do not get to ever say it again,” Agatha snapped before resuming their dance.

“I just thought you needed time.”

“Time…” Agatha said with a bitter laugh, “Well, you never give much of that, now do you?”

Rio stopped in her tracks, ignoring the music filling the room. Her eyes darkened. Could she really be that willfully ignorant of the situation? Human emotions always twisted the reality of things into absurd shapes.

“I gave everything I could,” she said, her voice dropped low.

“Then you fall far short of expectations. You are the original Green Witch. Lady Death. And all you could manage was five years.”

“You have no idea how much those years shifted the balance of the universe. I would have given him all the time that existed if I could.”

“But you didn’t,” Agatha seethed.

“I couldn’t,” Rio said with a defeated sigh.

She looked around, feeling an electricity in the air around them. Whatever was about to happen was coming closer.

“I cannot have this conversation right now. Something terrible is about to happen. You should leave while you can,” Rio said with an edge of urgency.

“Oh, I am very aware.”

Rio tried to resolve the enormity of the event with being caused by a single person. This event would affect a third of the Earth. She looked at her with genuine shock and amazement.

“Agatha… what did you do?”

1872 - Boston

��Rio,” Agatha said with a sly smile, “Long time, no see.”

“Well, our meeting in New York didn’t exactly make me want to come running back.”

“Oh, please,” Agatha said, stalking towards her with a pout, “You love it when I’m cruel.”

Rio arched a brow before shaking her head with a bemused smile. She hated how right she was. It was a rare treat for Death to have someone who did not fear or revere her. Agatha gave her the gift of the unexpected in the endless cycle of nature.

“You are the one behind what is about to happen, then?”

Agatha looked downright giddy as she said, “It’s already begun.”

Agatha took Rio’s hand, running her up the stairs of the nearest building they could find to the roof. Agatha beamed at the view like a kid showing an adult the drawing they had made. Rio looked at the skyline of Boston, not noticing anything out of place at first. A few moments passed and then, she saw the smoke.

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

“Your enemy,” Rio echoed, “Is that where we still are?”

Agatha looked at her with a flash of vulnerability before throwing her mask back on.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” she said, lifting her chin.

“For someone who hates me, it seems like you’re pretty determined to see me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was bored.”

“Really?” she said, nodding, “Sure. Let’s just say that if it makes you feel better.”

Agatha scowled before walking to the edge of the deck, hanging onto the railing. Rio followed behind, never allowing Agatha to be too far away in a deadly situation. She knew it wasn’t her time, but it was usually because Rio was there to protect her. If Agatha had gotten sick or killed by another witch, then she couldn’t do anything but take her to the other side. She couldn’t cure illness. She couldn’t interfere in an attack that she was not present for. However, if she was a source of protection while present, it would not upset the sacred balance. People were taken before their time far too often and she could do things to prevent that. If it actually was their time due to something fated and intrinsic like an illness, it was not preventable. It was how she saved Agatha time and time again, but also why she couldn’t save Nicky.

“What are we looking at?” Rio asked.

“That,” Agatha said as an iceberg appeared in the distance.

1755 - Lisbon

“It is not what I did. It is what I am about to do,” Agatha said.

She took Rio’s hand, pulling her outside to the courtyard where couples strolled with one another beneath the moonlight. She knelt down, putting her hand on the ground. She closed her eyes and began to whisper an incantation.

Purple light pulsed under her palm. The ground started to shake. The earth broke apart at her hand, cracks emerging and spreading with purple glowing from them. People screamed and fled. Buildings collapsed and the cracks opened up. Men and women sprinted blindly in a panic, falling in and being swallowed up whole. Agatha’s smile widened as she felt the energy of every witch in Lisbon reverberating back to her. Rio simply took it all in with a sense of awe at Agatha’s power of destruction.

She stood and turned to face her. The destruction was unfolding around them as Agatha’s eyes burned into Rio’s. Her gaze reflected rage, sadness, and misdirected hatred. Intertwined throughout those elements was a strong desire that had always bonded them together. Both of them suddenly took three long strides and met in a wild kiss.

1872 - Boston

“One fire?” Rio said with an arched brow, “A bit sophomoric for you.”

“Oh, hush,” Agatha sniped, “Keep watching.”

A minute passed before the building was engulfed, the flames climbing and building with every inch of wood and dried goods. There were no people in the storage house, but that didn’t matter as Agatha worked her magic. She swirled her hand flicked it out in the fire’s direction. A gust of wind whipped from her fingers over the city. The flames jumped to neighboring roofs, burning them quickly with how close and flammable they were. The city was architecturally tight and created with wood as the primary material.

Rio’s eyes went wide and she smiled at the sight of the growing inferno. She reached over, threading her fingers through Agatha’s. Agatha reached up and cupped her cheek with her free hand. She knew their dynamic was too fraught to work in the long term, but these pauses in their rivalry were something she needed. Or, rather, the transformation of their rivalry into something more primal and intimate.

Rio leaned into her touch with a soft look. Agatha moved in, catching her lips with hers. The kiss was tender for all of forty seconds before Rio’s teeth sank into Agatha’s lip, drawing blood. Agatha sucked in a shocked gasp. She pulled back, her look indignant.

Agatha gripped Rio by the throat, shoving her down onto the floor of the flat roof. She looked down and found that Rio had rid them both of their clothing with a wave of her hand. She crawled over her, grabbing her neck again. Rio laughed between coughs as she was choked.

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

“Oh. Interesting,” Rio said with a curious tilt of her head.

Agatha looked at her, peeking out of the corner of her eye. Rio looked beautiful and handsome all at once in the fancy tuxedo and top hat.

“You look good,” Agatha said quietly.

The corner of Rio’s lip turned upwards at the compliment. Any crumb of kindness from Agatha felt like the gifting of a rose.

“Thank you. You look breathtaking,” Rio said, turning her head to look at her directly.

Agatha unwillingly blushed in a way that reminded Rio of when they were a new couple. Agatha had never been in love before, nor did she know any affection from loved ones. The young witch would melt at any kind words given to her. Moments like this reminded Rio that every stage in Agatha’s development as a person was nested within her like Russian dolls. It was such a strange thing about humans that Rio never noticed until she was devoted to one over a matter of centuries.

Agatha raised her hands up, beams of purple shooting from both palms. They wrapped around the massive iceberg. The ropes of energy held onto the ship. Agatha used the ship’s momentum to drag it into a collision. Rio threw her arms around her from behind, holding her to keep her steady as the impact spread across the Titanic.

1755 - Lisbon

The estranged, grieving couple found themselves in a tangle of dangerous emotions. Agatha backed her against an oversized cedar tree. She pinned Rio by the wrists, making a point to dig the back of her hands into the jagged surface. She sucked and bit at her lips, letting her wrists go to start yanking at her bustier, doing everything she could to strip her from the ridiculous layers of clothing that were used to lock the female form in.

Rio reached down to tangle her fingers in Agatha’s hair, but was met with the sting of a slap. Then another. Although Death could shut down sensations to the body, she chose not to. She wanted to feel whatever contact Agatha would give, no matter the type.

Agatha slapped her two more times, leaning in to bite painfully into her shoulder, pulling back with a few drops of blood decorating her snarl. She raked her nails down her arms, leaving angry red marks. Rio let out grunts and gasps with every hit. Tears welled in Agatha’s eyes, her jaw clenched in anger. Rio wanted her to take it all out on her.

Agatha pulled back enough to look at the marks she left behind. Maroon handprints on her cheeks, a bleeding imprint of teeth on her shoulder, and scarlet trails blazing down to her wrists.

Agatha looked shocked at her own violence toward a woman who she never cared to hurt this way before. Just as she was about to pull away and leave, Rio spoke with a shaking voice.

“Keep going. Do everything you have wanted,” she breathed.

Agatha wanted to punish.

Rio wanted to hurt.

“Everything I have wanted?” She hissed.

Agatha shoved her back against the tree, pressing her hips against her. She used her magic to tear Rio’s layers down, leaving her nude. She pinched and twisted her nipples. Rio hissed through her teeth, arching her back. The roots of the tree, sliding up Agatha’s body. They ripped her dress apart, leaving her in scraps of fabric, her body revealed.

Agatha’s violent affection grew as she slapped her cunt and pulled her head back by the hair with her other hand. Rio’s gaze held Agatha’s, refusing to look away.

1872 - Boston

Agatha’s grip around her throat loosened just enough to turn it from aggressive to playful. She smiled down at her, able to look at her with more affection than hatred. She hadn’t forgiven her, but she at least intellectually knew that Rio had no choice but to take Nicky, even if she couldn’t emotionally accept it. Rio felt the lightness in Agatha. As long as she didn’t call attention to it, it would continue.

Rio knew that the moment she acknowledged the connection between them, Agatha would throw her walls back up the way they did in New York years ago. Back then, Rio slipped up and said she loved her. Agatha’s expression hardened. Her eyes went dead and she abruptly left her, waiting far too long to summon her again. Rio wouldn’t make that mistake again. She would keep it light and safe.

Rio smirked and rolled them over, grabbing and pinning her wrists. Agatha leaned up, trying to struggle against her hold. Rio bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. She worked her leg between Agatha’s and pressed her thigh against her sex. Agatha gasped and rolled her hips at the contact. Rio smiled devilishly down at her.

“Such a greedy girl. Fuck yourself on me.”

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

The ship had cracked in two. The lights turned off throughout, plunging the vessel into darkness. Shrieks emanated from the cabins.

Agatha turned in Rio’s arms, holding onto the railing behind her while the two halves of the ship tilted toward the middle. Rio pressed her fingers under her chin and guided her up into a kiss under the stars.

Agatha let go of the railing, wrapping her arms around Rio’s neck as they tipped and slid towards the wall of the pilothouse. Agatha cushioned the impact of their bodies crashing against it with a shield of purple mist.

People emptied out of the cabins, running in a panic to find an exit. Men tried to push past mothers and children to save their own hides while the rich locked the poor passengers under the deck when they realized there were barely any lifeboats.

This level of cruelty towards one another was the very reason that Agatha used to justify her murderous acts. If this is who they were at their cores, what would they possibly have to give to the world? The rich especially angered her. Regardless of having every advantage, they were the most selfish beings on earth. If she hadn’t been completely wrapped up in Rio, she would have saved the lower class passengers while dispatching the richest. However, she was locked into an embrace with her love and the water had already rushed into those cabins.

Agatha kissed along Rio’s neck, running her hands over her suit. She took care to leave as many clothes on as possible. It was not only cold, but Rio also looked amazing in a tuxedo. She slid her hand into the suit pants. Rio gasped and smiled. She rocked her hips over her hand, feeling Agatha’s hand wandering. Agatha’s fingers parted her folds and pushed up the hood of her clit, using a fingertip to lightly play with it. The pleasure shot through her in short spurts that felt like being electrocuted. She gripped Agatha’s upper arms to steady herself, already trembling. The rush of death surrounding them was as intoxicating to her as Agatha was. It didn’t feel like euphoria the way draining magic felt to Agatha. It was more of a flood of adrenaline that activated her instincts as the reaper. It made every sensation that much more extreme.

Agatha, meanwhile, felt the energy of a handful of witches aboard. It spiked her arousal and made her hungrier for her love. She sped her finger, purposely overwhelming Rio with shocks of pleasure. Rio cried out, her hands tightening on her biceps. Agatha watched her closely, taking in every detail, every twitch of her lip, the fluttering of her lashes.

Before Agatha could continue, Rio abruptly turned the tables. She spun Agatha onto her back, shoving her dress up to her waist. She looked down at her bare cunt, tilting her head.

“No undergarments? Looks like you had a plan,” Rio said.

“You know me,” Agatha purred, “Always prepared.”

Rio dove down between her thighs, plunging her tongue into her. Agatha arched her back off of the wall that had tilted with the boat, effectively becoming more of a floor.

People panicked and scrambled around them, not even noticing what was unfolding between the two women. It was always the most delicious thing about the disasters Agatha created. The chaos around them allowed them to have the most depraved experiences in public.

Rio’s dark eyes were fixed on Agatha’s face. She fucked her slowly at first, grinding her tongue against the most sensitive spot inside of her. Agatha’s eyes shot open, her hips flying up. Rio pinned them back down as she moved faster, nudging at her clit with her nose.

Agatha’s hand shot down and tangled her hand in her hair, knocking her hat off. She rolled her hips, trying to fuck her back before Rio laid an arm across them to keep her still. Agatha whined in a rare show of weakness, one that only her wife could draw from her.

“Fuck… Rio!” She moaned as Rio pulled her in closer by her waist.

Rio groaned in reply, the vibration shivering against Agatha. Agatha’s jaw fell as her pleasure crested, crashing over her like a heavy wave. Rio coaxed aftershocks from her while cleaning her arousal. Whimpers left her lips, making Rio look up at her again, taking in the breathtaking sight of her wife gasping against the back of her hand. She turned her head and sucked on the skin, leaving a dark welt on her inner thigh.

Rio emerged from between her legs. She crawled over Agatha, looking down into her blue eyes. She gently moved her hand from her lips and captured them herself.

“Mi amor,” Rio whispered.

“Mi corazón,” Agatha replied, “I love you.”

1755 - Lisbon

“I hate you…” Agatha hissed.

Her fingers were inside of Rio. Two, then three, then four. Rio let out a sharp scream as Agatha stretched her to her limit, tucking her thumb inside. Rio’s face was a portrait of pain, but her arousal only grew. Agatha smiled sadistically as she made a fist inside of her. Rio’s breath caught, her walls strangling her hand. Her arousal squirted from her, the agony burning into pleasure.

Agatha roughly yanked her hand from her, leaving Rio empty. She screamed out from the violent move, clinging to the trunk of the tree behind her in an attempt to keep herself upright.

Agatha gripped her shoulder and pushed down until the weak-kneed woman was on the ground. She swung her leg over, straddling Rio’s face. She lowered herself, using her like a toy. Rio worked with a desperation, needing to give Agatha everything she could while still knowing it would never be enough.

Agatha panted as she fucked her face. Rio thrusted her tongue inside of her, tasting the flavor she craved more than anything. She watched Agatha move like a woman possessed. Her hair was wild and her expression feral. In the distance, the shore was attacked by a massive tidal wave powered by Agatha’s fury.

The churches filled with people celebrating All Saints’ Day collapsed, taking thousands with it. The city of Lisbon was crumbling around them. The impact of the earthquake reverberated as far as the Caribbean from Portugal. Even North Africa was hit. Tsunamis were birthed from the epicenter. From Agatha.

The sheer volume of death left Rio’s head spinning. Nearly one hundred thousand dead. Of that body count, thousands of witches perished, their magic moving in flashes, traveling over several countries, endowing Agatha with power.

The violet glow surrounding her was blinding, the magic of the dying witches proving to be almost too much for Agatha. She shook violently as she kept moving over Rio. She leaned forward on her knees and pressed her palms against the tree. She screamed as her overpowered body unraveled for the very woman she was trying to dominate. She crawled back so that she was eye to eye with Rio, glaring down at her with irises swimming in a deep purple as magic pulsed through every cell of her body.

The dark eyes looking back at her welled with tears that were all too human for an entity like Death. Rio had witnessed the pure rage of grief when she had taken others. She knew it was only born from pain. However, that didn’t take the pain of being loathed by the love of her life.

“He was my son too,” she whispered out, unable to stop the words.

Agatha’s eyes ignited before she shoved her to the ground. Her hands gripped her throat, squeezing as hard as she could. Rio struggled. Her vision blurred, but they both knew that Death could never die. Her windpipe would never collapse. She still wanted her to struggle for breath.

“Some mother you were,” Agatha growled through clenched teeth, “You killed your own son…”

Rio wheezed as she whispered, “He was already gone.”

Agatha strangled her another minute before letting go. Rio gasped and coughed violently. Agatha looked at her with nothing short of pure disgust.

“You could have saved him.”

“I did. Every day for five years. You don’t know how difficult it was to squeeze time from nothing.”

“And you don’t know how it was to wake up to him that morning.”

“You’re right,” Rio admitted, “I don’t.”

Agatha looked down at her, momentarily allowing her to look at her the way she used to. As the ancient witch who only showed true humanity for her.

“I wish I could have done more,” Rio sobbed out, looking stunned by her own display of emotion, “I am so sorry…”

Agatha had no words that were enough, nothing that would solve the grief between two parents. She only had a question.

“Do you see him when you bring others over?”

“Not fully,” she said, “Only shadows. Only whispers… For me to be too close would disturb the balance. His mothers are not fated to be with him yet. I cannot force when that reunion will be. But… He leaves me flowers. He leaves us flowers.”

Agatha simply cried then, unable to contain it any longer. The fact that Rio had glimpses of him while she had nothing should have angered her more, but it only led to another question that was more important than her rage.

“Is h… Is he happy?” The

“Yes,” Rio said without a second thought, “Someone with earth magic… Nicky can only make roses when he is happy. He leaves roses everywhere he goes.”

Agatha’s tears fell directly from her eyelashes to Rio’s cheeks. When Rio tried to cup Agatha’s cheek, the other woman wrenched her face away. She closed her eyes, trying to force her mask to hide her from someone who knew her completely. She opened them, but still revealed her own adoration and passion for the woman in front of her, despite her anger. That look would fuel Rio in the centuries to come. They would remind her that their bond had withstood the worst tragedy possible. Emotion would crash against it like the water crashing against the sand miles away, but that bond would always hold.

Agatha came to the same conclusion internally, beneath the storm of trauma and misery. She was cursed and blessed to be forever bonded to Death. Her lips collided with hers with a painful impact. Purple flowed from her to Rio, tying them together in that moment. She was there one second and pulling away the next. Rio sat up as Agatha left, walking into the clouds of destruction left in her wake.

For years and centuries later, Rio would leave Nicky’s roses by Agatha’s bed as she slept to give her comfort. She would keep half for her and give half of the blooms to his other mother.

Agatha, for her part, would pretend to be asleep when she would hear the familiar footsteps. Death could come like a thief in the night, but Agatha occasionally felt it just before. She would savor the kiss laid upon her forehead, the light touch of her fingers as they brushed stray hairs from her face. She savored Rio in a way she could handle during those first few decades following Lisbon before calling upon her time and time again with unprecedented disasters throughout time.

1872 - Boston

Agatha’s back bent like a bow as pleasure wound itself tightly in the pit of her. She rutted herself against Rio’s thigh as the other woman wolfishly grinned down at her. She sucked in a gasp as her hips stuttered. Rio suddenly moved down her form in a flash, grabbing her thighs and bending her in half. She leaned down and ran her tongue along her soaking cunt. She drank her in as the air around them heated up as the crowds below them ran from the flames.

Agatha wanted to watch the destruction, but Rio was far more captivating. She tangled her hands in her own hair, her body quaking with pleasure. Rio sucked on the little bundle of nerves that made her scream while thrusting two fingers into her.

Agatha’s brows bunched together as her walls strangled them, already overstimulated. As she came again, she pulled Rio out from between her legs and into a kiss. She hummed against her lips with her arms wrapped around her. Agatha slid her hand down between them, teasing Rio. Rio shook her head and took her hand.

“But…” Agatha started.

“This is about you,” Rio replied, bringing her hand to her lips, kissing it with a, “Milady.”

Half the city was reduced to ashes as the flames licked up the building below them. Fire surrounded them as they shared one last kiss. Rio pulled back and smiled as frenzied cries came from the adjoining buildings.

“That’s my cue,” Rio said.

As Agatha pushed the fire away from her with tendrils of purple magic. Vines grew from Rio’s feet, crawling up her body and forming into a tight, form fitting outfit. She stood on the ledge, turning to face Agatha. She waved at her with a smile before jumping off of the roof.

Agatha waited until she was out of earshot to say, “Always a pleasure, My love.”

1912 - The Atlantic Ocean

People plummeted from the ship, trampled one another, froze in the water. As the sounds of pain and anguish surrounded them, the band continued to play. In the middle of the mayhem were a small collection of those who chose to meet death with grace. Being around them was a comfort to Rio. Unlike the fear and terror she was typically shown, these people were more focused on finding peace in remaining moments.

The ship began to sink further in. Jewelry, furs, and other meaningless things that lost all worth in the larger picture of life plunged into the depths of the Atlantic, disappearing into the places where sunlight refused to follow. The lifeboats were full and floating away. Some were filled with vulnerable people who were rightfully saved while others were filled by the ruthless people who pushed their way to the front of the crowds. Their morality didn’t matter to their fates on Earth. That would catch up to them years later when Rio came for them. The people left behind held each other and sobbed in the realization that there was no way to escape their demise.

The musicians played to calm the passengers, the transcendent sound of strings flowing through the screams. Agatha held a hand out to Rio, who took it in hers. She pulled her in, pressing her cheek to Agatha’s as they danced. Rio hummed their song into her ear. The stars shone down on them with a beauty that stood in opposition to the tragedy unfolding beneath.

Next to them sat an elderly married couple who chose to stay. The wife had refused to leave him behind when offered a seat on the lifeboat. She wouldn’t take someone else’s place when hers was with her love. He tried to convince her to leave, but she shook her head. They held hands, listening to the music while gazing at the moon.

Agatha looked at them over Rio’s shoulder and saw the devotion that she and her own wife shared. The words the woman spoke to him earlier were some of the most romantic she had heard. “Isidor we have been together for all these years. Where you go, I go.”

She realized that the same applied to her and the woman in her embrace. Regardless of what happened, of what they did, of how they tried to resist, they were each other’s home. Although she wasn’t yet ready to fully welcome Rio back into her life, she knew that she would be sooner rather than later. Like the couple beside them, they would walk through life together.

The old man kissed the back of his wife’s hand, earning a youthful blush from her. Rio could feel their acceptance. The two would greet Death as they would an old friend.

This story was based on the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, the Great Boston Fire of 1872, and the sinking of the Titanic in 1912.

If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment and reblog it! Also, check out my other playlist fics!

Thank you for reading ♥️

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