#scratch fanfiction

[moonyflesh]

🐾 Cat Scratches - [James “Logan” Howlett x Reader]

WARNINGS: lots of fluff, brief mention of neck kisses, some suggestive comments but nothing past PG

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (Wolverine, MARVEL/X-MEN)

🐾 .*.. 🕯️

Logan laid comfortably on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your lower back and hips as he buried his face into your abdomen, the bare skin of your tummy visible just slightly underneath your sweater.

Lazily scrolling through your phone, splayed out across his bed with him on top of you, your fingers trailed over his upper shoulders, scratching the fabric of his white compression shirt, rubbing his sore muscles from a long day of training and battle practice.

As your fingers trailed upwards mindlessly on his back, your manicured nails finally reached the nape of his neck, teasing the edge of his hairline.

Scrolling down further through your instagram, you let out a soft sigh of content as your fingers finally buried into the hair on the back of his head, eliciting a low rumble from the back of his throat.

You perked up at this, glancing past the dimmed screen of your device, an eyebrow quirked upwards at his reaction.

“You alright, Lo?”

You muttered out, a small, curious smile tugging at your glossy lips, damp from your teeth gently biting at them out of unconscious habit.

“Mmmh,”

He responded in a low hum, leaning into your fingers as you smiled, a small, amused chuckle leaving your lips at his fingers that slid lower on your back, cupping the backs of your thighs with a slightly possessive grip.

You felt a soft, warm press of his chapped lips against your stomach, just above your panty line, and a small laugh left your lips as he buried his nose further into you, inhaling without hesitation. In response, your legs opened slightly underneath him, wrapping them around his broad midsection with a light squeeze.

Preferring the man in front of you opposed to the celebrities on your phone, you dropped it at your side, letting it become lost in the fluffy, unkept sheets next to your form as both your hands wrapped around his head, burying your fingers into his scalp.

A low, animalistic-like growl left his lips as you scratched through his hair, meeting the place behind his ears, where you knew he was most sensitive.

Tracing over the area where his jaw connected to his ear and neck, you let out a low hum in response, tilting your head propped up on one of his pillows to the side, your eyebrows knitting together lightly in curiosity at his pleasant reactions.

“Feels good, bub. Right- mmh. There.”

Your eyes narrowed at his borderline inappropriate hum, and you nodded, wordlessly continuing to scrape through his fluffy, unkept hair.

“I didn’t take you for a cat, Logan,” You teased quietly, a small vibration leaving your own form, similar to that of the buzz of an old stereo.

“Don’t mock me, sweetheart. Can’t help it,”

He shot back, his furry eyebrows knitting together as he finally shifted, pulling himself up further, allowing his face to move from your stomach to your collarbone, trying desperately not to go full deadweight on you, knowing he’d crush your frail form.

“Plus, ever since you got yer nails done-”

He didn’t finish his sentence as you raked through his head of hair once more, pushing his face into the warm skin of your exposed neck, muffling any protest from him.

“Stop talking, James. Sleep.”

You effectively hushed him, a small smile pulling at your face as he grumbled out something along the lines of ‘mm. Whatever,’ and ‘fine.’

You felt him pepper a few hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth teasingly biting down on your exposed shoulder, before lapping at the new mark with his tongue, admiring his work with your taste.

“G’night, bub.”

You smiled at his subtle acceptance to your demand, your fingers frozen in his fluffy hair and partially in his long side shaves, nodding.

“Goodnight, kitty.”

[fae-of-prey]

sugar plums ⏾ ˖ ࣪⊹

inspired by this + me rewatching obx before the new season

warnings: barry’s little sister reader (kinda naïve + v sheltered); w*rd cameron; brief mentions of murder as per canon events of the show; forced kiss but reader doesn’t mind; i think that’s it? feel free to lmk if i missed any *1138 words*

notes: this is v much baby’s first official fic so pls be nice to me:3 i also wanna thank my beautiful beautiful moots for supporting me + beta reading this for me, love y’all to death<333

rafe loves nighttime; it’s peaceful, quiet, it feels like he has the whole world to himself, and most of all you. he fights hard to keep you as blissfully ignorant and unaware as humanly possible, so you can sleep peacefully next to him. rafe can’t sleep tonight though, how could he? he’s haunted by the consequences of his own murderous actions. he lays awake watching you instead just to feel a tinge of pride from how well he’s kept you safe and happy despite everything.

rafe always thought you were an angel, his angel, sent straight from the heavens just for him, and you‘ve never looked more heavenly at peace than you do now.

you’ve certainly come a long way from a drug dealer's little trailer park princess sister, busting your ass working at the country club hoping you’ll eventually save up enough to afford college someday, to spending your days living the kook life at tannyhill and being spoiled absolutely rotten.

although your big brother was apprehensive at first to your courtship with the kook king himself given the fact that he knows rafe, he eventually came around to the idea; he even lets you live with rafe now for the most part, i mean you get to live in a mansion more comfortably than he’s ever been able to provide, so he had to be a little selfless. barry’s always been a little overprotective and very strict with you to keep you safe from the dangers of his lifestyle, but now so is rafe and he’s happy to be responsible enough to keep you out of trouble.

on the surface it seems like the most dangerous place you could be (well, right next to the dingy trailer of your drug dealer brother), but rafe promised your brother you’d be in good hands, a promise he fully intends to keep even if those hands are now covered in blood. all so you can sleep soundly in his arms dreaming of sugar plums, while rafe’s father pulls into the driveway with a dead body in the trunk.

‘rafe’ even just his whisper startles his son and causes you to stir a little bit when he jumps, though he quickly rubs your arm with his thumb soothingly as he turns just slightly to face his father, careful not to wake you in the process ‘what? what is it?’ so eager to help, yet there’s a small part of him deep down dreading leaving the comfort of your presence for what he’s sure can’t be anything good. but ‘i need your help’ is still enough temptation from the devil for him to get out of bed and smear a kiss to your hairline before following his father out to the driveway ready to do anything for daddy’s approval.

sometime in the middle of rafe carrying gavin’s body to the druthers, you stir from your slumber, searching for rafe in the covers only to come up empty, prompting you to open your eyes in hopes you’ll have more luck with your sight, but he’s still nowhere to be found. you creep into the hallway ‘rafe?’ nothing but an echoing sense of unease. not just at rafe’s absence, but the feeling of trepidation in such a large house; you’re still not quite used to it from growing up in a tiny trailer (because despite rafe’s efforts, you’re still not quite a real kook just yet, and other kooks don’t shy away from making it known behind rafe’s back). that and you can’t help the nagging sense that something is wrong.

you go downstairs for some water while you wait for rafe to come back from accessorizing a murder wherever he is. and as soon as you’ve finished filling your cup you turn around to see your boyfriend walking in suddenly scaring the hell out of you, you didn’t even hear him come in ‘hey baby, what’re you doin up?’ his voice still so raspy ‘i woke up without you, where’d you go?’ you pout, setting the glass down to wrap your arms around him but you still look up at him with those big doe eyes, and he can’t help but feel a familiar pitter patter in his heart at your clinginess; he quite literally just buried a body but less than a minute with you sends him right back to cloud 9 because fuck you’re the light of his goddamn life, and more than that you’re the only light in his goddamn life ‘just uh, had to help my dad with som‘in on the boat, nothin fancy. let’s getcha back to bed, yeah?’ you smile and nod before taking your water with you as he leads you back upstairs.

once you’re all settled in again, so does grim reality when rafe remembers he still has to find the gun in the drain ‘shit, i’m sorry baby, i gotta go take care of somethin else’ ‘what? more boat stuff?’ you’re joking but still he’s never been more grateful for your lack of knowledge on boats before ‘yeah, yeah, uh, i’ll be back soon as i can though okay?’ ‘okay’ you’re pouting again ‘aw c’mon don’t give me fuckin that look’ he starts rummaging around in his closet for some real clothes to wear just to avoid it ‘what look?’ you feign innocence ‘those fuckin bambi eyes you give me whenever you want somethin’ ‘i dunno whatchu mean’ ‘yeah sure you don’t, fuckin smartass’ you giggle at his grumbles, he comes back dressed for the day since it’s morning now and he still has to go find a murder weapon after all.

‘cmere gimme a kiss fore i go’ ‘promise not to be gone long?’ you look up at him with those big doey eyes once again, you need to make him promise so you can sleep easy knowing he’ll be there when you wake up again, but rafe just sighs ‘ion know how long this is gonna take baby, i said i’ll be back as soon as i can, can’t make any promises okay?’ you’re still just pouting at him so he rolls his eyes and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, and kisses you himself, grumbling about how he has to do everything himself ‘just go back to sleep and i’ll see you later aight? promise’ ‘okay’ you huff in defeat ‘good girl, i love you’ ‘i love you too’ when you kiss him once more he has to refrain from kissing you again or else he’ll never leave the damn house.

eventually he manages to leave you and rides off on his motorcycle while you watch from the window. after he’s gone you flop back into bed sighing, maybe you can at least dream of him to keep you company while he’s out wondering how the hell he’s gonna explain this to your brother.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, likes / comments / reblogs of any support or feedback is the best way to show your appreciation, either way i’m so happy to have you here; i feel like there’s more i can explore with this so i’m down to write more of it if you guys want; but other than that i hope you have a lovely night, muah!

© FAE-OF-PREY 2024

[sapphossparenoterbook]

What if Agatha is so mad, because Rio took Nicholas and THEN left her. As in, Rio couldn’t look at Agatha without thinking about how she had surrendered her child—their child, in exchange for the magic in The Darkhold, as accidental as it was.

Agatha has taken sooo many witches powers, she very well could have mistranslated the Darkhold’s passage, thinking that she had to kill more of her “sister” witches as a sacrifice for the exchange, not that it would actually take Nicky.

And so then when it happens, and Nicky dies, and Rio takes him, she can’t bear looking at Agatha anymore. And Agatha blames Rio, blames her for not bending the rules and for not giving her the time to get another sacrifice, a different sacrifice. But Rio knows it’s impossible and that the deed is done, so she, as Death, can’t give herself or Agatha any false hope.

So she leaves it all behind. Carries Nicky’s small body to the afterlife, his head heavy and resting on her shoulder. She allows herself to believe that he’s just fallen asleep, and she’s carrying him to bed. Like so many other times she’s done it for her boy before. But she knows, deep down, that things won’t ever be the same again, and that the happiest chapter of her life is over.

[writey-mcwriteface]

and if i said that i was working on a oneshot where agatha and rio were married, happy parents on an early spring morning? caring for their son? exchanging soft kisses in the dawn? would you? maybe want to read that?

[nukbody]

Mirror's Edge brainrot save me (ft. some cutscenes sketches from last year)

[pvppyjawn]

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

what if u left scratches on Nanamin’s back one night 😏😏😏

Minors and ageless blogs don't fucking interact

Nanami Kento was a very ‘proper’ man. His clothes were always neatly pressed. His trousers creased at exactly the right spots. His hair was always neatly parted and there would never be a strand out of place. Ever.

So it made perfect sense that he started to date you. The neat, sweet baby – prim and proper princess of the Jujutsu world. If you had been a color you would have been baby pink. You had a soft voice, as soft as the blossoms from the cherry tree that would float around you when you went to see them with Kento in the springtime. Your face was round and squishy with big dark eyes and pink lips that made you give off an air of innocence. You were, his perfect demure goddess.

Which is why, when on Monday morning after a long weekend holiday, when Nanami flinched in response to Gojo's flippant slap-on-the-back greeting, or when he barked a short ‘fuck!’ when Yuuji suddenly bear hugged him, no one suspected the reason to be you.

Nobody suspected that the night before, Nanami had you in a mating press, cock buried so deep in your small cunt the world swam in front of your eyes. Nobody suspected how your head fell back in pleasure as you lost the ability to think for yourself. Nobody suspected that the reason you had broken your pink acrylic nails was also the reason for Nanami’s irritability that day when Gojo had kept trying to catch his attention.

Nobody suspected that there were long red scratches all the way down his back when you had dug your nails into it – angry crimson welts that smarted each time they were touched.

Only Shoko knew. When you took a mortified Nanami to her for treatment, after he snapped at Megumi for bumping into him even though it was an accident.

Shoko would never tell anyone of course, but she did it all in exchange for a night out when you would pay her tab…

[herefortheships]

I hope we get a third Beetlejuice move and Lydia is the one trying to contact Betelgeuse this time around. That can even justify the movie being called "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice", because you have to say the name three times to summon him!

Why does she need or want to contact him? It can be for whatever reason, really, but my favorite is this: Betelgeuse has pretty much disappeared from Lydia's life and she isn't seeing him "haunting" her anymore, and she realizes or can sense that he is in danger, and Lydia knows she is the only one who will care or even want to save him.

Then she can start wondering why she is even doing this, why does she care? And she realizes he's sort of been watching her and protecting her from afar all this time and maybe she even has started missing his shenanigans. She realizes that even when she thought he was scary, he was actually looking out for her all along because he really loved her. And they share that psychic connection too, which she will probably use to find him if she can't summon him in the third movie for whatever reason.

Look, the ending left the door open for many possibilities for a final installment and I just hope they decide to do it and give Betelgeuse and Lydia their happy ending! Third time's the charm and they can marry for real. My only concern is that they may not be able to top the beautifully romantic wedding scene from the second movie. Who knows? That was so a Tim Burton aesthetic. We'll see. But that wedding needs to happen!

I honestly think Lydia's failed romantic relationships have to do with the fact that her true soulmate is in the "Neitherworld". Soulmates born too far apart from each other. Betelgeuse will wait for Lydia forever, and after the second movie I'm sure she will start to see him a different way. Maybe not romantic yet, but something must have changed, having seen a different side of him. Yes, he will always be creepy and gross, that's just who he is (come on, he is a ghostly entity or a demon of sorts, a "thing of nightmares"), but he does love her and will do anything for her. And by the end of the movie, she will know they belong together! As weird at that might be. haha

[spirk-trek]

hii this is really random but i'm writting a paper on star trek fanfiction from the 60s/70s and i was wondering if there were any fics youd recommend? are there any like iconic, keystone fics that are really significant to the fandom? (i'm having a bit of trouble sourcing pre-internet fics)

Hi! I'll try to help the best I can but I am by no means an expert- in fact, many people who end up seeing this may have better/more information so I'll extend it to any of them to answer as well :)

Disclaimer: many of the following links contain nsfw content!!!

Here is page 1 and page 2 of what might be the first known k/s fanfic published in Grup fanzine (1974). Grup is credited as being the first Star Trek fanzine with adult content. This fic, A Fragment Out of Time by Diane Marchant was vague enough that it had to be clarified as k/s in a later edition, but the author did do so.

Spockanalia is always a good source for early fandom. It is the earliest and best preserved example of fanzine content (beginning in 1967 before the second season had even aired). I'd definitely say that makes it influential! So much more can be found on the internet archive and on fanlore. Copies of Spockanalia found their ways into the hands of many people involved in the show, including Roddenberry himself.

Gayle F is a prolific fanzine artist (one of my favorites) for k/s and is also influential to k/s writing. She was behind the Cosmic Fuck Series (yes really lol) which begins with Desert Heat (1976) in which Spock prematurely enters his second Pon Farr with only Jim available to him. This is the first mention (that I know of) of Spock's "double ridges" which are still a fanon element of his anatomy today (fanlore link here).

Alexis Fegan Black is another name to know, but is actually the pen name for author Della Van Hise. She did a lot of her work in the 80s and beyond, so I'm not sure how helpful this will be, but I think she's very influential. You may know about her licensed trek novel Killing Time (1982) because the first edition was recalled for being way too gay (changes between the two versions are best documented here imo).

Jenna Sinclair was very influential but again, a lot of her works came a little later than what you're looking for (note: ao3 does NOT have the correct dates, you'll need to find those separately).

A few more links to throw at you:

List of Star Trek Fanzines

List of Star Trek SLASH Fanzines

Captain's Log (1968)

The Crewman's Log (1967)

Spock's Showcase (1968)

Spock's Underground (1968-71)

The Sensuous Vulcan (slash zine, 1977)

Thrust (slash zine, 1978)

I hope all these links work and at least something I mentioned is helpful for you!! Good luck! I'd love to hear about your research if you're so inclined to share :)

[fae-of-prey]

what's your favorite scary movie? ༊*･

an all hallows eve spooktacular collab with my beloved moot victoria aka the lovely @rafesangelita ! check out the prompt i gave her here!

warnings: (remember, you are the only one responsible for your own media consumption, so if you don’t like it please just scroll!) smut MDNI ¹⁸⁺!; mutual(ish) intox; knives; blood; corruption; blink-&-you’ll-miss-it dacryphilia if you squint; a dash of size kink for good measure; sex tapes; binding rituals; “kid” pet name

camera flashes and your drunken giggles fill rafe’s bedroom as he snaps pictures of you, with your angel wings all askew from the way rafe had to manhandle your lightweight safely into his truck after a friend’s halloween party (not that you ever minded your boyfriends big strong hands on you).

click then flash 📸

“look at me babydoll” he cradles your face in the hand that isn’t holding the camera as you lean into him, practically purring and looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loves to capture on camera “there you go” another flash “good girl, aren’t you just fuckin adorable” more laughs follow as he leans down to give you kisses that get sloppier by the second in your drunken daze. 

your arms wrap around rafe’s neck while his hand moves from your face down your body to your waist to start grabbing at your hips, leaving you mewling in his grasp until he guides you to lay down instead and his hands travel upwards again, this time under your top to grope you. and when the feeling tickles your skin, you giggle deliriously once more.

it’s all very messy, the way rafe’s kisses hungrily trail from your lips, to your neck, all the way down to your chest to meet where he’s now pushed your top up to reveal your breasts; more skin for him to mark up. he isn’t even fully conscious of what he’s doing, it’s purely instinctual in his state of still halfway inebriated to almost sobered up, until he comes back up to behold your whining form once again and notices his purple marks blooming beautifully all across the skin of your torso (he even got down to your stomach in his trance).

you pout at the sight “rafeyyy“ but to him it’s a sight so beautiful he has to take a picture, so rafe picks up the camera again as he tsks affectionately “oh c’mon quit your whining kid, now why don’t cha hold ‘em together f’me?” still, ever his amenable little angel, you obey so he can get your picture.

📸 when the camera flashes again you can see an idea flash across rafe’s eyes as well, but before you can even notice it, he’s leaning down to kiss you again while the camera flashes more and more, not that you notice that either.

rafe breaks away to set the camera down next to you, with the lens facing you perfectly centered in the frame and caged beneath your boyfriend, as he turns back to you and rasps “why don’t we make our own scary movie?” an adorably tipsy smile spreads across your face cradled by his hands “i dunno, do i get to be in the sequel?” you slur bubbly making him grin “yeah… you’re my final girl, isn’t that right?” you nod with giggles.

• the fun might’ve been cut short by concern over the knife rafe pulls out from his nightstand if you were anyone else of sober mind, but honestly you’re mostly just curious about “what’s that for?” not even really all that concerned through your high daze.

“oh uh,” your eyes follow the buck 120 like a kitten as rafe just brings it to your chin gently guiding your gaze towards the camera now recording video with the little red light on while his eyes stay locked on you “don’t worry kid, it’s for our movie, yeah?” you nod with wide almost hypnotized eyes.

rafe holds the camera again to capture how he soothes the cold steel of the blade back down against your thigh before dragging the flat side up nice and smooth to hook under your bottoms.

with the sharp end pointed outwards, he slices right through both layers of your bottoms and panties, much to your dismay, though he quickly coos to shush you in between chuckles at your adorable little whines that make his dick ache “i’ll getcha new ones”

still you briefly mourn the flouncy white tatters now scattered on the bedroom floor; even if it’s quickly forgotten about the second rafe kisses your pout away in your drunkenly lost sense of object permanence and shortened attention span (shortened even more by your restless carnal impatience) as he places the camera back on the side of the bed next to you.

but soon rafe’s rushing to unzip his own pants to free himself, and guiding your hand with his own to wrap around his aching cock. rafe groans softly — lord you always feel like fucking heaven, even the smallest of your touches never fail to make him feel like no one and nothing else can (not even himself). he moves your hand up and down his shaft a few more times before rubbing the head against your weeping clit to soothe that itching sense of anticipation you‘re both growing increasingly impatient with. the foreplay is only momentarily relieving before you’re craving more — despite your inexperienced naïveté you were always an eager little one, even before rafe took your virginity not too long ago, but all that tequila just makes you that much more of an insatiable nymphomaniac at rafe’s mercy. until finally he pushes into your sweet cunt with his hands fully encircling your waist.

rafe lets out a drawn out “fuck” under his heavy breath — you were always so warm and inviting, he only makes it about a third of the way in your soft velvety walls inch-by-inch before he bottoms out completely when the overwhelming rush of pure desperate lust becomes too much to bear, leaving a bulge in your stomach to show for it while you huff and cry out whiny slurred mewls “shh you’re okay kid, jus relax huh? just like i taught ya” rafe picks up the camera again to zoom in on your tummy bulging with him deep inside your guts, before he smears a kiss to your dampened cheeks as your eyes gloss over on camera “don’t you wanna be my good girl?” you can take it, you're his precious angel in more ways than just your halloween costume, you can always take what he gives you. and rafe’s reassurance of such along with the lingering intoxication softens the blow enough to twist into pleasure.

after your breathing slows to a more normal speed, when he senses you’ve (somewhat semi-forcibly) reacclimated enough he drags back out, slower (and much more careful) this time. he’s just absolutely mesmerized by the way he can literally see himself pulling out through the bulge in your stomach slowly vanishing, it just sends all the more blood rushing straight to his dick.

“there you go, good girl” rafe soothes with a hand cradling your cheek while his other focuses the camera on you and a heavy breath when he’s only left the tip being squeezed in by your tight grip, even at your entrance and you already feel simultaneously empty and like you can barely take just the tip all at once. 

rafe takes a breath and gives you a chance to catch yours before starting to slowly push back in again — it’s a snug fit but you both make it work with sheer force of will and strength “nice ‘n easy kid, here” rafe wraps his arms around your waist to hold you to him while he sits up and against the headboard of his bed now as he sets the camera on the nightstand, careful to keep you in frame.

with you pulled onto his lap and his hands encircled around your waist again, he slowly sinks you down onto him while you hold onto his arms for dear life; gripping so hard your nails might be digging into him, but if so he never even lets it show.

you huff out a breath of relief when he’s all the way in again, you always feel so ineffably content when you’re so impossibly full like this; just the rushing amorous twist of passionate pleasure is hypnotic. but it’s moments like these when you feel the closest to rafe, like your souls are melting into each other. it even feels a little dangerous, in moments like this there’s not a thing on this earth rafe cameron wouldn’t fucking do for you, nothing he wouldn’t let you do to him, his adoration turned feral and (even more) obsessive, his attachment strengthened with a deep coveted need to keep you with him forever, and he feels it with a particularly significant intensity tonight as he groans under his breath again “fuck yu’re g’na be the fuckin’ death of me babydoll, you know that?” making a roguish smile spread across your face and a giggle escape your lips.

rafe brings his hand up to cup your face as you look up at him with those fucking big wide eyes he adores so much it hurts “you trust me, right angel?” his heart actually aches at how quickly you nod without hesitation, without even thinking first. his lips twitch upwards at the thought, you’re truly completely his, just as he is yours. and now it’s time to prove it.

“then i need you to do somethin for me” he reaches for your wrist to open your palm and close it again on the handle of the knife he’s placed in it, then ever so carefully tilts it up so the blade is now facing his open palm.

“here, just need a little cut, okay?” even with your keen zeal to be his good girl, of course you’re still hesitant at the thought of potentially hurting him! so sensing you need a little extra push, rafe digs the blade further into his own palm until enough blood is drawn, while still holding your hand to stay wrapped around the handle with his other hand.

you gasp softly with your eyes locked on the sight but he doesn’t even flinch, not even when he removes his hand from the blade to take the knife from your pliable little fingers or when he then takes your hand in his to position the blade on your palm. rafe’s much more nimble with you, making as small of a cut into your soft tender flesh as possible to draw blood and just as quickly soothing the sting it brings with gentle shushing coos and a sweet kiss to your temple as a high pitched wince falls from your lips.

with heavy breathing rafe sets the knife down next to the camera still recording on the nightstand, you’re breathing just as heavy as your eyes are still transfixed by the open wounds you both now carry while he brings his large hand to hold your smaller one and presses your wounds together hard, mixing your blood in the unspoken ritualistic process and binding you together forever. 

the slight sting is instantaneously worth pleasing that deep primal craving for intimacy — and suddenly, you can’t get enough of it. every sensation just melts together to mix into something addictive enough to turn you into a bloodthirsty little animal.

finally he kisses you again as a wave of gratification washes over rafe. your hands squeeze together as you continue kissing — it’s sloppy and desperate on both ends, almost  like you’re trying to eat the other whole with muffled moans.

rafe wraps his other arm around your waist to guide you down on your back again, never even breaking from each other once the whole time either, your joined hands still squeezing together as hard as ever right beside your head. with your legs wrapping around his frame which is eclipsing yours now and his hand on your waist, rafe thrusts into you again more purposefully this time, and with less mercy. the feeling sends you straight to heaven, leaving the pain to twist into pleasure and you to helplessly grab onto his muscly arm with one hand as you squeeze his hand still locked with yours like a girl getting a shot at the doctor’s in the other.

“all mine huh? forever. isn’t that right angel?” you nod fervently “on-only yours, always” you squeal softly — though you sound like you’re being fucking murdered (if these noises were coming from anywhere else the cops would’ve been at your door before you even got to cum, but anyone nearby who might’ve heard strange and violent sounds coming from a cameron’s house in the middle of the night would simply mind their business), a low feral growl falls from under rafe’s breath before his mouth on yours again grounds you. 

each blow feels even more sensitive than the last, your hand drops onto your stomach where you feel rafe actively rearranging your guts. your heart is thumping like a little rabbit, he’s getting sloppier, more desperate, but goddamn he never wants this to end, and neither do you.

it only takes a few more of those desperately craving thrusts before you’re squeezing and pulsing around him as your orgasm rushes through you. halfway through it drives rafe to the edge too, he staggers a few more thrusts as deep and hard as humanly possible, sure to fuck himself deep in your guts when he finally paints your velvety insides white with his spurting cum.

after your heaving chest calms down and rafe stills inside you both just lay like that, soaking in the orgasms washing over you and the feeling of rafe and his cum deep in your guts. your hearts beat back to normal when you catch your breath. eventually rafe pulls himself up off you, you whine sleepily as he groans a sighing heavy drawn out “aww fuck” when he holds your waist for leverage to pull out of your plush walls which cling onto him, almost just begging him to stay.

already you miss the fullness only provided by rafe, your only consolation is his cum slowly seeping inside you while he switches the camera off before leaving the room to clean up. you’re drifting off when rafe comes back with a bandaid, which he tosses on his nightstand while he grabs a t-shirt for you “hey, c’mon kid get up” he taps your knee so you sit up for him, taking off what’s left of your costume and briefly leaving you bare before rafe pulls his shirt back over your head “there ya go, now go pee, hurry up” he orders softly and pats your ass as you sleepily get out of bed and scurry off to the bathroom.

you’re promptly pulled into rafe’s lap when you return to his bed; you curl up into him while he takes the bandaid out of the wrapper. you wince faintly when he takes your hand to carefully smooth the bandage over your wound “i know baby i know” rafe smears two kisses in quick succession to your hairline then simply holds your hand in his after he’s done patching it up. 

“did so good for me babydoll, so fuckin’ proud of you” your nose reflexively scrunches from the familiar warmth of sunshine blooming within you. it’s strange, the sex tape you’ve just made is likely the only thing as hard proof that could ever convince anyone else who’s ever met him that rafe cameron can genuinely care for someone, that he can be gentle, that he has a heart, albeit one that beats just for you and no one else.

your yawning shortly prompts rafe to lay you both down and flick the light off, and sure enough you swiftly fall into a purring slumber almost instantly. the corners of rafe’s mouth turn up ever so slightly at the sight — you’re all his, forever. there’s no going back now, and there’s absolutely no escaping. with one more kiss to your pretty little head he whispers “happy halloween angel”

© FAE-OF-PREY 2024

[agathario-all-along]

Y'all better be writing some cottagecore agathario fics where they are spending their first christmas together as a family, just enjoying the holidays with their newborn son Nicky

And make it fluffy fluffy fluffy

Cause we need more agathario fluff, especially with Nicky

[cabinetofquriosities]

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 ♥️

[softspeirs]

Reprieve (BoB/MoTA x OC)

Summary: What if Bucky and Buck managed to escape the forced march that night in Germany? What if in a really roundabout way, they got some help from some locals and found their way to the 101st? What if! Loosely follows the events of this AU. Author's Note: No romantic pairings (a bit of Speirs/OC mentioned). Features my BoB OC, Kat Gray. This is very much a "magic of fanfiction" story - doesn't fit with canon and certainly would not have happened in real life. It's fine - we're all insane here anyway. Enjoy! Warnings: mentions of PTSD, and descriptions of war-related injuries. Words: 8k+ (I am so sorry)

“Welcome back to the land of the living Major. You look like you’ve seen better days.” The woman’s American accented-voice is clear as a bell and yet Bucky still thinks he’s hallucinating. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Bucky tries to sit up.

"Not so fast," she says, leaning over him so he can see her.

“Where am I?” He croaks.

"You’re in an aid station with the Airborne. You've been out for two days. Take it easy." She sounds familiar.

"Have we met?” he asks, ignoring her request to sit still. His ribs ache, and his throat feels so dry he feels like he’s swallowed sand.

"Once upon a pub in England, Major Egan." The woman busies herself around him, gathering bandages and other supplies, and when he can finally force his eyes to focus his gaze, he sees her, and he can't help but let out a breathy, disbelieving chuckle as he recognizes her.

"Of all the gin joints..."

She turns around and grins. "Something like that." She holds out her hand. "Corporal Kat Gray, sir. It's good to see you."

He takes her hand gratefully, squeezing. "I'd say the same, but--" he winces as he reaches up to touch his eye. He can't see out of his left eye at all. It's eerily similar to how he arrived at Stalag Luft III, and he wants to vomit at the thought. "How--"

"You and Major Cleven have had a rough few days." She says, her tone taking on a more somber tone. "He's just fine." She adds, reading the panic on his face. "He’s being debriefed by our CO.” She leans in. “I’m going to try to clean this a bit better,” she says gently. “I’m going to adjust you for a minute, but if you can look up for me, I won’t need to touch you much.”

He feels a strange mix of shame and relief at the way she’s talking to him - telling him what she’s going to do and giving him the power to say yes or no… it’s certainly an adjustment compared to what some visits to the infirmary in Germany were like.

He looks up at her, and she nods reassuringly, reaching to adjust him so she can see him better in the dim light. “How on Earth did you end up here?”

The last few days all feel like a blur, and Bucky bites back the rising panic at the thought of what his and Buck’s escape might mean for their friends. “Buck and I have been in a POW camp since ‘43.”

Kat is quiet, meeting his gaze with large, dark eyes. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Obviously you escaped. Nearly ran right into our outpost.”

He sighs, scratches at his jaw. "They evacuated the camp. We’d been having conversations with our guys for a week or so when we knew the Germans were going to march us. We agreed that a few of us should try to get back. I remember finally finding a window to make a run for it, and--" he stops as he flashes back to a dark night, moments of complete panic, and finally, watching Buck escape over that wall. "-- got the butt of a rifle for my troubles."

"That explains the bruising." She leans in, her fingers cool against his fevered forehead. "Did you have a previous injury here?" Her gaze is narrowed in on a spot somewhere near his cheekbone.

He really doesn't want to talk about it. It was hard enough trying to tell his guys what happened to him, and he's just not sure he has the words to try to describe it to someone else. He'll have to eventually. If they ever make it back... but that's about the only time he thinks he can manage to get the words out. "Yes." He says finally. "When I went down…. They walked us through a city that had been recently bombed, and between the civilians and the guards..." He trails off, jaw tight.

Her eyes are understanding. She doesn't press him, and he's grateful. Instead, she leans back against the wall at her back, folding her arms across her chest. "So I've got good news and bad news. The good news is I don’t think you’ll have any lasting damage, even in that eye. I don't think your orbital bone is broken, but you'll be sore for a while. The bad news is that you need to speak with our S-2, on account of how you might be a spy and everything."

Bucky blinks at her.

Kat smiles. "It’s just a joke. But… procedure. You know it goes. Technically I probably shouldn’t have asked you anything about how you got here.” She shrugs, waves a hand dismissively. She stands up straight, takes a few steps back from him. "Think you can walk?"

“Would it matter if I can’t?” He grumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Of course,” she frowns. He has to remind himself where he is and who he’s with. He’s gotten so used to hiding any major or minor injury, any sign of illness, and being forced to stay on his feet for what felt like hours on end, sometimes in the middle of the night.

Kat continues, “Though, sir, if you were to… as a Major, of course… give me permission to order Captain Nixon to come to you instead, I would really really enjoy that.”

.

Outside, he shields his eyes from the bright light with his right hand. His head throbs, but he keeps walking. He glances down at the woman beside him.

Helmet in her hand, he gets a better look at her now that they're not in a room lit with barely a single bulb.

"Where are we?" Bucky asks, voice low.

"Somewhere between Belgium and Bavaria." She says. "We’ve been here for a week, pulled off the line not too long ago.”

Her voice is scratchy, whether from overuse or from illness, he can't tell. She has a fading bruise on her left cheek, a mirror of the one on his face. She looks older than the last time he saw her.

He remembers her, fresh-faced and in a clean uniform on a pub night where he and Buck and Benny were all together and intact. Not a scratch on them or dust on their uniforms. He remembers her easy smile and the way her men closed ranks around her at the first sign of his flirting.

They walk a few more feet to a requisitioned building that's practically falling apart. It's warm though, and that's really all he cares about. That, and seeing for himself that Buck is here and alive.

He hears his low voice before he sees him. Buck is standing bent over a table covered in maps. Across from him are two captains - one he vaguely remembers and one he hasn't met yet. All three straighten at his approach.

"Major Egan, this is Captain Winters and Captain Nixon."

After two hasty salutes that Bucky feels uncomfortable receiving, Nixon's hand is the first outstretched for a shake. "Egan. Good to see you on your feet."

"Thanks." He replies distractedly as he looks at his friend. "Buck? Entertaining guests already?" He asks, gesturing at the room they're in - it clearly used to be a kitchen.

Buck smirks. "Should have remembered to get down the good silverware."

"What, uh…" He wants to ask what happened after the woods, after-- he remembers finding Buck in the woods, hands trembling and alone. He had waited for him, said he knew he'd catch up eventually, and said George was gone.

They walked the entire night and next day, sticking to the woods as much as possible until they got close enough to the front to hear American voices. It's a bit hazy after that. Between the certain head trauma and the exhaustion, he doesn't remember much.

Buck shakes his head, almost imperceptible if Bucky hadn’t been searching his expression. Later, it seems to say.

Nixon gets Bucky’s attention by clearing his throat. “If you can come with me for a minute, Major.” he says, gesturing to another room off to one side.

“Nix, I really don’t think–” Kat tries to interject.

“Kat, we can’t make exceptions.” Nixon says warningly, though his tone is nowhere near harsh. He turns back to Bucky. “Look, Major, I remember you, and I know you’ve already been through this with your far less kind hosts, but I’ve got to ask you a few questions before we do anything else.”

With a look at Buck, who nods reassuringly, Bucky goes.

They go through the whole thing - name, rank, serial number, what’s the national anthem, who is the President and when was he elected… the whole thing. All things considered, Bucky actually thinks Captain Nixon goes pretty easy on him.

They join the others after a few more minutes, Bucky absently rubbing his temples which are already starting to ache.

The taller man -- Winters -- seems to want to get down to business. He turns to Kat. "Corporal Gray. Hang around for a minute?"

"Yes sir." She says, finding a place to perch on a counter behind Buck. As she hoists herself up, Bucky catches the glimpse of a dirtied bandage that takes up nearly her entire arm as her sleeve rides up.

Trying to focus on the task at hand, he and Buck go over every second of their escape until Bucky can't remember much else. His jaw clenches as Gale recounts how he half carried, half dragged Bucky to the other side of a ditch so they could get to the American side of the line.

"Gotta say, you're a couple of lucky bastards," Nixon says. "A few hours later and that town would have been either empty or back in German hands." He meets Bucky's eyes.

They go over a map for a few more minutes."We were marching in this direction,” Buck says, pointing at the map, “But it’s hard to know for sure, and there's no way to know how long they were going to make us go."

"Well, they'll meet up with the Army at some point." Nixon says firmly. "Nothing classified about it - we're making gains in all directions. It won't be long."

Bucky nods, trusting him and his intuition. At least he could sleep at night knowing he didn't resign his friends to too many more months of hell.

"Any chance you'll be the one to break them out of there?" Bucky asks.

"It's hard to say." Winters says eventually. "We're assuming our next move is into Germany, possibly farther into the Reich than Berlin. We won't know until we get our orders." He looks apologetic, and both Bucky and Buck know that despite their rank, despite the fact that they’re all officers in the Army, Winters can’t tell them much more. He probably shouldn’t have told them any of this at all.

Winters switches gears, turning to Kat. "What's the diagnosis, Kat?"

"Concussion watch for Major Egan," she meets his eyes briefly, "Two broken ribs and obviously the damage to his left eye." Her tone is pretty clinical, but Bucky doesn't take it personally. "I'd like to get some food in both of them, and Major Cleven's got a cough I don't like the sound of."

"Well, he’ll fit right in then.” Nixon says.

Kat rolls her eyes and kicks the Captain lightly with one dangling foot. "I think the interrogation will have to continue another day. I'd like Roe to check them out too." She continues quietly. At their nod, she takes charge, a hand on Buck's shoulder to guide him out the door, and a glance over her shoulder at Bucky signaling that he should follow.

Outside, he finally asks. "Why is it you don't have one of those lapel pins yet, Gray?"

She snorts. "I should think it's obvious, Major."

"Really, the rank thing is all bullshit anyway." He says.

"John..." Buck grumbles as they walk.

"It's okay--" Kat says, stopping only when they hear a loud whistle overhead. Bucky's entire body tenses. They’d been hearing artillery in the distance at the stalag for weeks, but it’s different when it’s happening right over their heads. "Over here." Kat’s voice is firm, urgently directing them into a doorway.

"Is that--" Buck stops short of asking, the earth rumbling under their feet for a moment.

"Enemy artillery. They're not that accurate. We're too close- they're just on the other side of the river."

"And yet...." He looks down at the way she’s setting her helmet firmly down on her head and raises his eyebrows at the urgency in her voice.

She sighs. "Let me find you both a place to sleep and some food, and then I'll tell you what the last few months have been like."

Kat leads them upstairs where they're given a small kit with some essentials, and a few k-rations to split between the two of them. They've even got a chocolate bar to split, and Bucky swears he's never tasted anything so good in his life.

"Don't go bragging about that," the soldier who handed it to him says. "I'll never hear the end of it."

Kat chuckles from her spot on a beat-up sofa in the center of the room. It’s some sort of supply depot - different members of the company trail in and out, hauling boxes with ammo, rations, and even mail at one point. It’s clear many of them are bunking in here too.

She tells them about the last few months in Bastogne - her eyes go a little hazy and her face clouds over in grief as she skips some of the nastier parts. “Once you hear the whistle of artillery like that, you don’t forget what comes after. That’s why I’m a little jumpy. Even though they’re missing us with mortars all day, it's just…” She shrugs. “It’s never a sure thing.”

"Tell me about that arm, Kat." Bucky says, curiosity getting the better of him. "Let me guess, I should see the other guy?" He asks.

"Not exactly." She says, smile dimming. “Like I said, German artillery went off pretty much every day, at all hours. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

"Got knocked on her ass." Another man sitting opposite her says. His eyes have been narrowed on Buck and Bucky since they arrived.

"Oh, shut up, Lieb." Kat bites back, but there's no heat in her words.

Buck and Bucky share a look, the barest hint of a smile on Gale's face. The friendly banter makes Bucky ache for a simpler time, when they’d be doing nothing but giving each other shit and playing cards all night. It feels like a thousand years ago.

“I was wounded from shrapnel here,” she gestures at her arm. “Lost quite a bit of blood. Lucky for me, I was unconscious for the aftermath.”

More whistling suddenly sounds overhead. It sounds louder, closer than before. It's strange - Bucky knows how to anticipate enemy fighters, but this is uncharted territory for him.

"Everyone up." Kat orders, the few other men in the room standing hastily and gesturing that the Majors should follow them. "Wait--" She stops, pausing to listen. The urgency in her expression feels different than it did before, outside on the street.

"We gotta go, Kat." Liebgott says harshly, eyes a little wild.

Another whistle. The entire building shakes.

"Christ," Buck bites out through grit teeth.

On instinct, Kat reaches out to steady Bucky, one hand falling tight on his wrist. They keep each other upright, and he sees Liebgott doing the same thing on Kat's other side. His hand is clasped tight around her elbow, and then the next whistle comes screeching in.

"Go!" Buck says, always the leader, even when he's out of his element.

The four of them go racing down the steps, pausing only when the building shakes so violently, Bucky is sure it's going to come down with them still inside.

"Move!" Kat urges, pushing at his back when he falters. "I didn't nurse you back to life just to watch you die here, Major Egan." They all trip over each other halfway down the stairs when another blast hits, and Bucky coughs as dust and crumbled plaster rain down on them from above.

They've all stopped on the ground floor, crouched low as if that would stop an entire building from coming down on them. Buck's arm is over Kat's shoulders, Liebgott pressed tight to her other side.

"Medic!" The shout is nearby, and frantic. Kat squirms under Gale's arm.

"Major Cleven, I need you to let me up." She says, calm.

Buck blanches like he hadn't even realized he was doing it. "Sorry."

"No time for apologies, and none needed." She says. "Lieb, take them to the CP? They’re bunking there for the night."

With a quick smile, she's gone as if she had never been there in the first place, and they're left a little dazed, watching her go.

Out on the street, they hear raised voices, but Liebgott ushers them on, his steps quick. He keeps giving Bucky a look, so finally he decides to just tackle it head on.

"You don't have to keep looking at me like I'm going to steal your girl."

To his amazement, Liebgott's eyes go wide for a fraction of a second before he laughs, loudly. A cackle, really. "Major, she's not my girl. Though if you want a shiner to match the one you’ve already got, you keep on making the moves on her. In fact, I'd pay money to see what happens when--"

"Alright, alright." Bucky says. "I get the picture. Jesus."

"You haven't met Captain Speirs yet." Liebgott says, an amused smirk still on his face, stopping in front of yet another half crumbling building. "Third floor. Good luck. Doc Roe is up there too - Kat wanted you to see him."

Buck levels Bucky with an exasperated look as soon as they get inside. "Been awake for less than two hours and already causing trouble."

"Trouble finds me, Buck."

They head upstairs and walk right into an argument. A man is in the center of the room, hands on his hips. Another medic is in front of him, looking for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Uh-- sorry to interrupt." Gale, ever the peacemaker, speaks up.

The man turns, giving them a view of the captain's bars glinting on his garrison cap. He says nothing, turns back to the medic in front of him. "Roe, listen. I already told her she's better off in bed but just do me a favor and give her a shift tomorrow morning. She's out there doing god knows what no matter what we say anyway. Might as well do it where you can keep an eye on her."

He exhales, turns back to the two newcomers. "Majors Cleven and Egan? I’m Captain Speirs. You'll be bunking here until we can figure out what to do with you."

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t smirk. This is the infamous Captain Speirs that Kat may or may not be involved with.

"We hope we'll be out of your hair soon." Buck says.

"That'll be up to Doc Roe’s evaluation, I'm afraid." He gestures at the other medic, informally introducing them. "You've seen Kat already?"

Bucky nods. "Just got debriefed and almost shelled to death. She's somewhere dealing with a casualty."

Speirs' expression doesn't change too much, but it's enough that Bucky notices the way his jaw clenches and he shifts his weight.

"Man of few words." Bucky mutters under his breath.

"Better go see what's going on. No patrol tonight, so take your time, Roe, and for God's sake, make sure Lipton actually gets some sleep?"

"Yes, sir."

As Speirs leaves, the medic turns to them with a tired smile. "Sorry for all the commotion. We don't usually have visitors."

Bucky snorts. "You don't say." He settles himself on a chair while Roe has Buck move into a better light so he can see.

"I know Kat already did a preliminary check but I'll just do my own, if you don't mind." He frowns. "Those scars are awfully symmetrical, Major."

Bucky goes tense. Doesn't like the way Roe is sizing up his friend. Doesn't want Buck to have to relive any of it if he doesn't have to.

"Any of your jumps involve you going feet first through a German farmhouse window, Doc?" Buck rasps, eyebrow arching.

Roe hums, already moving to clean up a scrape from Buck's temple. "We had some nice fellas clear out a spot for us to land on our last jump."

"You also jump out of your planes on purpose."

Roe grins. "This is true." He wipes at a small spot of crusted blood near Buck's hairline. "This healed well enough. No infection. Seems like you might be stuck with them, though they might fade eventually."

Buck doesn't say anything. No more probing questions from the Doc either, for which Bucky is grateful.

“You and Kat both have that same cough…” He says, almost to himself. “We’ve got pneumonia going around, but your breathing sounds okay. Keep that scarf on,” he says, gesturing to the olive drab scarf tucked around Gale’s neck. “Try to stay warm. If we get another supply drop I might have something else for you, but it’ll probably have to wait until you get back home.”

Home. Thorpe Abbotts… it all seems so impossible.

"You're up, Major Egan." Roe says, waiting until he's seated in front of him to dab lightly at the bruising around his eye. "You're lucky you didn't lose this eye." He says mildly. "Looks like Kat cleaned it well; I'm not going to risk irritating it further." He stands back, crossing his arms. "About those ribs..."

Bucky bites back a wince and a noise of pain as Roe applies pressure to his midsection. “It’s not the first time. No time to let them heal up and they probably didn’t heal right the first time, either.

Roe meets his eyes. “Are you short of breath? Any stabbing pain?”

Bucky shrugs. "I've had worse."

Roe must read the expression on his face, because he doesn't push. Whether he can read in between the lines or not, he gets the message, and Bucky is grateful, because he can't talk about that night again. Not the night he was captured, and not the night he and Buck finally got out. He's just-- he wants to forget it ever happened.

"You'll bunk here with the other officers tonight." Roe says. "I'd get some rest before chow time, if I were you."

Buck and Bucky have no problem taking orders, and they're both almost asleep on their cots before their heads even hit the pillow. Bucky still feels anxious about how they're going to get back to England, but he hears the laughter of men outside, and is just grateful to be alive. To be back amongst allies, even if it's only temporary.

.

Bucky wakes early. He sits up slowly, groaning. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone move. “Jesus Christ, Kat.”

She cackles. “I’m so sorry. I was checking to see if you were still asleep.” She says, tone full of mirth.

He huffs as she laughs for a few more seconds before taking a step closer.

“How’s your head?”

He shrugs. “Sore.”

“Ribs?”

“Feel like I was kicked by a horse.”

“Do you think you can eat?”

He nods and Kat gestures that he should follow her. In the large living area, a few of the officers he met the day before are sitting around a long table, metal bowls with what looks like the world’s worst oatmeal in hand.

“Morning.” Captain Winters greets them both. He looks down at his wrist and checks his watch. “You should still be asleep.” He says pointedly to Kat, who has been doing her best to hide a cough in her elbow, but everyone can see the shadows under her eyes.

“Sorry sir. Wanted to check on the majors.”

“Where’s Buck?” Bucky asks suddenly, feeling guilty he hadn’t even checked.

“Took a walk.” Kat says. “Roe is with him.” She gestures for Bucky to sit, leans in to speak quietly to him. “He had a rough time sleeping.”

Bucky hadn’t heard a thing. He was so out of it, the exhaustion of the last week catching up to him.

Winters is watching him carefully. Clearing his throat, he asks, “So. Explain these nicknames to me.”

It’s so unexpected that Bucky can’t help but laugh. Bucky accepts the change in subject gratefully. He tells the whole story. Leaves out some of the more colorful details Gale would have added.

“You enlisted before Pearl Harbor?” Kat asks.

“So you beat us to the war in more ways than one,” Another officer at the other end of the table says, grinning. Bucky was introduced to Harry Welsh the night before, but he was so exhausted he doesn’t think he did more than exchange pleasantries. He likes him right away - he’s got a glint in his eye that showcases his good humor.

“Say, Gray, did you know if anyone in the Air Corps gets kicked off two crews, they get sent to the infantry?” Bucky leans back in his chair, accepts a bowl of what appears to be oatmeal from Kat as she passes it along.

“That explains a lot,” Welsh says with a wry smile.

Bucky grins. “Smartest guys in your division probably came from us first.”

Kat looks between the two men, shaking her head but smiling as she gives Bucky a faux stern look. “You’re confused, Major. We’re not just infantry. We’re the Airborne.”

The other Lieutenant down at the end of the table grins. “Could have used a few more of you bomber boys to clear the way for us on D-Day.”

“Kind of a shame I missed it, but I was otherwise occupied.” Bucky says. He looks away, not wanting to think too hard on what was going on in his head when they heard the invasion had started. It hadn’t been a good stretch of days for him.

“Morning,” Buck’s voice announces himself, and he comes in looking better than Bucky has seen him for weeks. The shadows under his eyes are still there, those scars on his cheeks prominent against his pale skin, but he looks more like himself.

“Major Cleven,” Kat says with a smile. “Got a bowl with your name on it.” Her tone is pleasant, but doesn’t leave any room for refusal. “Have a seat.”

A gentle smile tilts Buck’s mouth as he takes the bowl from her hands. “Yes ma’am.”

Buck and Bucky tuck in to their food, letting the chatter of Easy Company fill in the silence. Bucky feels…. Envious. It’s a strange feeling. He watches the way the officers and Kat and the various men who drift in and out of the building interact, and besides the guys in the Stalag, the boys in The 100th haven’t always been lucky enough to get to know their comrades like this.

It’s clear to him that Easy is a group that have been together a long time.

“What’s on your mind?” Buck asks, voice low.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just– wish the other guys were here. That’s all.”

Buck watches him closely. “Yeah.”

Kat is called away to the aid station before long, and they’re left with Captain Winters. He’s quiet, but asks them both where they’re from and how long they’ve been in the service. It’s an easy conversation, Lieutenant Welsh chiming in here and there before they both excuse themselves for a meeting.

“Something’s going down tonight.” Bucky says.

Buck nods, tucking another spoon of oatmeal into his mouth.

Kat comes back a little while later, lips in a tight line. The Majors watch her carefully, trying to figure out if they should go back to their rooms and give her some space.

“If you need something to do you can help me over here for a minute,” she says quietly. Her voice is flat.

“Everything okay?” Buck asks, tone gentle but inquiring. He’s good at this part - trying to get someone to open up without pushing. God knows Bucky has been on the receiving end of it more than enough times.

“Fine, I– I don’t know how much I can say.” She gestures for them to join her, and she hands Buck a handful of bandages to roll. “I’m just tired of losing people.” She says quietly, almost to herself.

Buck and Bucky don’t say anything – what is there to say? They know too how people - friends - are there one minute and gone the next. They busy themselves helping her, all three of them falling into a contemplative silence.

“You know,” Bucky says, “you’re keeping these guys alive, Kat. Even an idiot with only one eye can see that.”

That gets a smile, even a small one, and Bucky starts to feel for the first time like everything is going to be okay, eventually.

.

The door downstairs flies open with a bang in the middle of the night, and Bucky is on his feet before he even realizes what he’s doing. He has a flash of a memory - a clanging cell and screaming German voices - before he remembers where he is.

Hearing Kat’s loud voice doesn’t do anything to slow his heart rate. Across the hall, Buck is also up and moving, heading down the stairs with just one look at Bucky. Raised voices fill the space and for a minute Bucky can’t tell what’s happening.

“Here. Put him here!” Kat’s voice is high pitched and urgent, and he can hear the frustration in her voice clear as a bell.

“Majors, welcome to the patrol,” another gruff voice snaps, and a man with sergeant stripes turns to them. His face is exhausted. “Make yourselves useful and help Kat.”

“I need a light!” She calls out, looking around for anyone who can help. “Now!”

“Here–” The same sergeant is shoving past Bucky, holding out a lighter.

Buck and Bucky are moving, helping to hold down the soldier on the table so Kat can see.

“You’re all right, just keep still,” her voice lowers, hand pressed to the man’s forehead. “Major, there’s a syrette in my left pocket.”

It’s unclear which one of them she’s talking to, but Gale moves first, extracting the syrette quickly. “Better if you do it, Kat.” He says.

She takes it with nimble fingers, sticking it in the man’s shoulder. “I need Captain Speirs–” She breaks off, seeing someone over Bucky’s shoulder. She snaps her fingers. “Lip, I need the captain, we need a jeep.”

“Everyone else clear out, give her some space.”

“Not you–” Kat says, hand clasping Gale’s forearm. “Need help for one more minute. Need you to hold him here,” she says, gesturing towards the wounded man’s other shoulder.

With a deep breath, Buck does as instructed, bracing the man as Kat does something to his wound that has Bucky turning the other direction, suddenly woozy as the soldier lets out a harsh cry, writhing slightly under both Kat and Buck’s bracing hold.

Bucky moves closer despite his rolling stomach, wanting to help, but Kat lifts her head, shaking it at his approach.

“I don’t think so, Bucky. Not with those ribs.” She turns her attention to Sergeant Martin, still there with the lighter. “Sarge, I need that light closer.”

“Kat.” Buck’s voice is a little strangled, and Kat looks over quickly, eyes flicking down to the man on the table who has stopped writhing, eerily still.

She pushes him aside quickly, pressing two fingers to the man’s pulse. She sighs. “He’s okay, he’s just unconscious. Probably from the pain. It’ll be harder to move him that way.” She looks back at Martin, “Sarge, we need at least one other person.”

Just then, Lipton comes back in with Speirs hot on his heels, face tight with tension.

“Kat.” Speirs says, voice firm and full of relief all at once. “What happened?”

“Sniper to the shoulder. He’s stable but he needs a surgeon.” She responds without looking up, missing the look on the captain’s face when he sees her whole and intact.

“Martin.” Speirs barks.

The man doesn’t flinch, barely even takes his eyes off the younger private on the table. “We took fire almost immediately when we crossed the river but we got three prisoners. Liebgott and Web are trying to get some info out of them with Nixon.”

“And Patterson?” He gestures to the young private.

“Sniper, as soon as we turned a corner. No one saw him until he fired. We turned tail right after that.”

Speirs runs a hand down his face. Everyone in this room looks exhausted. Bucky wonders if he’s misreading the tension - they look how he’s felt for the last six months. “Get him in a jeep.”

Kat, Lipton, and Martin work quickly, leaving Buck and Bucky momentarily to stand there, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Buck.”

His friend looks up, eyes refocusing, but he seems a million miles away.

“All right?”

“Fine. Just— he couldn’t have been eighteen.”

“He just turned nineteen two days ago.” Kat says roughly, reentering the room and shoving past them. “We had a party.” Her voice is a bitter, angry thing. “We keep doing these prisoner snatches, and we lost a man during the first one. It just feels so… pointless.” She looks up at them, schooling her expression. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be–”

The doors open again and Kat is back to being all business. Martin and Lipton come back inside a minute later, and the night stills, like nothing happened in the first place. Martin and Lipton lean against the now-empty table, arms crossed over their chests, and Kat all but collapses in a chair, hands trembling slightly.

“Appreciate your help, Majors.” Lipton says with an exhausted smile.

“Any time.” Bucky says. “Though I wasn’t much help.” He’s got that tone again, he knows he does, where he’s feeling like he’s not doing enough, that he’s not enough, and it earns him a sharp look from Buck.

“You two should go back to bed,” Kat says quietly. “We’re going to try to get you out of here tomorrow and it’ll be a long journey back to England.”

There’s a weird feeling brewing in Bucky’s gut where he almost doesn’t want to leave. It’s the venture into the unknown - every time they’ve been in a situation where it was going back home, back to England, or having something bad happen as the alternative, things have gone wrong.

Despite being on the front, this feels like the safest they’ve been in months, and he’s reluctant to give up this camaraderie.

Kat must read something on his face, because her shoulders straighten. “Major Egan, you’re going to go home. That’s– the rest of us don’t have that choice.”

Properly chagrined, Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Her expression is gentle, so he knows there was no bite behind her words, he just yet again is coming to terms with the fact that she’s been through hell and isn’t the same person he met all those years ago at the pub.

“Respectfully, sirs, off to bed with you both. Right now.”

Buck puts his hands up in surrender and heads up the stairs. Bucky trails behind him, Kat on his heels. Martin and Lipton bring up the rear, both looking like they could fall asleep standing up if need be.

After a whispered conversation in the hallway, Kat taps on Bucky’s door before entering. “I didn’t mean to be harsh, before.”

“You weren’t. You’re right.”

“Still, I know it’s not easy to feel… grateful, or relieved about your situation. Especially not after what you’ve been through.”

“It doesn’t need to be the ‘who has it worse’ Olympics, Gray.” He shrugs. “Two weeks ago it was probably me, but today and tonight it’s you.” He smiles at her. “Look, you’re going through this shit day in and day out and still putting on a brave face for everyone else.” He turns to face her fully. “Ever considered a transfer to the Air Corps?” He winks to let her know he’s kidding.

“Not in a million years, Major.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Get some rest, Bucky, and we’ll reexamine those ribs in the morning.”

“Thanks, Kat.”

.

The morning comes too soon for Bucky’s liking, and when he heads downstairs, there are only the remnants of the night’s watch group milling around. No sign of Kat anywhere, which makes Bucky a little anxious, but he heads inside the other room anyway, conversation dying as soon as he enters.

A lieutenant whose uniform looks so clean, it almost hurts to look at him snaps to attention.

“No, no, no.” Bucky says, tone wary. “Uh, at ease. No need for that.”

“Sir.” He says anyway, and there are a few snickers from the other men.

“Any chance for a coffee?” Bucky asks, sending a relieved smile at a man he hasn’t met yet who hands him a cup.

“It’s not hot yet but give me a minute.”

“Thanks, uh–” He squints at the stripes, “Sergeant–”

“Malarkey.”

A few more bodies filter into the room, and finally Kat appears, spending a second frowning and fussing over Bucky. She prods gently at the bruising around his eye and he winces, trying to cover up his reaction. She sees it anyway, lines between her brows getting deeper.

“Hurts worse than yesterday?”

“Not really. The same.” He replies. He’s extremely aware of all the eyes in the room being on him and Kat, and it makes him shift his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Why don’t you get a cup of coffee before it’s gone, huh?” He says. “Friends are waiting for you.”

Kat looks over her shoulder. “Yeah. Okay. But don’t think you’re getting away with pretending you’re fine, Bucky.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kat gives him one last stern look before making a beeline for Liebgott in the corner who is holding an extra cup. He hands it over when she gets close, and Bucky watches the way the man eyes her carefully, like he’s trying to make sure she’s not going to fall apart any second.

It makes Bucky wonder about his guys, about the rest of the 100th and how they’re faring. He wonders how long the guilt will eat at him – probably until he sees for himself that they’re alive and well.

The mood in the room is tense, and Bucky wonders what happened before he came down, and notices one man’s bleary eyes on him. Bucky knows that look. The man’s attention quickly diverts to another fresh-faced private who enters the room quietly.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Webster?”

The room falls quiet.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, college boy.”

Bucky frowns and makes quick eye contact with Kat from across the room. Her expression is concerned.

“Are you drunk, trooper?” The lieutenant who had saluted Bucky asks, voice sharp.

“Leave me alone.”

Bucky has seen this before. Hell he’s been this before, though at least he had enough sense to not directly mouth off to Colonels Huglin or Harding… not in earshot anyway.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, sir, I am drunk, sir. Drunk. Sick and tired of fucking patrols… taking orders.”

Sergeant Martin shifts on his seat. “Hey, Cobb. Shut up. It’s boring, okay?”

“Taking his side, Johnny?”

“Both of you–” Kat tries to interrupt.

“Shut up, Kat.”

A pin could drop three floors above them and everyone would hear it. Bucky’s jaw clenches tight, and he registers Buck entering the room behind him, footsteps quiet, clearly having overheard the entire thing.

Kat doesn’t look angry. She looks… sad? It makes Bucky wonder what happened to Cobb before he got to this point. Bucky knows the toll watching your friends die and feeling hopeless can take. He knows it doesn’t take much to reach a point you can’t come back from.

“Watch your mouth.” Liebgott fires back, taking half a step forward before Kat puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Sarge, they’re on their way in.” A voice from the doorway says, and Buck and Bucky move out of the way as Captain Winters and Speirs enter the room. They step out, not wanting to intrude more than they already have, but not before Malarkey hands them the promised cups of coffee that have been percolating for the last few minutes.

Bucky nods his thanks, and settles in a ripped up armchair across from Buck.

“Was hoping to get an update, but sounds like they might be in for another bad night.” Bucky says, taking a sip of the hot liquid. It’s not real coffee, but it’s warm, and he feels better almost instantly.

“What was all that about?”

Bucky shakes his head. “They’re– everyone’s tired.”

“He went after Kat.” Gale quirks a brow. “Doesn’t seem like that happens too often.”

“She held her own just fine.” Bucky says, smirking. “Besides, how many times have you had to stop me mouthing off like that? After all this shit… surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

They both stop for a second, savoring their coffee and trying to pretend they’re not eavesdropping.

“... I want you all to get a full night’s sleep tonight.” Captain Winters says, and the following silence is loud. Bucky’s eyebrows raise. “In the morning, you will report to me that you made it across the river into German lines, but were unable to secure any live prisoners. Understand?”

“I’ll be damned.” Buck whispers.

Everyone streams out, fresh smiles on their faces. It’s contagious, and Bucky stands when Winters greets him, leans in to shake his hand.

“Not a word, Major.”

“Of course.”

Speirs stops in front of them, and even he has upturned lips on his normally stoic face. Kat trails a few steps behind. Bucky can see it now, the way it seems like they’re extremely aware of the other one’s presence, like two magnets being drawn together, but trying to keep it quiet.

“Majors.” He says quietly. “Got an ETA on the transport to get you out of here. Tomorrow morning we’ll get you on a jeep to the hospital, and a ticket back to Thorpe Abbotts.”

Tomorrow.

It feels impossible. Buck’s hands are on his hips as he looks at the ground, a small smile growing on his face. Bucky imagines he looks the same way.

“Christ.” Bucky grins, throwing his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Home.”

“Then we do whatever we can to bring our boys home with us.” Buck says firmly, eyes on his friend.

“They won’t let us fly–”

“I’m getting back behind that stick, John.”

Bucky nods. There’s no talking Gale out of something once he makes up his mind. And the scariest part is that Bucky knows he’ll be right there in the seat next to him if it comes down to it.

“Major Cleven,” Kat says, and she looks hesitant to interrupt. “I appreciate your ambition, but please take the time you need to fully recover.” She looks between them. “Both of you. Please.”

“Only if you do the same,” Buck says with a raised eyebrow, though his smile is assuring. “Heard you coughing all night.”

Bucky has forgotten that Speirs is still there leaning against a table in the corner, but sees him straighten out of the corner of his eye. He bites back a smile.

“Who is the medic here?” Kat asks archly.

Gale holds up his hands in surrender. “Just making sure you take your own advice.”

“You’re not the only one,” Speirs says quietly, but he too has an easy smile on his face, and with the way Kat double takes, it seems she’s just as surprised as the rest of them. “It should be a quiet night. We’ll get some chow and then get you both ready to go. Kat?”

“With you in a second,” she says, and watches as he leaves. She turns back to Buck and Bucky. “You heard Captain Winters, boys. A full night’s sleep is in order.” She crosses her arms over her chest, sending them a wry smile. “Is it weird that I’ll miss you both a little bit?”

“Don’t let tall, dark, and brooding over there hear you say that.” Bucky says quietly, an amused grin quirking the corners of his mouth.

Kat’s eyes widen. “Bucky! You can’t—”

“Jesus Christ.” Buck whispers, but he laughs too.

“I’m just teasing you. But seriously, Kat– you might not notice the way he looks at you, but I’ve only been here for two days and I can see it. Hell, every guy in there cares about you.” He gestures towards the nearly-empty room behind them. “You should hang on to that.” His voice is suddenly serious, and it makes Kat frown.

There’s so much she doesn’t know about what he’s been through in the last few months. There’s so much he doesn’t know about her. But they both know the toll war can take. They both know how easy it is to lose themselves in the horror of it.

“Can we do anything today to help?” Buck asks, trying to break the suddenly pensive mood, and Kat nods.

“If you’re up for it. We can find something.”

Hours later, they come back from helping Kat at the aid station feeling… dare Bucky say, fulfilled? He talked to so many guys, helped the ones who weren’t able write letters home to their parents and girls, and it gave him that bit of himself back, the piece he’s been trying to rediscover since he went down.

Mealtime is more subdued, but in a contented way that he hasn’t experienced in months. He’s still getting used to having halfway decent food to eat. Buck seems to be soaking it all in too - his quiet conversation with Welsh producing a few laughs and the sight of a smile on his best friend’s face gives him a little bit of hope that maybe they’re both going to be okay at the end of all of this.

.

The next morning they’re awoken by the sound of artillery in the distance. It’s not close enough to be alarmed, but Bucky was hoping for a quiet morning so they could make their getaway in peace.

He’s not really worried about anything else happening at this point, but they’re so close to enemy lines. That nagging thought in the back of his brain won’t fully go away, and probably won’t until he’s back on British soil again.

A knock on the door brings him out of his thoughts, and he straightens fully, finishing buttoning his shirt.

“Morning.” Kat says, looking tired, but happy. “We’re moving out soon. Time to go.”

Bucky nods. “Be down in a minute.”

They have nothing with them, he or Buck, so it doesn’t take them long to get ready. Downstairs in the CP, they’re greeted by the full cadre of officers.

“Good morning, majors.” Captain Winters says, saluting them as they enter. “We’ve got a transport for you back to the field hospital. You’ll link up there with the Red Cross, and then it’s an evacuation flight back to England.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bucky feels the melancholy mood settling in, even though he’s relieved to be on his way. He and Buck head outside with Kat and Doc Roe meets them at the truck.

“They’ll probably want to evaluate you again when you get to the hospital, but it should be quick.” He shakes both their hands, and then excuses himself, leaving them alone with Kat.

“I guess this is it,” Kat says, and Bucky and Buck share a look. She has no idea she’s echoing a conversation they had with each other years ago, but it makes them both smile, memories of an easier time when they had no idea what was coming next washing over them.

“Thank you, Kat.” Buck says, voice quiet and contemplative.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Kat says quietly. “I’m just happy you’re both okay and going home.”

Bucky shuffles his feet, unsure how to properly put into words what these few days with Easy Company have done for him and Buck both. Obviously the alternative could have been the end for both of them, but the universe putting them back in Kat Gray’s orbit still seems too good to be true.

“You take care of yourself.” Bucky says roughly, pointing at her.

“That’s my line.” Kat says, before closing the distance to reach for his hand, squeezing tight.

He returns the contact, unexpectedly feeling his throat getting thick. “You’ve got a good thing going here, Gray. Don’t do anything stupid, understand?”

“The same goes for you, Bucky.” She frowns. “I don’t like the idea of either of you flying again.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s a rule - downed pilots don’t get back in the seat. Buck just does best when he can lead. He’ll be itching to do something.”

“And you?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “I really don’t know what the hell I want, Kat.” For this damned war to be over, he thinks.

“Kat, time to go.” A voice off to the side calls, and both she and Bucky turn to make eye contact with Captain Nixon.

“Coming.”

“Go on,” Bucky says. “Be safe.”

“You too, sir.”

Kat salutes him, which he still finds incredibly uncomfortable, but he returns it dutifully, smiling softly at her. He watches her walk over to Nixon, who hands her a pack that’s been sitting by his feet, and he can see the moment her posture changes and she prepares herself for whatever’s coming next.

“Train’s leaving the station, John.” Buck drawls.

Bucky turns to his friend and takes his offered hand as Buck hauls him into the back of the transport truck. The engine starts, and Bucky takes a minute to say a quiet prayer for Easy Company as they grow smaller in the distance, hoping that better things on the horizon are coming for all of them.

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Mine Nightmare | Part One: Birth - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Summary: Moments, between everything else. Agatha, between everything else. And now, maybe, three of them. Together. Family. 

Word Count: ~2,800

Contains: canon divergence, angst, pregnancy, sad fluff (if that's a thing??), and a lot of soft feelings about Rio

A/N: I sat down to attempt to process episode nine, and this came out instead. Enjoy xx

Read on Ao3

Rio carded careful fingers through Agatha’s hair, brushing stray pieces from her forehead when they fell. 

She was laying with her head in Rio’s lap, curled on her side on the mossy forest floor. Fingers twined together. Safe. 

Rio had been careful to lay the moss down for her. Any bit of padding to make it easier at this stage. 

A soft gasp, and then Agatha was shifting, guiding Rio’s hand over her stomach and pressing her palm flat into skin. A tiny foot pressed against her, no bigger than the heel of her hand, and she pulled her fingers away reflexively. But Agatha was right there, chuckling softly as she smoothed Rio’s hand back down, held her steady against the tiny bumping thing. 

“You can’t hurt him,” she murmured, fingers drifting softly over the back of Rio’s hand. Back and forth, back and forth. 

Rio let her eyes flutter shut, leaning forward and burying her nose in Agatha’s hair. Just for a second. Just for this one moment. 

It was safe, of course. Agatha was the barrier between her and all things. And Agatha was protecting her unborn child from Rio even now, her skin a shield against Death’s touch. Rio didn’t know why she could touch Agatha without any repercussions. She only remembered that first time— Agatha grabbing desperately for her hand through the mess of tears, barely a woman, splitting open at the seams as she sobbed because she hadn’t meant to. She hadn’t meant any of it. Again. Rio had ripped her hand away lightning fast, watching Agatha’s face in horror and waiting for the skin to pale and crack and dissolve away. But it hadn’t. Her cheeks were flushed red, tears streaking and marring the perfect blue of her eyes. Her lips had been swollen, sticky with tears, chin wobbling. And then, she had reached for Rio again. 

Rio could still smell the fern and wet dirt, the stench of death that hung in the air. She could still hear the tiniest hitch of breath as Agatha left her hand there, shaking, suspended. The way she stiffened as Rio stepped towards her, like she wanted to run but wouldn’t. And the feel of her— so warm. So, so soft. 

Fingers had skated hesitantly along skin, and Rio hadn’t been able to tell if it was Agatha that was trembling or if it was her. But she watched ice blue eyes as she touched, waiting, waiting, waiting. When nothing happened, she let herself look down. Agatha’s fingers were twitching under her touch, and Rio reached up with her other hand to steady her. Held her still in her grip as her thumbs traced the lines of her palm. She took a shaking breath, shifting them up to the vulnerable skin on the inside of her wrist. Agatha had let out the most delicious sound, tipping her head back, and Rio glanced up at her for the briefest moment — just to make sure — before pressing her thumb against her pulse point. Thrumming, into her skin. Vibrating into her very soul. Life, in her hands. Beating on. 

“You’re a miracle,” Rio had breathed, almost without thinking. Except she meant it. When Agatha pulled away and muttered something about her mother, Rio had grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, instantly and dangerously comfortable touching her. She had slid her hands up Agatha’s neck slowly, cupping her face and forcing her eyes up. “You are a miracle, Agatha.” 

And now, here she was. Proving Rio right again. 

Another small kick, and Agatha winced against a chuckle, shifting slightly. “I think he likes you.” 

She turned her head to look up at Rio, and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips was the only thing that stopped the words from tumbling from Rio’s mouth on instinct. 

He shouldn’t. 

Instead, she managed her own smile, borderline a smirk, and pushed a curl from Agatha’s face. “How do you know it’s a boy, hm? There’s every chance there’s a little girl in there, just as powerful as you.” 

“She wishes,” Agatha scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully. But then she was wincing again, and Rio helped the best she could as she rolled fully onto her back. Hands over her stomach, grown infinitely larger than when Rio had seen her last, tugging at Rio’s fingers and playing with them mindlessly. 

These moments — so, so rare — were what Rio lived for. Or rather, what made her life worth living. She hadn’t thought much about her actual life aside from her work and responsibilities. Not until she had met Agatha. Because she hadn’t known much about life until she had met Agatha. Until she had heard Agatha’s laugh for the first time. Until Agatha had cooked her a meal. Until Agatha had dragged her through a small little village, cackling and dodging people and practically skipping as they headed for the field just over the hill. 

Moments, between everything else. Agatha, between everything else. And now, maybe, three of them. Together. 

Family. 

“I’m just…” Agatha murmured, eyes staring past Rio and up into the canopy of trees. Her fingers twitched over Rio’s palm. 

“Just what, my love?” 

A long, steadying breath. “I’m terrified. Of having to do all of it alone.” 

But of course, all good things had to come to an end. 

Rio swallowed hard, rejection burning up her throat. It was a relatively new sensation, carefully crafted by Agatha’s existence. “And what if you didn’t have to do it alone...?” 

Agatha visibly startled beneath her, shifting her gaze back to Rio’s face. Realization seemed to strike in the same moment. “No, no— not— I only meant…” She huffed out a breath. After all of these years, Rio still found it too endearing that she was seemingly the only person who could fluster her. “I meant the hard part.” 

The hard part. Creation. Birth. Rio could do it with the snap of her fingers. 

“It won’t be as difficult as you think,” Rio said softly. As if to prove her point, she grabbed Agatha’s hand, conjuring a carnation between her fingers and placing it in Agatha’s palm. 

The smile she got in reward was beaming. 

“Now, you tell him to come out that easily.” 

“Her,” Rio corrected, pulling the flower from Agatha’s hand and balancing it atop her stomach. “And she knows not to give you any trouble, else I’m coming for her.” 

Her wide smirk and raised brow made Agatha toss her head back in a full laugh, and then, before Rio knew what was happening, a warm kiss was pressed to her cheek. She flushed, despite herself. 

They sat in silence for a long moment, Agatha’s fingers tracing the petals of the flower and Rio’s hand smoothing over stretch marks just blossoming. Back and forth, back and forth. 

“You know,” Rio said softly, loathe to break the silence, “you’ll only have to do the first bit alone.” 

Agatha nodded, shifting closer. “I know. I just wish you could be there. He’s yours, too.” 

“I’ll be there for the rest of it,” Rio murmured, pressing a kiss to Agatha’s forehead. “And she will be loved more than any child could dream. And safe. I promise.” 

—————— ⋆˖⁺‧ ☾ ‧⁺˖⋆ ——————

Rio skimmed her hand over the old woman’s cheek, ice and stone beneath her touch. And then, she woke. 

“Come,” Rio said gently, reaching for her hand. “It’s time to go.” 

The woman’s brow furrowed, then immediately rose. “No. No— My grandchildren, my daughter… I need more time.” 

“You’ve had plenty,” Rio said, reaching further. “Come.” 

The woman walked slowly, and Rio walked with her. Through the trees, through the woods. Through the memories that flowed like a gentle breeze around them. She had lived a full life. Rio smiled. 

And then, a tug. 

Rio ignored it. She wasn’t finished with this one yet. But before she had taken two more steps, it tugged again, harder this time. Rio stuttered, and the old woman stopped beside her. 

“No,” Rio said softly, shaking her head. “You go ahead. Keep walking. I have something to attend to.” 

She seemed to understand, wise and worldly after all of those years. Most of the older women were. There was something about aging that seemed to breed thoughts of death. Rio had never understood it— the balance was even. She walked just as many children across as she did adults. 

Rio pulled out her knife, digging hard into the folds of spacetime and dragging down. She held the edge of the curtain open for the woman, prompting her through. “Keep walking. Your mother is waiting for you at the end.” 

Once the woman had disappeared, she stitched the seam shut again. 

The tug was burning now, and she walked quickly as she followed it. A few miles down the path, she heard it. 

A woman’s cries. 

They grew louder as she drew nearer, more and more frequent and rising in pitch. She was closing in through the thick of trees when the woman gasped. 

Rio stopped. 

A groan, a huffed breath. An anguished cry. 

There was the proof that Rio had a heart— the way it seized in her chest, ice splintering through her veins and feet rooted to the ground. A hot tear dropped onto her cheek, and Rio startled, swiping it away. She stared down at her fingers, glistening in the sunlight streaming through the trees. 

Moments, between the living. Moments, between the dead. Moments with Agatha, safe. Moments with— 

Another cry, this one more visceral than the last. It came through gritted teeth. Rio didn’t even need to see her to know. She had sounded the exact same so many years ago, when a witch hunter had managed to strike her in the side, just under her ribs. Rio had methodically stitched her up then, careful not to touch the wound, just in case. Agatha had laughed, straightening and rolling her neck out as Rio hauled the soul up by his collar and shoved him through the door. Agatha had walked no more than twenty feet before she started panting, and Rio had picked her up easily and carried her back to their camp. Agatha kept their fingers twined together the entire night. 

“Please,” Agatha ground out, voice drifting through the still woods. “You’re okay, just— please.” 

Rio closed her eyes, licking her lips slowly as she listened to Agatha panting, all that way away. She reached for the tug, for the invisible string pulling her to someone else’s fate. As long as it wasn’t Agatha. As long as it wasn’t Agatha. 

The child’s cries were distorted, muffled and swimming, just as everyone’s last words were. They urged her forward, and she found herself swaying up on her toes before she could stop it. She snapped her eyes open, forcing her heels back down into dirt. 

No. 

No. 

It was the one thing she couldn’t do. Because it wasn’t Agatha, not really. Except he was. In every way that mattered, he was. 

He.  

She could feel it now, the life waning inside of Agatha. The stretch and pull as it tried to fight the string winding tighter between them. He was definitely male. Agatha had been right. 

The child’s cries grew louder, searing in Rio’s mind. Rattling in her teeth, making acid pool in her mouth. She dug her heels harder into the soil beneath her, and the earth tilted on its axis. The trees swayed sideways, creaking against the force of gravity. The force of her. The balance of life was fighting against her. 

No. 

She was fighting against it. 

A ringing started in her ears, morphing the child’s cries to shrieks of agony, demonic screeching as she felt reality start to shake around her. 

She had to do it. If she kept fighting… it felt as if the world was coming apart at the seams. Natural order had to be maintained. 

There was a certain curiosity that bloomed, under all of the pain and gripping into the present, because she had never actually done this before. It was the reason for her creation, it was the reason for her existence. She had never actually taken the time to question what would happen if she refused. 

People had begged her. Of course they had. But she had never once hesitated. 

Limbs snapped off of a tree, hitting the ground and shaking it with the force of the gods that came before her. A flock of birds, scattered. Agatha’s cries blending with the shrieking of the crows. 

Rio set her jaw and forced herself to step closer. One foot, another. With each step, the world righted and reality settled. So she kept stepping, again and again, until she reached the small clearing at the edge of a lake. She could see Agatha now, sweaty and matted, hair sticking to her face. She was cradling her stomach, cradling the baby, legs spread wide as she crouched against a tree. 

“Please,” she panted, sniffing against sobs. “Please…” 

One last breath. For Rio. For him. She would gift him one more. A split second decision, and she formed an orchid in her hand. Something for Agatha. A life for a life. 

She rounded the tree with her heart pounding somewhere in her throat, legs trembling as she forced herself forward. Agatha sensed her before she came into view, head whipping up and eyes wide. She looked around frantically, and Rio took the final step out into the clearing. Eyes met. The earth tilted again. 

It was the first time that Agatha had ever looked at her in fear. 

“No,” she choked out, hands gripped protectively across her stomach. She licked her lips, shaking her head. “No.“ 

“Agatha,” Rio said softly, taking another step closer. Fidgeting with the flower. 

“I said no!” Agatha shouted, and Rio actually faltered. 

“It has to be done,” she tried, bracing herself against the yanking deep in her stomach. He was waiting for her. He was ready. 

Agatha shook her head again, more violently. “It doesn’t. Don’t do this. Please.” 

“I have to—“ 

“Please! Let him live. My love—“ Her voice broke on the last word, sobs wracking through her. “Don’t do this. Please… I need him. I need…” 

Rio’s fingers twitched around the orchid, cold petals a weak replacement for skin. The last time Agatha had cried like this, Rio had felt a heartbeat for the first time. The last time Agatha had cried like this… she had given Rio everything. 

She felt the fabric of fate shifting around her before she even knew what she was doing. The flower fell from her fingers. Agatha gasped, clutching at her stomach. 

“I can give you time,” Rio said, as gently as she could. Unwinding that thread. Unwinding. “Time, Agatha. But eventually… I will have to come back for him.” 

Agatha’s eyes snapped up to hers, the word hanging between them. Him. Something like hope flickered over her features, and Rio couldn’t bear to watch it shatter. So she turned away. 

“How much time?” 

The question was desperate— a plea from a mother for her unborn child. When Rio turned back, Agatha had her eyes squeezed shut. 

She couldn’t answer it. She didn’t even fully know. He would tell her when he was ready. Until then… maybe she could grant Agatha a fraction of what she had gifted her. 

When Agatha opened her eyes again, Rio was lost in the thick of the woods, watching carefully between the leaves as Agatha created life right before her eyes. Her miracle, creating another miracle. 

“…no spell or incantation. You… you were made from scratch.” 

Rio smiled, despite everything, another hot tear falling. She didn’t catch it that time. She simply watched— watched Agatha cradle her child in her arms. Watched her lean down and press their foreheads together. Watched the way his little feet kicked against her palm. 

She felt the ghost of reverberations in her own palm. A happy memory. 

Maybe, if she was lucky, she would get to know him one day. Maybe, she would get to experience moments of his life firsthand, instead of through the sea of memories as she walked him safely to the other side. Maybe, in some way, they could actually be a fraction of a family. 

The tug, again. String pulled taut. Rio grasped at it, yanking it free from herself with a shocked cry. She had been expecting pain, tearing at fate like that. But there was only relief. A stay of execution, filling her lungs like the first breath after drowning. 

She watched the baby, curled together with his mother in the peaceful quiet of the woods, winding his life force between careful fingers. Brushing her thumb against that string in time with the rise and fall of his chest. Back and forth, back and forth. Holding him, the only way she would ever be able to. 

Maybe, one day, Agatha would forgive her. 

“My perfect boy,” Agatha murmured, voice shaking with tears. “What shall we call you, hm?” 

The baby cooed. Agatha smiled. 

The string slipped through Rio’s fingers. 

“I’ll be there for the rest of it, and he will be loved more than any child could dream. And safe. I promise.” 

[justporo]

Because I don't have enough ideas yet, I challenged my bf to give me an out of pocket writing prompt (I was way too deep in my head today so far, so I wanted a mood change). So here is what he came up with:

Scratch ate some piece of jewellery and now Tav and Astarion have to find a fantasy vet (Halsin, it's gonna be Halsin)

So here goes nothing:

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Wordcount: 2k

Saving the Dog in Distress

The troupe had been sitting together by the campfire enjoying the stew Gale had cooked for tonight while the wizard had kept complaining that the artifact you had handed him for his more specific hunger had disappeared without a trace. “Maybe you’re just trying to hoard up all the artifacts behind your back and this is your way to make Tav give you even more”, Astarion had quipped. “Or – even more likely – you simply forgot you already sucked up all the magic because you do too many things at a time”, Karlach had offered as an alternative. Gale had looked angrily at the both of them while you had simply shrugged and promised to try and get him something else tomorrow.

Afterwards the party had disbanded and everyone had been going about their own stuff.

Since Astarion’s confession about his feelings for you, it had become a custom for you and the vampire to snuggle up in his tent come nighttime and spend the night together with trivialities before you laid down for rest together. You usually talked a lot, used the time to get to know each other better, fulfilled some chores (Astarion had - albeit reluctantly - become the camp’s seamster and you the group’s navigator and cartographer) or you just read something together.

Tonight, Scratch had joined you when you had sauntered over to the vampire’s tent to settle down with Astarion for the night. That had significantly soured the pale elf’s mood from his usual grin when he had seen the two of you sauntering over. But you deeply adored the sweet stray which the vampire knew and so Astarion had accepted his fate that the dog would join your cuddle session tonight.

And so, the three of you laid all snuggled up: Astarion on his back, head on a pillow, one arm was holding you and caressing your back as you were snuggled up to his side and head on his chest. His other hand was holding a book in which he tried to read but he was frequently getting distracted by how Scratch was laying on his other side and kept squirming around when you kept petting him.

The dog was now laying across the vampire’s chest and stomach so he could lick your face while you tried to stop him from doing that. When Scratch jumped up excitedly and forcefully landed with his front paws on Astarion’s solar plexus, the vampire “hmpf”ed when all air was driven out of his lungs.

“Alright, the two of you will have to behave now or the vampire is going to put a leash on you – the both of you”, Astarion hissed although you could hear a little bit of a chuckle in his threat. “Don’t promise what you can’t fulfill”, you teased him back and smirked at him naughtily. The vampire looked at you in annoyance while you just chuckled.

You lifted your upper body up so you could lean over him and give him a short but sweet kiss. He immediately grabbed the back of your head softly and deepened the kiss. But when you moved in closer a sudden yelp stopped you. Still leaning over Astarion you turned your head to Scratch who was suddenly sitting in the far corner of the tent, ears drooping, tail basically between his legs and heaving as if he was about to throw up.

The vampire immediately pushed up from his laying position: “Oh no no no, the dog is not going to barf inside my tent! Take him outside!” You crawled over to the white dog who was still desperately heaving and had started howling miserably.

“What is it, Scratch?”, you softly whispered to the stray and reached out to him but the dog winced and turned away even further. “Please, love, take him outside”, Astarion pleaded with you after he had changed into a sitting position. “I can’t if he doesn’t want me to. I think he’s in pain”, you replied and reached out to the dog again.

This time he let you touch him, but he still whimpered as you touched him softly. “Well, don’t you have a spell for this type of situation”, the vampire suggested. You threw him a confused look then remembered that he was right of course. You mumbled the incantation to be able to speak with animals then softly addressed the yelping pup: “What’s wrong, Scratch? Are you hurting?”

“Tummy hurts”, he blurted out. “Can’t get it out.” He was dry heaving again and a shudder moved through his whole body. Astarion came up next to where you knelt. He did not repeat his request to you but instead now actually looked kind of worried himself.

“What can’t you get out? Scratch, did you eat something you weren’t supposed to?”, you carefully asked the dog again who was panting hard. “Oh shit”, you heard Astarion let out under his breath next to you. Oh no, you both probably had had a similar thought.

“Shiny thing the wizard had”, Scratch spat out in between full body shivers. “Thought it was a treat, but it was really tough and not tasty at all”, he continued to explain.

“Oh by the Nine Hells, the dog ate the fucking magical artifact”, Astarion moaned and leaned back on his feet from his kneeling position and burrowed his face in his hands while lifting his face up to the sky. Scratch started to whimper guiltily at the vampire’s accusation. “I’m sorry, friend”, he sobbed and kept shivering, his ears drooping even more now.

When you tried to reach for him to check his stomach but he immediately withdrew and let out a howl of pain. “We need to get him to Halsin, he probably has an idea how to help him”, you said more to Astarion than to the dog. The vampire’s brows had furrowed deeply – obviously he cared more about the dog then he let on. “Should I wake the druid and get him over here?”, he asked but you shook your head. “No, we need to get Scratch out of the tent first, I guess. No way your tent will stay in one piece if you let the seven feet druid in here to deal with a majorly hurting dog”, you gave back and looked at the vampire begging.

Astarion pressed his mouth into a line – no way to argue with that logic. “Please help me, with him, Astarion. You’re stronger than me, can you carry him? I’ll go ahead and wake Halsin up!”, you explained your plan and were already scurrying out of the tent while the vampire was too stunned to reply quickly enough.

Scratch was now silently whimpering and made big sad puppy eyes at the vampire. Astarion stared at him a moment longer before he sighed in defeat. “Please don’t bite me. I’d rather not be on the receiving end”, he murmured and crawled closer to the dog whose tail started to wag weakly despite the pain he was in.

Carefully, Astarion tried to scoop up the large dog into his arms. The dog yowled but obviously heeded the words of warning by the vampire, understanding that he was about to receive help, and tried to hold still. Once the stray was in the elf’s arms Astarion awkwardly crawled out of his tent.

You had run over to where Halsin had been meditating and had quickly woken him up and started to explain what had seemingly happened to the druid who was still only half in the waking world. Once he had caught onto your meaning he had quickly gotten up and started to rummage through his stuff while mumbling about what might be the best to do in this kind of situation.

While the druid was busy you stood around anxiously before you turned around to see Astarion approaching.

For a second or two your heart stopped and your jaw dropped. There he was carrying the poor animal in his arms over to you, his hair still perfect, one curl falling into his face playfully, the muscles on his naked forearms tensed while carrying the large dog. For a second there Astarion almost looked like the perfect fairytale prince. Despite the situation you positively swooned.

You kept staring as the vampire came over and carefully set down the patient. Halsin thanked Astarion by grabbing his elbow for a second and smiling warmly at him. Then the druid got to work. With a calm voice he talked to the dog who immediately seemed much more relaxed in the druid’s presence.

Astarion came over to you: “Judging by the look you gave me I should save more animals, shouldn’t I? You were almost barking yourself.” At first you wanted to humour him but then you decided to only roll your eyes at him while he kept smirking. “Way to ruin every good thing you’ve ever done, Astarion.”

You kept watching how Halsin tended to Scratch. He was mumbling some incantation and shortly after the dog heaved again and again until something sparkly came out of him. And it was – the amulet that had been missing and was actually meant for Gale! The dog heaved one final time then shook himself and sank down on the floor again, his tail was lazily wagging again though.

Halsin happily grabbed the dog by his ears and gave him a big smooch. The druid seemed positively giddy that he had saved Scratch from his pain. He turned to you grinning: “Good thing the two of you acted so quickly. I guess our canine friend will have a stomach ache for some time longer but with some of my special porridge and a lot of water he should be his happy, tail-wagging self again very soon.” He beamed at you – it was obvious that helping creatures in need was one if not the greatest joy in life for the towering elven druid.thethe

You beamed back, it was hard not to feel warm and happy around the druid’s positive and kind aura. And you could swear even Astarion had let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Halsin”, you said and stepped in for a quick hug with the much taller druid.

“No need, this is my purpose. Now, I will take care of our friend and I guess the two of you will want to get back to resting”, Halsin answered and squeezed you. You stepped back and grabbed Astarion’s hand, ready to do as the druid had said.

“Wait – what am I supposed to do with this now?”, Halsin said, so you turned around once more. He was pointing at the magical amulet that formerly had been for Gale. It was full of dog spit and also probably some of Scratch’s previous meals. You couldn’t help but make a disgusted face.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it”, Astarion immediately answered with a mischievous sparkle in his red eyes. You were sure he was up to no good, but you let him do as he wished. But to your surprise he went back to his tent and only returned after a minute or two, carrying a small piece of paper. Then he grabbed the very wet amulet while gagging and making a face and snuck over to Gale’s tent.

He lifted the flap ever so silently and obviously placed the amulet back with his original owner. You watched Astarion close Gale’s tent again and he came back snickering. “What have you done, Astarion?”, you asked but still grabbed his arm to walk back to the vampire’s tent.

“Oh nothing, just returned the artifact to the supposed owner”, he replied with a wink and gave you a quick kiss.

The next morning the whole camp woke to the wizard screaming: “WHO OF YOU JESTERS DID THIS?”

He had woken up to find the amulet full of dog barf next to him on his pillow. Under it was a small note that said:

“Sowwy, I ates your treat, sir wizard. It was nat very tasty, you can has it bak now! XX Scratch”

[familyfriendlydilfartist]

Bedtime (Short)

Synopsis; you can’t fall asleep so you seek comfort.

Warnings; None

One thing everyone in camp knew was Astarion enjoyed reading. They would always catch him with his nose in a book, crimson eyes taking in every word moving slowly from the top to the bottom of the page. Astarion often held onto the books he found when looting crates and shelves during your adventures.

It was midnight and everyone was getting ready to settle down for the night. Shadowheart sat In her tent unbraiding her hair and then running a brush through her raven strands before finally heading to bed. Lae’zel sharpened the last of her weapons, a ritual she refuses to neglect. Gale lay in his tent attempting to fall asleep as he used magic to mimic rainfall white noise. Everyone else slept soundly in their tent, or so you assumed.

Well, everyone except yourself. Tonight you lacked the capacity of falling into a deep slumber.

You were kind of like Scratch. At times Scratch couldn’t sleep, too hyper to even lie down. Halsin calls this zoomies so maybe you had zoomies as well.

You lie in your own tent staring at the roof. Gods how you wish dawn would arrive sooner. You huffed sitting up, you couldn’t lie in this uncomfortable tent for much longer, it was driving you crazy. You carefully peer out from the flaps of your tent. You observed the outside. Everyone was asleep, except for one. Astarion. A warm light illuminated his red tent, outlining his shadow. He lay in his tent, with what you could tell was a heavy book.

Astarion and you shared...well could you even call it a relationship? You slept together once or twice and Astarion enjoyed flirting with you but it didn’t seem like he wanted anything more. Whenever you slept together it seemed like he wasn’t entirely there. The only time he truly took satisfaction in the act is if he was allowed a bite from your neck. You it saddened you, to say the least. You really liked Astarion, not just for his stunning look but for his charming character as a whole. However, if all he wanted was to have a fling then so be it. That wouldn’t stop you from being his good friend though.

You slowly crawled from your tent and then tiptoed over to Astarion’s tent. You weren’t hoping to surprise Astarion; his heightened senses wouldn’t allow you the luxury. Your quietness was in favor of Shadowheart and Lae’zel, two people who would stir awake at the slightest snore. Astarion had his eyes on you already, waiting for you to call out to him first.

“Astarion,” you whisper, “It’s me.”

“I could tell.” He states matter of factly, turing the page of his novel. “Whatever is the matter?”

You lower yourself to the tent opening, pushing a flap aside. “I can’t sleep, could I hang out with you?” Astarion stares at you with an unimpressed look. “Please?” you pester.

“I guess so, besides who am I to deny you the pleasure.” Astarion sighs like a bothered mother giving in to her child’s request. You grin and immediately crawl inside. You sit beside him with a silly smile on your lips. There's a silence for a moment, you trying to gain the courage to ask him questions while he read to himself.

“Whatever you want to ask go ahead, the more eager you grow to ask, the more it’ll bother me.” Astarion lowers his novel. The slightly bothered expression he wears provokes an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You shyly mess with your nails. “Oh, well, I was just wondering what you were reading.”

“A novel about a boy venturing into vampire territory and what he has learned about my species. His assumptions are quite laughable.” Astarion’s pale pink lips quirk into a brief smile and a small laugh falls from them. “Here he states,” Astarion changes his voice into a mocking one, “One of the known weaknesses to a Vampire is garlic. Garlic will frighten a vampire, so always wear some on your neck to scare them away.”

You giggle too, “I’ve heard that one before. To be honest, I assumed you’d be scared of garlic as well because all the other tales of vampire’s weaknesses were debunked as true by you.”

Astarion shakes his head, “No, darling. It is simply the scent. Truly odorous. And if garlic were truly a weakness of vampires then Gale’s breath after dinner would be my demise.”

You both share a laugh then the silence returns.

“...Could you read to me?” you ask out of the blue. After the moment shared between the two of you before, you had hoped the question wouldn’t be answered too harshly. “-I mean, I like stories too but my mind often drifts from the pages. I prefer being read to than reading it myself and you have the perfect voice.”

Astarion contemplates for a second, observing you as he does. He taps his bed, “Fine.” You do as instructed, tugging the blanket until you’re all warm and cozy. Once you’re settled in Astarion starts on the page he stopped on. His voice is soft and relaxing. As the night goes on you finally fall into a deep slumber.