#Just to like... explain where I disappeared to

[technovillain]

the fact that we never have any real conflict inside milla's brain was always weird to me, and that the only trouble you find is not only easy to miss but hard to locate at all.... this prototype with promo images showing party members getting snatched up by the nightmares is really interesting to me...

i was never really a fan of the nightmares' appearance in the milkman conspiracy. that level already has enough going on and the nightmares' presence is completely unintroduced and poorly explained. i'm thinking about how cool it could be if milla's brain had an actual lesson for the kids beyond levitation about the most important thing she learned from the psychonauts, how to focus your mind and maintain a safe mental space via distancing yourself and controlling recurrences of trauma within the brain space...

the same way that sasha's brain is ultimately just a test for razputin, so is milla's. in my first playthroughs of the game i thought that maybe raz had really messed up sasha's brain a little bit, but then i realized overtime that the whole thing is a totally controlled environment. sure sasha is a closed off person, and very straight-laced, but i don't believe that his brain is constantly *that* empty all the time. he gives razputin direct instruction to shut off all the censor valves, which is the thing that causes the problem. it was all a training thing for raz to learn about control, there's even a hidden game line from sasha about the whole thing being a test. i just think that sasha is a poor communicator. his failure to express afterwards that the whole thing was a test was what failed razputin when he meddled in the mind of hollis forsythe, and why sasha's disappointment in him afterwards feels a little strange (like "you let me mess things up in YOUR head and it was okay, how was i to know?")

can you imagine a version of milla's dance party where the party is bumpin and all the campers are having a good time, but the other guests keep slowly disappearing, getting snatched up by the nightmares?? eventually, the other campers disappear too. later on, the room with the "milla's children" vault is presented to you more in the likes of oleander's side room with the little red curtain, where you are obviously supposed to see it, but *not supposed to see it*, and milla still encourages you not to go in there. when you get to the platform with milla at the end, everyone else is missing. she plays "where could they be?" and you find the nightmare room. you have to fight the nightmares to get the party guests back. you find that you can't *kill* the nightmares, however, and you instead put them behind bars.

ultimately the level could end with a similar level of "brain intrusion" as sasha's. like how sasha was okay with you knowing a little about his past, but probably didn't need to *also* show you what happened when he read his dad's mind and accidentally saw his mother in an inappropriate light. like not everything went smoothly, and he was obviously uncomfortable after the level being all "no, let's never speak of this again" like i imagine he unintentionally overshared and maybe messed with his 'image' a little. this version of milla's level could end with her being happy that she taught the kids about meditation through levitation, keeping the bad thoughts at bay but still acknowledging them as part of you, but she didn't like, need you to see that vault about her children being burned alive. because that would be fucked up to show to the kids. and maybe she got a little in that headspace again during the level and 'broke face' and got a little "protect the children!" about the campers in the face of the nightmares, but settles back down and gets back to the party by the end.

i imagine this is how the level would go if it was written more like pn2 levels are written, where every single level has a clear real-world-applicable mental health topic to cover. i still love milla's dance party, don't get me wrong, but it always felt a little anticlimactic or lacking in story compared to the rest of the brains, and these early promo shots just set me off in wondering if they ever intended on there being a lot more conflict in her mind earlier in development.

[masorciereviolette]

Charmed & Bound Pt. 3

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader, Rio Vidal x Reader, Agatha x Rio x Reader

Warnings: Canon Divergent

Word count: 7k

A/N: I truly hope you enjoy this next part and i promise you’ll get all three ladies together again in a positive manner very soon.

Taglist: @psychickryptonitebouquet @oatmilkgaysworld @loveshineslikethesky @rubyblue02 @milflovers4 @sweetmidnights @mk-swan @meiwan @imlike-so-gaydude @6stolenangel9

Previous Part Masterlist Link

The moment Rio disappeared, the room felt colder—like something vital had been removed and replaced with silence far too loud to ignore. You stood there, frozen in the shattered mess of Agatha’s home, heart slamming in your chest, Rio’s last words repeating on a loop in your mind.

“You’ll feel it soon enough. Your body always knows before your head does…”

You could still feel the aftershock of Rio’s presence humming in your chest—like a wire pulled too tight. The air smelled like static and something old. Something unspoken. “She said—” your voice broke as you stared at the door Rio had just walked through, “—she said I’d feel it soon. That my body always knows before my head does.” Agatha didn’t answer. You turned to her, heart pounding. “What does that mean?” Silence.

She stood completely still now, eyes fixed on the empty doorway like Rio might still be standing there. Her body, tense moments ago, had gone frighteningly still. Her expression unreadable. Not angry. Not sad. Just… calculating “Agatha.” Your voice sharpened. “Tell me. Who is she?”

Agatha blinked. And then—true to form—she deflected “Someone I should have left buried,” she muttered, turning away from you and stepping carefully across the ruined living room floor. Her voice was quieter now. “She always did love theatrics.”

You followed her. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t brush me off.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Just like earlier. You’re doing that thing where you act like saying less makes you in control of the situation. I’m telling you right now—it doesn’t.” Agatha stopped mid-step, her back to you. Her shoulders rose with a breath she didn’t release.

“I let her into my house. My life. My son’s life. And now I find out she’s some kind of—whatever the hell she is—who has some decades-old rivalry with you? Say something, Agatha.”

Finally, she said, “She’s… not what she seems.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No. It’s the only one I can give you.”

You stared at her, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Agatha. Who is she?”

Agatha turned slowly. Her eyes looked older than they had a moment ago—centuries older. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but the words got caught somewhere behind her teeth “She’s nothing,” she said flatly. “She’s just someone I used to know.”

“Bullsh*t. You’re deflecting again.” Her jaw tensed. You stepped closer. “Is she dangerous?”

“Yes.” The answer came out too fast. Too bitter.

“Is she a witch too?”

Agatha hesitated. Then, “No. Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Agatha’s expression twisted “She’s not a witch. She’s not mortal. She’s not—” Her voice cut off. Her eyes darted to yours, something frantic slipping into her features. “You can’t begin to understand what she is, and I— I can’t explain it, alright?”

You went still. Something in the room shifted—just slightly. A weight that hadn’t been there before crept up behind your ribs “Try,” you said quietly.

Agatha’s mouth twitched. Not into a smile. Into something more like a wince. Like the truth physically hurt her to carry “She doesn’t walk into your life,” she whispered. “She arrives when you’re circling the edge.”

Agatha stepped away, one hand lifting to her temple, rubbing slow circles like the pressure might help her think clearer. “She shows up when things are fraying. Right before the fall. She likes to watch the unraveling. Likes to… touch the ones standing too close to the edge.”

“And you brought her here?” you asked, stunned.

Agatha’s eyes snapped to yours. “She found you on her own.”

You stared. “So what is she?” Agatha didn’t answer. But you saw it—just for a second. A flicker of something real behind the guarded walls. You took a slow step back. “Agatha.”

“She’s not something you name,” she said, voice quiet. “You don’t name the wind before it steals the fire.”

“Tell me.” She looked at you like she was deciding something. Like saying it would crack open something she wouldn’t be able to close again “Death.”

A beat of silence. Not metaphor. Not myth. The words fell from her lips like the air itself turned cold around them “She’s the shape it wears when it wants to be beautiful,” Agatha whispered. “She’s always has been.”

You couldn’t breathe. And from the look on Agatha’s face—you weren’t meant to. You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. You just stared at the door Rio had disappeared through, as if staring hard enough could undo what she was.

“She’s not,” you said finally, the words hollow in your mouth. “She’s Rio. She wears silk blouses and drips sarcasm. She steals all the covers at night and insists on eating dessert first. She’s not some force. She’s not… death.”

Agatha didn’t argue. And somehow, that was worse “She’s just a woman,” you said. “She’s just… a woman.”

Agatha turned slowly. Her expression was unreadable. But there was something new in her eyes now—ancient and heavy “She always starts that way,” she murmured.

You felt your stomach flip. Something inside you folded in on itself, your pulse stuttering in your chest “I was a pawn,” you said quietly, like the words had been waiting inside you for too long.

Still, Agatha didn’t rush to comfort you. She didn’t deny it either. Instead, she looked at you like someone who’d already lived your pain in a different skin. Like she was seeing not you, but a mirror she hadn’t meant to stand in front of again.

“I know the pattern,” she said. “It always looks like love. Until it isn’t.”

You swallowed hard, anger mixing with grief and confusion. “So what happened to you?”

Agatha didn’t speak right away. She stepped over the broken remains of her coffee table— small pieces crunching softly under her feet—and stopped by the fireplace, staring into it even though there was no fire there.

“I had a son.” The words were matter-of-fact. Not sentimental. You didn’t breathe.

“I held him when he had nightmares,” Agatha continued, quieter now. “Wiped blood from his knees when he fell. He had this laugh… like bells. Always came too easily.” She paused.

Then, “He was the only thing in this world I loved without condition.” Your heart twisted. “And then one night,” she said, still facing the cold fireplace, “she came—” She turned to you—her voice ice and iron “And she took him.”

The silence that followed wasn’t silence at all—it was suffocating. “She didn’t make a scene,” Agatha said, eyes unfocused now. “Didn’t make a sound. She just… reached into my life, into my arms, and took him right from under my nose. I woke up to him—-”

Your knees gave slightly, and you gripped the back of a chair to steady yourself “She didn’t even let me say goodbye” Agatha whispered. And for the first time since you’d met her—really met her—you saw her blink back something raw.

“I searched for years,” she went on. “Centuries. All dead ends. No trail. No signature. No mercy.” You wanted to speak. To say something. But your voice had fled somewhere between heartbreak and horror.

Agatha finally turned to you, that unreadable look back in her eyes “So no,” she said. “She’s not just Rio. She’s not just some ex you kissed in a moment of weakness.”

She stepped closer “She is the thing that waits until your back is turned. Until your heart is open. Until you think you’re safe.”

Your hands were shaking “She already touched Nico,” you said. “She’s been around him.” Agatha’s jaw clenched “She wouldn’t take him…..would she?” you whispered.

“She can’t,” Agatha said darkly. “Not while I’m breathing.” You looked at her. And for once, she didn’t look like she was hiding behind her usual armor. Not entirely. “I let her once,” she murmured. “And I lost everything.”

It felt like your heart was about to burst out of your chest “I need to get to Nico.” The words left your mouth before you even realized you were moving.

You stepped toward the door, heartbeat thundering, body on autopilot. Every second away from him had been manageable—until now. Until the knowledge of what Rio really was rooted itself somewhere deep in your chest and refused to let go “I have to see him,” you said again, voice sharper now. “I just— I need to make sure he’s okay.”

Behind you, Agatha stirred. Her bare feet stepped over the broken frame of a side table as she started after you—She looked paler under the dim ceiling light, haunted and out of time. You could feel her moving behind you, that same protective edge sparking to life even now. But the second you reached the threshold, you turned and held up a hand “Stay.”

Agatha froze, her expression flickering. You took a breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep your voice from cracking under the pressure of everything she’d just told you—everything this was.

“Please,” you said, gentler this time. “Just… stay here.” She looked like she wanted to argue. Like she needed to. But you shook your head “You’re still recovering. You’re half dressed, and—” your voice caught for a moment before softening— “please, I promise we won’t be long….”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. Her shoulders pulled back—always ready to fight back. But then her eyes met yours. And that was when you saw it: the flicker of hesitation. The kind that only comes when someone cares and absolutely hates that they do. She exhaled slowly “I’ll come if you don’t,” she said, her tone tight. “Ten minutes. No longer.”

You gave a nod. “Fair.” You turned toward the door, But just before you crossed the threshold, you glanced back over your shoulder “I’m coming back,” you said. “I promise.” Agatha stood in the ruins of her living room—barefoot, bruised, eyes dark—but the way she looked at you in that moment was more telling than anything she’d said so far. It was a look of someone who had not been promised that before. And still—she nodded. Not because she believed in promises. But because you made it.

Sharon’s front porch basked in the soft glow of early afternoon sunlight, the warmth casting long, dappled shadows across the steps as you rushed up them, your pulse loud in your ears. You barely knocked before the door opened.

“Oh—there you are,” Sharon said, brows knitting with concern. “Everything okay? He’s been asking for you.” You didn’t waste time. You stepped inside, scanning the living room. The soft hum of the television played low in the background. Nico sat curled on the floor with a picture book in his lap, but he wasn’t reading.

He was staring at the door. Like he knew it was you before you arrived. Like he’d been waiting “Nico-” you breathed. He looked up at you, and the second your arms were open, he ran into them.

You held him like something precious. Fragile. Like he might disappear right there in your arms “Thank you Sharon,” you said quickly, not tearing your eyes from your son. “I’m truly sorry for the short notice.”

Sharon waved it off gently. “He was perfect. Though a little quiet last night, this morning too….” You looked down at him, frowning. “Quite how?”

Sharon shrugged. “Just… thoughtful. Like he was listening to something.” That chill returned to your spine. But you only nodded, kissed the top of Nico’s head.

The walk back was fast. Nico clung to you at first—small fingers hooked in your coat—but the second Agatha’s house came into view, he started to squirm “Hold on, baby,” you muttered, adjusting your grip. “Almost there.”

But the closer you got to the porch, the more restless he became. You stepped over the broken threshold, Nico shifting in your arms like something was pulling him toward the center of the house. The moment his feet touched the floor, he wriggled free “Nico—wait—” But he was already walking. Not running. Not stumbling. Just… walking. Steady. Certain. Like he knew where he was going.

Agatha stood across the room, still wrapped in her robe, arms at her sides, unmoving. She looked exhausted—, hair tangled and clinging to her jaw—but her eyes tracked him the moment he moved. And then they didn’t leave him. Nico stopped in front of her. Agatha slowly knelt. Not like she was making herself small.

Like she was meeting him where he already was. Neither of them spoke. Nico just stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and solemn in that way only children’s could be. His small hands lifted gently—hesitant, reverent—and cupped her face.

Agatha flinched. Not away from him. Just from the touch. The softness of it. Like she didn’t remember what kindness felt like when it wasn’t earned through suffering.

Nico’s thumbs brushed the edge of her jaw, as if inspecting her. Not judging—just knowing. Something about the moment felt older than both of them. And then, softly—barely above a whisper—he said “You awake now?”

Agatha’s breath caught. Her hands didn’t move. She didn’t speak. But something in her broke. Not in pain. Not in fear. In recognition. She closed her eyes for half a second. When she opened them again, her voice was nothing more than air “…Yes.”

Nico nodded, as if that was all he needed. And then, without another word, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. Agatha let him. No resistance. No walls. No bitterness. Just arms that remembered the shape of holding something precious.

You stood in the wreckage of a ruined living room, watching your three-year-old son, unshamefully wrap himself around a woman he couldn’t have known. A slow realization, like an ache settled deep in your bones—how could he have seen past it all?

Agatha’s arms cradled Nico like they were built for it. One hand behind his small back, the other curled protectively under his legs. He rested against her shoulder with the ease of a child who’d done it a thousand times before.

But he hadn’t. Not once. You stood there, staring, your thoughts spinning too fast to catch. Nico hates new people. He clings to your leg at preschool drop-off. He narrows his eyes at strangers in the grocery store. He takes days—weeks—to warm up to someone new. It’s not shyness, it’s caution. He’s always been that way. And yet…Here he was. Pressed close to a woman he’s never truly spoken to. A woman who only days ago didn’t even know herself.

Agatha moved slowly, almost like she was afraid she might wake herself up. She didn’t look back to you. Her eyes stayed locked on the boy in her arms—like the rest of the world had faded out. She sat down on the couch—careful, deliberate—and shifted Nico onto her lap.

He looked up at her like she held the moon in her eyes. They sat like that for a moment. Quiet. Studying each other. You didn’t dare move. You weren’t even sure you were properly breathing. This wasn’t a reunion. It wasn’t recognition. It was something stranger.

Like two puzzle pieces from different lifetimes snapping into place. Nico reached up again, tiny fingers brushing a damp strand of hair behind Agatha’s ear. Then, softly—so quietly you almost didn’t hear it—he whispered “You’re just as pretty as he told me.”

Agatha stilled. Not a flinch. Not a blink. She simply froze. You saw it instantly—the way her entire body locked under his words. Like she’d stepped onto a trap she never saw coming “…What?” she asked, voice barely audible.

Nico just smiled at her—small, sleepy, sure. He curled closer, head resting in the crook of her arm. You waited for Agatha to look at you. For her to snap. To pull away. To deflect. But she didn’t.

She just sat there, wide-eyed, holding him like he might disappear again. Like she’d been waiting for that exact sentence for far too long. And in that moment, you were the one who couldn’t process. Because nothing about this was normal. But what about any of this ever had been?

Silence wrapped around the room like a second skin. Agatha hadn’t moved. Nico was curled against her, breathing softly, thumb brushing absently over the curve of her robe like he was tracing something only he could feel. Her eyes hadn’t left his face—not once. Her hands, once trembling, now held him with a steadiness that made your chest ache.

You couldn’t stand there any longer. You stepped forward quietly, the sound of your own heartbeat loud in your ears. Your voice came out softer than you expected. “Does this mean… you’re not going to say goodbye?”

Agatha didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at you. But her arms tightened just slightly around Nico, drawing him closer to her chest like the question itself was a threat. You didn’t push. You crossed the room slowly, every step heavy with the weight of things unsaid. When you reached them, you dropped to your knees in front of the couch.

Nico stirred at the sound of your movement, turning his head toward you. One of his small hands reached out. You smiled—faint, shaken—and took it in yours. Your other hand moved to Agatha’s knee. Hesitant. Barely a touch. But she didn’t flinch away, not this time. The silence stretched. Not hostile. Just thick with too many things she didn’t know how to say.

When Agatha finally spoke, her voice was quiet—rasped and uneven, like it hurt to use “I don’t know what I’m doing.” You looked up at her, surprised. She still wouldn’t meet your eyes—but her gaze was on Nico. Steady. Unmoving.

“I didn’t plan for this,” she said. “I didn’t expect to wake up to… him.” She exhaled through her nose. “I’ve never had anything last. Not people. Not peace. Not… love.” Her lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t amusement—it was self-defense. “Everything good in my life gets ripped away eventually. Burned. Taken.”

Her fingers brushed through Nico’s hair “And I’m tired of watching it happen.” Your grip on his hand tightened gently. Agatha finally looked at you. And this time, her eyes weren’t empty or condescending. They were full. Not just of power, or pain—but of want.

Want for something she hadn’t dared reach for since the last time she held a child like this “I’m not promising anything,” she whispered. “But I’m not walking away, either.” You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. That was all you needed to hear and for now—all she could bear to say.

The air had grown heavy again—not with fear, but something closer to inevitability. You could feel the weight of the day pressing into your spine. The broken furniture, the splintered door—none of it was meant for a child. And Nico had already been through enough.

You rubbed your thumb gently over the back of his tiny hand. He leaned further into Agatha’s chest, beginning to drift. Your voice came quiet, but clear “You can’t stay here.” Agatha’s eyes flicked to you—sharp, guarded but you didn’t wait for her to argue.

“You need somewhere safe. He needs somewhere stable. And this…” You looked around the room, the chaos still crackling in the air. “This house is a graveyard.” Agatha’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t respond.

You shifted your hand from her knee and stood slowly, keeping your tone steady. “You’re coming home with us.”

Agatha raised a brow, the faintest edge of sarcasm pulling at her mouth. “Didn’t realize we were married.”

You leveled a look at her. “Don’t deflect.” She held your gaze and for a moment, it looked like she might fight you on it. But then Nico stirred again—murmuring softly in her arms. His cheek pressed tighter against her chest.

And something in her cracked. Her shoulders sank by a fraction. You took a breath, gentler now. “You need a shower. A bed. Something warm. And he needs his space. His pillow. His books. You’re coming with us because it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Agatha’s silence wasn’t resistance anymore. It was surrender. Quiet. Hesitant. Unfamiliar. You reached out, arms open. Agatha looked down at Nico—then back at you. She stood slowly, lifting him carefully into your arms. He went without a fuss, head tucked against your shoulder like he’d been doing it forever.

Agatha followed you to the door, bare feet padding softly across broken wood and memory. The moment you stepped out of that house, something inside your chest loosened. You didn’t look back & neither did she.

The clouds hung low over the rooftops, casting everything in a soft, muted gray. There was no birdsong. No breeze. Just the distant hum of the neighborhood settling into late afternoon and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps against the pavement and Nico’s breathing. Slow. Steady. His head resting against your shoulder, one small hand curled in the collar of your jacket like a tether.

Agatha walked beside you. Not close enough to touch, but not far. Her robe was cinched tightly at the waist, her hair still tangled from hours of chaos and sleep and awakening. One hand stayed curled at the fabric near her chest, knuckles pale with tension. She hadn’t said a single word since you stepped over the ruined threshold of her house. But her eyes flicked to Nico every few steps.

Like she couldn’t help it. Like she still wasn’t convinced he was real. You adjusted your grip on him slightly as you passed the trimmed hedge that bordered the house two doors down—your house. You could already see the porch light, still off, the curtains drawn the way you always left them when rushing out in a panic.

“He’s out,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Agatha’s gaze lifted. “He trusts you.” You looked at her, startled by the way she said it—like it was a fact, not a compliment.

You swallowed. “He trusts you. That’s not easy with him.” Agatha didn’t respond.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t crack a joke. But her pace shifted just slightly. Matched yours more closely. Like she wanted to keep up without being asked. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was suspended. Balanced precariously between everything that had been said and everything that hadn’t.

A silence that felt like the space between an inhale and the moment you finally exhaled. You reached your front steps before you were ready. It wasn’t a big house—nothing fancy. A modest two-story with white trim and a sagging porch swing you’d always meant to fix.

But it was home. Lived-in. Nico’s artwork was still taped to the inside of the front window. A small toy car lay forgotten near the flower bed. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the candle you forgot to blow out that morning.

It was a space that made sense. A space you could control. A space you were now going to share. You shifted Nico’s weight in your arms just enough to reach your keys, fumbling them quietly from your pocket. Behind you, Agatha lingered on the porch.

Barefoot still. Shoulders tight. Her expression unreadable as she looked up at the door like it was some kind of threshold she wasn’t sure she deserved to cross. You paused, glancing back at her “You coming in?”She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers twitched against the edge of her robe. Her eyes lifted to yours and then, with the smallest nod—Quietly. Carefully. She followed.

The house was still, the silence inside deeper than it had been outside. Familiar, yes—but only just. You stepped in first, Nico still asleep against your shoulder, and moved without thought toward the couch. The space was already prepared—blankets folded, a small pillow tucked against the armrest. You’d done it a thousand times for him, on nights when the upstairs felt too far, or the dark felt too big.

Agatha lingered by the door, her eyes sweeping over the small, lived-in room. The shelves of children’s books. The soft toys. The worn edges of furniture that had survived juice spills and tantrums and laughter. But mostly—she watched you.

You knelt by the couch, lowering Nico slowly. He stirred, lips parting for a moment in protest, but didn’t wake. His hand reached instinctively toward you as you brushed the blanket up to his chin.

Your fingers moved gently across his forehead, tucking a curl out of his eyes. It was a small gesture, one you didn’t even register—but Agatha did. You sat back on your heels and glanced at her. “He always has trouble sleeping when I’m not with him.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze flicked from you to the boy curled against the pillow—so soft and peaceful now it was hard to believe he’d been the center of a world-shifting storm only hours ago.

Her fingers flexed against the fabric of her robe. You looked down at Nico again, voice lower now. “I used to lie on the floor next to him just to keep him from crying at night. Even now, some part of him always reaches out to make sure I’m still there.”

Agatha didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But her expression shifted—something unreadable, somewhere between longing and guilt. You stood, gently, eyes still on him for one last moment before turning back to her “He knows you,” you said softly. “Even if we don’t understand how.”

Agatha’s eyes stayed on the boy. And though her lips didn’t part, you could see the words forming behind them, still trapped somewhere between her pride and her fear. But her silence didn’t feel like dismissal. It felt like grief.

You didn’t say much as you pushed yourself up from the floor, Agatha not too far just behind you—silent, but present. She didn’t speak. Didn’t sigh or shift her weight or fill the silence with one of her dry, disarming remarks. She just followed you out of the room and down the hall, her bare feet soundless on the wood floors, the long hem of her borrowed robe brushing quietly against her calves with every step.

You weren’t even sure she was looking at you. But you could feel her watching everything—absorbing everything. The hallway felt narrower with her in it. Not physically. Energetically. Like the walls, the air, the light itself hadn’t yet decided how to react to her presence.

This was your space. Your safe little world. And she—Agatha Harkness, the woman who had once nearly torn apart the fabric of an illusion just to chase the truth—was walking through it like a ghost slipping into a dream she didn’t quite believe.

She passed the photographs on the wall without so much as a glance. Nico’s first day of preschool. Your mother’s old cross-stitch frame hanging crooked near the door. A birthday card still pinned to the side of the fridge from a neighbor who always spelled your name wrong.

Your life wasn’t pristine, or glamorous, or even particularly magical. But it was real. And it was yours. You turned toward the spare room and pushed open the door, gesturing her inside.

It wasn’t much. Just a neatly made bed with a plain gray comforter, a scuffed dresser in the corner, and one old armchair you’d never gotten around to replacing. Soft afternoon light filtered through the blinds, stretching long shadows across the floor.

You stepped to the edge of the bed and picked up the folded clothes you’d laid out earlier—an old cotton T-shirt and a pair of loose sleep pants. Familiar, soft, worn in the best ways “They’ll fit well enough,” you said, placing them at the end of the bed. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. Towels are under the sink. There’s soap, shampoo—whatever you need.”

Agatha stepped just inside the doorway. She didn’t move far. Her arms crossed loosely, one hand still gripping the fabric of the robe like it might disappear if she let go. She looked around the room slowly, like someone observing an old memory they didn’t know belonged to them.

It wasn’t her silence that unsettled you. It was the way she held herself—like someone used to being offered escape, not comfort “If you want to shower,” you offered quietly, “go ahead. I’ll be downstairs.”

Agatha’s gaze swept across the dresser, the window, the folded clothes. She didn’t look at you. But she nodded once. Not stiffly. Not reluctantly. Just… a simple, unreadable nod. You lingered for a beat longer, waiting—hoping, maybe—for her to say something. To offer a joke or a jab or one of her cool, elusive observations that made her feel easier to understand.

But none came. So you stepped back. Pulled the door nearly closed. And stood alone in the hallway. The moment the door clicked behind you, something inside you exhaled—though you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath.

You looked back toward the living room, where the faint sounds of Nico’s sleepy breathing still floated through the house like a lullaby only you could hear. You rubbed your hands over your face, dragging your fingers through your hair. She was here.

Really here.

And maybe not just for him.

You moved quietly back toward the living room and paused just before the couch. Nico had shifted slightly, now curled on his side, hand tucked under his chin like he always did when he was truly relaxed. Your fingers hovered near him, brushing a wrinkle from the blanket.

He looked so small on that couch. So safe. You let out a quiet breath, then slowly lowered yourself onto the floor beside him—back against the edge of the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling as the afternoon light dimmed behind the clouds. Somewhere down the hall, the bathroom door clicked shut. And for a moment, the house felt still once more, not frozen. Just… waiting.

The floor Boards creaked. Not loudly—but just enough to pull your gaze away from the untouched cup of tea cooling between your hands. You now sat in the old armchair across from the couch, posture slightly hunched, shoulders stiff, one eye always drifting toward the hallway. You hadn’t moved much since settling there—too exhausted to sleep, too wired to rest.

The silence wasn’t heavy, but it had weight. Nico had been out cold for hours, his tiny body curled up under the blanket on the couch, cheek pressed into the throw pillow he refused to part with. You could hear his soft, even breathing. And then—Footsteps. Bare against the wood. Hesitant. Measured.

She stepped into view stopping in the doorway, slower than before. The sharp edges of her presence were dulled now, not erased, just… softened. Hair damp and combed back from her face, water-dark and clinging to her temples. She wore the oversized T-shirt you’d given her—slouching off one shoulder, sleeves wrinkled where she’d pushed them up—and the sleep pants cuffed clumsily at the ankles, too long for her lean frame.

On anyone else, it might’ve looked silly. On her, it looked… real. Agatha Harkness—who once threaded spells through the marrow of men, who stood unflinching before gods and death alike—was now barefoot in your hallway, dressed in borrowed cotton.

More woman than legend. More haunted than myth. She didn’t say anything as she stepped closer. Didn’t ask permission. She simply crossed the living room and came to stand behind the couch, her eyes falling instantly to Nico’s small, sleeping form.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t breathe any louder. But something in her seemed to still. Her gaze tracked the curve of his cheek, the tiny rise and fall of his chest, the way one small hand had snuck out from under the blanket and curled near the hem of her borrowed pants. Like he was reaching for her even in sleep.

Agatha moved slowly—lowering herself to the far end of the couch, just by Nico’s feet. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that her posture changed. Her shoulders dropped slightly. Her spine lost its rigid line. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on the middle distance with a look you couldn’t quite read.

You watched her for a long moment. Then finally said, just to soften the quiet, “He talks in his sleep sometimes.” She didn’t look at you, but her head tilted the barest bit, as if listening.

“Usually nonsense,” you added, eyes flicking to Nico. “Sometimes questions he didn’t get to ask during the day. Sometimes dreams that sound a little too real.”

Agatha didn’t reply. But her jaw shifted, muscles tightening just slightly. You could tell she wanted to say something—but didn’t trust what would come out. She looked calmer now, but not rested. Cleaned up, yes. But raw. Stripped down. Like the hot water had rinsed away everything but the parts she’d rather not hold.

You kept your voice gentle. “I didn’t expect you to come back down.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked to yours “You thought I’d hide?”

“No,” you said, honest. “I thought you’d disappear.” That drew a soft exhale from her nose. Not quite a laugh. Not even close to amused.

“You’re not the first person who’s said that to me.”

You leaned forward slightly, mirroring her without meaning to. “And are they usually right?”

She looked down at Nico again. At the boy sleeping within arm’s reach. Her son. Then—very quietly—“Sometimes.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because despite everything—the history, the magic, the confusion—she hadn’t disappeared. Not yet. She was here. In your home. Sitting next to your child like some part of her had been waiting to find him again without ever knowing why.

You watched her. The way her hands clasped between her knees. The faint tremor in her fingers. The way her eyes kept shifting back to Nico, as if to remind herself he hadn’t been imagined. She didn’t look like the confident alluring woman who had cornered you in the Hex. She didn’t look like a villain. She looked like a mother terrified to believe in second chances but maybe, just maybe, starting to want one.

The silence between you wasn’t cold. Just full. Heavy with things you hadn’t said. Things you weren’t sure how to say.

You watched her for a long time—studying the slight curve of her shoulders, the taut line of her jaw, the way her fingers interlocked in front of her as though she didn’t trust them to stay still on their own. She looked like she wanted to disappear and be held all at once.

Agatha didn’t move. But you could tell—she was listening. To Nico’s breath. To yours. To the house settling around her like it hadn’t quite decided if she belonged yet. And then—Nico stirred.

Not fully awake, not even close. But in that half-conscious way only small children seem to master. He shifted under the blanket, brows twitching faintly in a dream you couldn’t reach. Then—slowly, sleepily—he scooted closer to Agatha’s side.

One knee hitched over the fabric of the blanket. His tiny fingers reached out, fumbling blindly until they found her thigh, brushing the soft cotton of the sleep pants she wore. And he stayed there. Curled toward her. Breathing slow and even. As if something in him recognized her—even without understanding how or why. Agatha froze. Her spine went rigid, lips parted just slightly.

You could see her breath catch in her throat. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. She just looked down at him, her hands unmoving, her body very still, like she was afraid the smallest shift would wake him or—worse—prove he wasn’t real. Her eyes stayed locked on the spot where his small hand now rested against her leg, curled softly. Like he was anchoring himself. Like she was home. You swallowed hard.

Your voice, when it came, was quiet. Careful. “You don’t have to stay.” Agatha didn’t look at you. Her jaw clenched, just once “If it’s too much,” you continued, even though the words scraped something raw inside you. “If it’s not what you want—”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” she cut in, softly. Her voice was steady, but low. Rough. “I said I don’t know what to do with it.”

You let that settle between you. It felt like the truth. An old truth. One she’d never wanted to give voice to until now. Your throat tightened. “That makes two of us.” Agatha let out a breath through her nose—small, dry. Almost like a laugh, but far too tired for that.

“Everything with you was a blur,” she said after a moment, gaze still on Nico. “Back then. In the Hex. I played my role. So did you.” You didn’t argue “But there was something about you…” she trailed off, like the words had too much weight. “You cut through it. Even when you shouldn’t have.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t even blink “I kept telling myself it was curiosity,” she murmured. “Or boredom. That I was just… indulging.”

“And now?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Agatha looked at you, really looked. There was no wall this time. No glint of mischief behind her eyes. No armor. Just her “I don’t know what this is,” she said. “But it feels achingly real now.”

You nodded. Eyes drifting down to Nico—his face soft in sleep, tucked close to her side, small hand still resting on her leg like it belonged there “That’s what scares me,” you admitted.

Agatha was quiet for a long beat. Then—barely audible—“Me too.” You hesitated, then reached forward—slow, careful. You laid your hand gently over hers, just where Nico’s fingers brushed the fabric of her pants.

She didn’t pull away.

She didn’t stiffen.

She just sat there, letting the warmth of your palm settle over hers, as the soft weight of your child pressed closer into her side. And for the first time in a long, long time—No one had to say anything else.

[inseobts]

Fate Won’t Take You From Me

chifuyu matsuno x fem! reader x mitsuya takashi

what if your boyfriend chifuyu knows the future will never be nice to the two of you and he doesn't know how to change it.

a/n: I wrote this when I still had to finish the anime so I hope it's not too bad o(TヘTo)

words count: 4.6k

tags: angst, drama, love triangle(?)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Chifuyu leans against the wall of the abandoned warehouse, arms crossed, watching as Takemichi rubs his temples like he’s battling the worst headache of his life.

He just got back from another dive into the future, another desperate attempt to fix things before everything spirals out of control. Chifuyu is used to this by now. The frustration, the exhaustion in Takemichi’s eyes.

Takemichi looks uneasy, avoiding his gaze, shifting uncomfortably like he’s keeping a secret.

Chifuyu doesn’t like that.

“So?” he presses, forcing his voice to stay casual “I guess we didn't win yet.”

Takemichi hesitates “It’s… complicated.”

It always is. Chifuyu sighs, running a hand through his hair “Yeah, yeah, it always is. But you know what? I wanna know something else. You know I always try to not ask much but I'm too curious.”

Takemichi finally looks at him “What?”

Chifuyu smirks, trying to lighten the mood, though there’s a weight in his chest that he can’t explain “I never asked before but… What about me and y/n?” he asks, referring to you “Do we… you know… last?”

Takemichi blinks “Last?”

“Yeah. Do we stay together? Are we finally married?”

It’s supposed to be a stupid question. A joke, even. Because of course you do. You and Chifuyu have been through everything together. There’s can't be no version of the future where you aren’t by his side.

Right?

Takemichi’s silence is the first thing that unsettles him. The second is the way his friend suddenly refuses to meet his eyes.

Chifuyu feels something in his stomach twist.

“…Oi,” his voice drops “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Chifuyu, I—”

“Just tell me. The worst that can happen is that we gonna change the future.”

Takemichi takes a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his words shatter Chifuyu’s world.

“In every timeline I’ve seen 'til now… you never marry her.”

The air in Chifuyu’s lungs disappears. It’s like the room is suddenly suffocating, like the walls are caving in around him.

He swallows hard “Then… is she… alive?”

“Yeah, she keeps doing good actually.”

“Then… is she still around? does she marry someone else?”

Takemichi hesitates. But he can’t lie, not about this.

“…Mitsuya.”

For a moment, Chifuyu doesn’t move. He can’t.

His brain refuses to accept the words, refuses to process them.

Mitsuya? Mitsuya?

It has to be a mistake. Takemichi has to be messing with him... but his face tells him everything.

It’s true.

His fingers curl into fists. His heart pounds, a chaotic mix of emotions, shock, denial, fear. But the worst one is the burning, consuming jealousy that claws its way into his chest.

Mitsuya. His friend. The guy he trusts with his life.

And the guy who, in every future that exists, steals you away from him?

Chifuyu forces a laugh, but it comes out weird “Nah… nah, that’s bullshit.”

Takemichi doesn’t say anything.

Chifuyu’s jaw tightens “She loves me.” His voice is sharp now, more desperate than he wants it to be “She’s with me.”

Takemichi finally speaks, and his voice is gentle. Pitying.

“…She’s with you... now.”

Now.

The word slices through Chifuyu like a blade.

Because that means one day, you won’t be.

One day, you’ll wake up and love someone else.

One day, you’ll leave him behind.

His chest tightens painfully, like his heart is being crushed in a vice. He wants to scream, to fight, to tell Takemichi he’s wrong. But he can’t, because deep down, a part of him knows… you’ve always been close to Mitsuya after all.

A part of him knows, if he looks too closely, he’ll start noticing things he never wanted to see.

But he refuses to let that happen. He won’t let fate take you from him. He can’t.

Chifuyu doesn’t sleep that night.

He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, Takemichi’s words replaying in his head like a curse.

“In every timeline I’ve seen… you never marry her.”

“She ends up with Mitsuya.”

He hates it. Hates how it latches onto his brain, poisoning every thought, twisting everything he knows about you. About him.

It’s stupid. You love him. He knows you do. But now, he can’t shake the feeling that one day, that won’t be enough.

The next day, he finds you outside Mitsuya’s sewing room, your back against the wall as you wait for him.

You look up when you see him, eyes bright. His girl. His heart aches just looking at you.

“Chifuyu” you call out, pushing off the wall to meet him “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickers to the door behind you. Mitsuya’s door.

Something in him snaps.

“What about you?” his voice comes out sharper than he means it to “What are you doing here?”

You blink at him, confused “I told Mitsuya I’d stop by today. He’s fixing up my jacket.”

Of course. Mitsuya.

Chifuyu clenches his jaw, ignoring the way his stomach twists.

“So you just waited out here for him?” he asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Yeah?” you frown, tilting your head “Why?”

He knows it’s stupid. He knows he’s being irrational. But now, every second you spend with Mitsuya feels like a countdown.

Like every moment between you two is another step toward the day you wake up and realize you love him instead.

And the worst part? You don’t even know it’s coming. And he doesn't even know when does that exactly happen.

Chifuyu swallows down the jealousy burning in his throat and forces a grin, his usual grin, the one you love.

“I just didn’t know you guys were that close” he says.

You roll your eyes, laughing “Of course we are. He’s my friend.”

Yeah. Friend. Until he’s not.

The door behind you suddenly opens, and Mitsuya steps out, wiping his hands on a rag. He looks up, notices Chifuyu, and nods.

“Yo” Mitsuya greets.

Chifuyu nods back, but there’s something in his chest, something ugly, clawing at him as he watches you smile at him.

Is this what fate looks like?

Mitsuya turns to you, handing you your jacket “Should be good as new now.”

You take it with a grateful smile “Thanks, Mitsuya. You’re the best.”

Chifuyu watches as Mitsuya reaches out to fix the collar of your shirt, a simple, meaningless gesture.

Something inside him breaks, and efore he even thinks, he grabs your wrist.

“Come on” he says, voice tight “We’re leaving.”

You blink at him in surprise “Chifuyu?”

He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t want to let go.

Mitsuya watches him, silent. Calm, as always. But Chifuyu swears he sees something in his eyes, a question.

Chifuyu forces a grin, pulling you closer to him.

“She’s mine, Mitsuya” he says lightly, but there’s an edge to his voice.

Mitsuya doesn’t react, just watches. Like he’s studying him. Like he already knows something’s wrong.

You pull your wrist free, frowning up at him “What’s with you today? That was rude.”

He hates how guilty you sound, like you’ve done something wrong. Like you’re the one hurting him, when it’s fate itself that’s betraying him.

“Nothing” he lies, forcing himself to relax “Let’s just go.”

You hesitate, glancing back at Mitsuya, but eventually sigh and nod “Okay. See you later, Mitsuya.”

“Yeah” Mitsuya says slowly, watching the way Chifuyu keeps you close “See you.”

Chifuyu doesn’t look back as he leads you away, but he knows Mitsuya is still watching, and for the first time, Chifuyu realizes something.

He’s not just fighting fate anymore.

He’s fighting Mitsuya too.

Chifuyu doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re far from Mitsuya’s place. Even then, his grip lingers, fingers still curled around yours like he’s afraid to lose you.

You glance at him, brows furrowed “Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing” he says too quickly “Just wanted to spend time with you.”

You give him a look “You could’ve just asked instead of dragging me away like that.”

His stomach twists. You’re not mad, not really, but there’s something in your tone. Something off. Like you’re confused. Like you don’t understand why he’s acting this way.

Because you actually don’t. Because you don’t know what he knows.

He forces a smirk, bumping his shoulder against yours “I just missed my girl, that’s all.”

Your expression softens, but only a little “Still… you were kinda rude to Mitsuya back there.”

His jaw clenches before he can stop it “You always have to defend him like that?”

The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back.

You blink, surprised “What? Chifuyu, it’s not about defending him, it’s just—”

“Forget it” he cuts you off, shaking his head “Let’s go do something fun.”

You hesitate for a second, then sigh “Fine. But if you keep acting weird, I’m making you tell me what’s up.”

He just smiles, pulling you along, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

He won’t let fate take you from him. No matter what.

Later that night, Chifuyu watches you from across the room as you scroll through your phone. You’re probably texting Hina or some of the other girls, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

His mind replays Takemichi’s words over and over again like a nightmare.

“She ends up with Mitsuya.”

His fingers curl into fists. He can’t let that happen. He won’t.

But would Mitsuya even fight for you?

Would he ever try to take you from him?

No. He knows Mitsuya. He knows he’d never do something like that. Mitsuya’s too good. Too loyal.

And that scares him even more. Because if Mitsuya isn’t the one stealing you away…

Then maybe it’s you. Maybe one day, without even realizing it, you’ll start choosing him instead. Maybe it’s already happening.

Chifuyu swallows hard.

He needs to do something. Now.

Mitsuya, on the other hand, notices the change almost immediately.

At first, it’s subtle. Chifuyu standing closer to you, always making sure to keep a hand on your waist or your wrist. The way he interrupts conversations just to pull you away.

It’s small things. Easy to brush off.

Until he realizes Chifuyu never lets you be alone with him anymore.

Until he catches the sharp glances Chifuyu throws his way when you aren’t looking.

Until Chifuyu starts watching, like he’s waiting for something to happen.

Mitsuya doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches back.

Because he’s starting to understand.

Mitsuya leans against his worktable, arms crossed, watching Chifuyu from across the room.

It’s been like this for days now. Chifuyu hovering close to you, keeping you just out of reach. Always watching. Always waiting.

At first, Mitsuya thought he was imagining it. That maybe Chifuyu was just being overprotective, like he always was. But now it’s obvious.

Chifuyu isn’t just protecting you. He’s guarding you from him.

Mitsuya exhales through his nose, standing up straight “Chifuyu”

Chifuyu stiffens but doesn’t look at him “What?”

“You got a problem with me?”

Chifuyu finally meets his gaze. His eyes are sharp, guarded “No.”

Mitsuya tilts his head slightly, studying him “Then why are you acting like you do?”

Chifuyu exhales a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “Because it seems like you’ve been keeping her away from me.”

Chifuyu’s jaw clenches, but he forces a grin “She’s my girlfriend, Mitsuya. Maybe I just want to spend more time with her.”

Mitsuya doesn’t react “And maybe you’re scared.”

Chifuyu’s whole body tenses.

That’s all the confirmation Mitsuya needs.

Mitsuya takes a slow step forward, his voice calm but firm “You’re not stupid, Chifuyu. You know I’d never do anything to mess with your relationship.”

Chifuyu says nothing.

“But you’re still looking at me like I’m the enemy” Mitsuya continues “Like you’re waiting for me to take her from you.”

Chifuyu exhales sharply, turning away “Drop it, Mitsuya.”

“No” Mitsuya’s voice is steady, unwavering “Because this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about you.”

Chifuyu’s hands curl into fists.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Mitsuya doesn’t let up “You really think she’s gonna leave you”

Chifuyu’s eyes snap to his, burning with frustration “Shut up, Mitsuya.”

Mitsuya holds his gaze “Or maybe...” He pauses, voice softer now, like he’s starting to understand.

“Maybe you really do think I would try steal her from you...”

Something flickers in Chifuyu’s eyes.

A crack.

Mitsuya inhales slowly “…You know something, don’t you?”

Chifuyu doesn’t answer.

Mitsuya watches him for a moment longer, then sighs “If you keep this up, you’ll lose her anyway.”

Chifuyu’s breath catches in his throat.

“Not because of me, or because of fate itself” Mitsuya says simply “But because you won’t let her breathe.”

Chifuyu doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there. And for the first time, he wonders if Mitsuya is right.

If in his desperate attempt to fight fate… He’s becoming the reason you leave.

Chifuyu’s mood shifts over the next few days. You notice it immediately. His usual smiles are forced, and the protective gestures feel more suffocating than caring. He pulls you closer when you don’t need it, watches you with eyes that don’t just look. They study.

And the worst part? He barely acknowledges it. Like he’s pretending everything’s fine.

You can’t pretend anymore.

This isn’t the Chifuyu you know. The Chifuyu you know was always open with you. Always honest. Always real. But now…

You can feel the distance growing.

It hurts more than you thought it would.

So tonight, you decide to confront him.

You wait until the two of you are alone, until it’s just you and him in the living room, the silence thick and suffocating.

He’s on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, a manga in hand, but his mind clearly elsewhere.

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze focused on him “Chifuyu.”

He doesn’t look up “Hm?”

You step forward, your heart pounding “Stop acting like this.”

He freezes, the manga slipping from his hand, but he doesn’t look up “What are you talking about?”

You take a deep breath, walking closer to him, every step heavy with the weight of your frustration “You’re being distant. You’re overbearing. You’ve been acting like… like I’m some fragile thing that needs to be kept away from everyone. And you know I don't like it.”

Chifuyu finally looks up, but there’s no understanding in his gaze. Just confusion “I’m just looking out for you.”

You shake your head “That’s not it. It’s more than that.”

He looks down at his hands, then back up at you, the walls around him thickening “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me, Chifuyu” you step closer, your voice firm but shaking from the emotion rising in your chest “You keep acting jealous... You think I would leave you for someone else?”

His eyes widen, and you can tell you’ve hit a nerve, but he still doesn’t speak.

“You’ve been pushing me away, and I don’t know why. I thought you trusted me, but now…” you take a breath, steadying yourself “Now, I feel like you don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He stands up suddenly, his face a mix of frustration and guilt “I trust you, Y/N! I do! But…”

He trails off, his voice faltering as if he’s trying to find the words to explain the chaos inside his head.

“But what?” you ask quietly.

Chifuyu rubs his forehead, as if trying to calm the storm in his mind “Every time I look at you, I think about what happens next. What if one day, you wake up and you’re not with me anymore?”

You blink, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. His eyes are dark, haunted, like he’s seen something he can’t shake.

“Chifuyu…” you whisper, stepping closer to him, your voice softening “I’m not going anywhere. I'm here...”

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with uncertainty, and for a moment, you see the fear, raw and unfiltered, that he’s been hiding.

“You don’t get it” he mutters, voice breaking slightly “I saw it, Y/N. In the future. In every timeline… you end up with Mitsuya. Not me. You marry him.”

You freeze. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can see the pain in his eyes, the torment he’s been holding in.

“You saw it?” you repeat, your voice shaking now.

“Not me, actually. But it’s the same…” he admits, his voice almost a whisper “No matter what… you end up with him. And it kills me, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch it happen.”

You take a step back, his confession crashing over you in waves. The room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.

But then, you find your voice “Chifuyu…”

You take his hands in yours, forcing him to look at you “Listen to me. I don’t know what you saw or not. But this…” you shake your head, feeling a mix of confusion and compassion “This isn’t about fate. It’s about us. I choose you. Every day, I choose you.”

Chifuyu’s eyes well with unshed tears, his hands trembling slightly as he holds onto you “But what if it’s already decided?”

You gently cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes “Then we fight it. Together.”

His breath catches, and for the first time in days, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Chifuyu…” you say softly “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But you need to trust me.”

He nods, his voice breaking as he whispers “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was so scared…”

You smile gently, brushing a strand of hair from his face “I know you were. But you can’t keep pushing me away like this. We’re in this together. Always.”

Chifuyu finally lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly like he’s afraid he might lose you all over again.

“I won’t let you go,” he says, his voice thick with emotion “I promise.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Chifuyu feels like maybe he can stop fighting fate and trust that you are his, and no one will take you from him.

It’s a quiet evening when Takemichi arrives back from another dive into the future. He’s been gone for days, and you’ve been trying to distract Chifuyu from the anxiety that’s been weighing on him ever since the last conversation.

When Takemichi walks in, his face is grim.

Chifuyu notices him first. He’s standing in the doorway, his eyes tired and heavy with the burden of knowing too much.

You look up from where you’re sitting on the couch and smile, happy to see Takemichi, but Chifuyu doesn’t share your enthusiasm.

“Back already?” Chifuyu says casually, his tone sharp and protective.

Takemichi hesitates. The last time he revealed something, it only made things worse.

“You… you want to know what happens this time?” Takemichi asks, his eyes shifting nervously between the two of you.

Chifuyu stands up, walking over to where you’re sitting. His hand finds yours, squeezing it gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice as he answers Takemichi.

“No,” Chifuyu says, his voice steady “I don’t need to know. Whatever happens in the future… we’ll handle it.”

Takemichi blinks, surprised by Chifuyu’s refusal. Normally, Chifuyu is the one pushing for answers, the one desperate to fix things, but today… it’s different.

“Chifuyu…” Takemichi starts, but Chifuyu cuts him off, his voice unwavering.

“No, Takemichi,” Chifuyu says, shaking his head “I don’t need to know what happens with me and Y/N. I trust her. I trust us.”

You feel your heart swell, the love and reassurance in Chifuyu’s words more than enough to put you at ease. But then, a part of you know what Takemichi has seen, his face tells everything.

Takemichi swallows hard, looking between you both. He knows the truth. He knows what he’s seen. He knows what’s coming. And yet, he doesn’t want to say it.

Chifuyu’s grip on your hand tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t look at Takemichi. He stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I already know what you saw” Chifuyu replies, his voice calm and controlled, but there’s an edge to it “But I don’t care. This is our timeline. Our future.”

Takemichi’s eyes widen in confusion, not understanding what Chifuyu means. He expected a fight, maybe even an argument, but Chifuyu… Chifuyu’s eyes are clear. His gaze unwavering.

“You’re… you’re not angry?” Takemichi asks, his voice uncertain.

Chifuyu shakes his head slowly. He finally looks at you, his expression softening.

“No” he says simply “I’m not angry. I’m just…”

His voice falters for a moment, but he continues, his words filled with conviction “I’m choosing to believe in you, y/n. In us. And no matter what happens, I’m going to fight for that. For us. If that’s the future, it means that something might have happened and all I want is you to be happy, even if it's not with me.”

You feel a rush of emotions flood over you as you squeeze his hand tighter, the words meaning more to you than anything else. You don’t need the future to define what you have now.

Takemichi watches the exchange between the two of you, his chest tightening. He understands now. Chifuyu is choosing to trust you. He’s not going to let the future dictate his present.

“You really believe that?” Takemichi asks, his voice quiet.

Chifuyu nods firmly “Yeah. I do.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, the world feels still. Takemichi is silent, eyes searching Chifuyu’s face, and then, finally, he lets out a breath.

“…Alright.” Takemichi says, his shoulders slumping slightly “Then, I guess that’s all I need to hear.”

You can see the relief in Takemichi’s expression, the weight he’s been carrying lifting slightly as he looks at both of you.

“I’ll make sure this timeline works out for you guys” Takemichi adds with a small smile, stepping toward the door.

Chifuyu watches him go, then turns to face you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid to ever let go.

“I’m not going anywhere either” you whisper, holding him close.

“I know” Chifuyu replies, his voice steady but filled with warmth “And I’m not letting you go either.”

You smile against his chest, feeling the love and trust between the two of you stronger than anything fate could ever throw your way.

And for the first time in a long time, Chifuyu feels like the future doesn’t matter. Because as long as he has you, nothing else will ever break them apart.

The days after are peaceful. Chifuyu’s trust in you grows stronger with each passing day. He never mentions the future again, never brings up Mitsuya, and his affection for you deepens, he’s focused, determined to make the present his truth.

But something inside you feels weird.

You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to admit that the future still lingers like a shadow over your relationship. But after everything you’ve heard, after everything Chifuyu has sacrificed to believe in you, you can’t ignore the question that keeps pressing at the back of your mind:

Why do you never end up with Chifuyu in the future?

You’ve tried to push it away. You’ve tried to focus on the present. But the truth is, you can’t stop thinking about it. And deep down, you know you need to get the answer for yourself.

One night, when Chifuyu is busy with work and you find yourself alone, the weight of your curiosity becomes too heavy to ignore.

You slip out quietly, your heart racing as you make your way to Takemichi’s place. The chill of the night air doesn’t even register, all that matters is the unanswered question that’s been haunting you.

When Takemichi opens the door, his face softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” he asks, surprised “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” you say quietly, stepping inside. You don’t waste any time “I need to know. Why… Why don’t I end up with Chifuyu in the future?”

Takemichi blinks, clearly taken aback. He hesitates, looking at you with a mix of sympathy and something heavier. Something he doesn’t want to say.

“Y/N…” he begins, his voice soft and hesitant “Are you sure you want to know this?”

You nod, the resolve in your voice stronger than it feels “I need to know, Takemichi. Please. I have to know the truth.”

There’s a long silence as Takemichi looks at you, weighing the decision. He knows how much this will hurt. How much it could change everything. But he can’t keep it from you.

“Alright,” he says finally, his voice low “The reason… the reason you never end up with Chifuyu in the future… it’s always the same.”

You hold your breath.

“It’s because of Chifuyu,” Takemichi continues, his voice thick with regret “He never feels like he’s enough. He loves you so much that he convinces himself you’ll be better off with someone else. He pushes you away… he doesn’t want to be the one holding you back.”

Your heart sinks as you absorb his words. It’s not about Mitsuya. It’s not about you choosing someone else. It’s about Chifuyu, about his own insecurity, his fear of not being good enough for you, of loving you so much that he believes he’s destined to lose you.

“And no matter what happens,” Takemichi continues, voice trembling with empathy “Chifuyu doesn’t fight for you. Not because he doesn’t love you... he loves you more than anything. But because he thinks that’s what’s best for you. He believes you deserve someone who can give you the world, someone who won’t drag you down.”

The words crash over you like a wave, and you feel dizzy, your mind racing.

Chifuyu’s fear of being unworthy is the reason you’re torn apart. He believes his love for you is not enough to keep you.

You take a deep breath, forcing the tears back. You’ve spent so much time trying to make sense of everything, trying to figure out why fate always separates you and Chifuyu.

And now you know.

But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

You stand there, numb for a long moment before you finally speak, your voice thick with emotion “So… it’s always his choice? He chooses to walk away from me?”

Takemichi nods, his eyes filled with sadness “Yeah. He never thinks he’s good enough for you. That’s the reason, no matter how much he loves you, no matter how hard you try, it always ends the same.”

Your heart aches as you let that sink in. The realization that Chifuyu, the person who loves you more than anything, could be the very reason you can’t stay with him.

You turn to leave, Takemichi’s voice stopping you just before you reach the door.

“Y/N,” he says softly “I’m sorry.”

You nod silently, wiping away a tear that threatens to fall. You need to go back to Chifuyu. To hold him. To remind him that he’s more than enough. You need him to believe in you, in both of you.

But deep inside, you know it won’t be easy. Because it’s never been about love. It’s been about belief.

And for now, you can only hope that, somehow, Chifuyu will find the strength to fight against the very thing that’s pulling him away from you: his own fear.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - The Ascent

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, soulmates, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Summary/Warnings: You wait, and Bucky makes a choice.. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I love writing these fics cause it gives me an amazing excuse to just. Watch CATWS. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.5k

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

You can feel him. Every single night when you get home, you feel the same song. The one you’ve always had, only when Bucky was close.

Home. Home is near, and you just have to go to it. Have it. Keep it. Let it keep you.

You’re not sure if home wants to keep you.

Because you can always feel Bucky. Somewhere above or around you, every single fucking night. And it’s not just his constant, dormant and strong presence in your mind and body. He’s on the air and in the sky, but never at your side. 

And you don’t know what they told him, about what happened to you. If they showed him the pictures. If Steve’s explained to him that they set you up with a job, and an apartment, and that Hydra wasn’t going to touch you again if they tried. You’re not even sure if Bucky was really even there, the day they rescued you. 

You’d felt him. But you hadn’t seen him. 

Haven’t seen him. 

He hasn’t come to see you. Bucky’s on the TV—his arms folded over his chest and his expression not in the harsh I can’t do anything but stand and follow way, but rather the I don’t want to talk, and I’ve got nothing to say anyways way—but he’s never on your front door. He’s in the wind, but that’s the only feeling of him you get. No hands skimming over your hips, or deep voice saying your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever been real, or fingers playing with your hair as your head rests on his knee. 

He got a haircut. You don’t hate it. It never would’ve happened on your watch, but Bucky wasn’t on your watch, and you’ll have him however you can get him. If that means shorter hair and a new, black arm, you’ll take it without a single fucking thought.

You still love him. You’ll always love him. Even if you never see Bucky again, you don’t know how to stop loving him.

He’d been the first thing you asked about, when they’d cleared you after your rescue.

“Bucky?” It had been all you could say. All you needed to say. Steve and Tony—it was really weird to be on a first-name basis so fast, but this whole thing was weird, so you’d gotten over it quick—had exchanged a look that you didn’t understand, and your arms had started to curve around your stomach.

You hadn’t seen him at all, but he was okay. He’d had to be okay. You would’ve known if he wasn’t, and you’d felt him in the Hydra base, and Steve and Tony were still having a silent conversation, but you just wanted Bucky-

“He’s your old pal, Cap.” Tony had finally muttered, jerking his head towards you. “I can make Nat do it, but it’ll be better coming from you.”

Something had formed a noose around your throat. “What will be better?”

Steve had sighed, shooting you an unreadable look. “Tony, I still think-“

“There’s nothing we can do about it right now. Talk to her before she goes crazy and we need to turn on the chill pill gas.”

“Do not use the chill pill gas-“

“I won’t if you handle this like a big boy.” Tony had shrugged, and given you a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kid. I looked at your file earlier, by the way. Impressive stuff. Won’t be hard to set you up after this is over. We’ll talk.”

“I…” You’d swallowed, shaking off the impressive stuff compliment from Tony Stark. “I don’t- Where’s Bucky?”

Steve had sighed. Again. Someone needed to help him work on that. 

All you’d gotten was a grimacing smile and shake of his head from Tony, and then he was gone.

“Steve?” You’d whispered, and he’d been rigid in front of you.  “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s safe.” Steve had said, his tone impossibly even. Words almost rehearsed. “But it’s been… decided, that given the nature of your disappearance and his mental state, it might be best to keep you apart. Indefinitely.”

Indefinitely.

That meant forever, but Steve hadn’t known how to tell you.

You’d understood that. You hadn’t known how to react. You’d just felt numb. Hollow. Stuck in a loop where your brain simply had been unable to comprehend what apart meant. There would be Bucky. There had to be Bucky. That was just how the world worked. He came back. He always came back. 

Bucky was supposed to come back.

“Oh.” You’d whispered, your head still spinning around the words. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be fine.” Steve had muttered, still watching you like he was afraid you’d shatter at any second. “We’ll set you up so you can keep, you know. Having a life. Tony’s already expressed interest in all your research, so I don’t think he was joking when he said he’s hire you, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. And we’ve all volunteered to make sure you’re settled. Get you set up in an apartment, make sure it’s got the proper security. We’ve got some contacts working on overturning your legal death.”

And Steve had kept talking about logistics, and you’d barely been listening.

The thing in your head had been the word apart. Over and over and over.

So maybe home didn’t want you.

But that’s not possible. Every time the heavy, mind crushing thought crosses your head, you can cling to reality and know it’s not true. You can grab all the evidence you’ve spent so long gathering, and know that Bucky has to want you. You’ve dedicated your life to proving that Bucky has to want you. You’ve received awards and gotten paid more than you reasonably should, just because Bucky has to want you, and you need to prove it. 

He was still home. Your heart felt like it had been splintered, but you also knew Bucky. He wouldn’t have done that to you on purpose. He’d gotten worried when you’d been a little sad about a dog dying in a movie. And it wasn’t lovesick denial, like how the shitty therapist you got set up with said it was.

“Have you considered,” she’d hummed, sitting across from you on an ugly, boring fucking chair. “That maybe you romanticized this relationship-“

“No.”

She’s sighed. “I wasn’t finished with the question, you know. And it’s not a good sign that your response was that certain, without any evidence at all-“

“I have evidence.” You’d snapped, folding your arms over your chest. “And Steve told me that he was looking for me. That he turned himself in for help to find me.”

“What if Steve was lying? To preserve your feelings?”

You’d swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe. I don’t know him. I do know,” the therapist had given you a mockingly pointed look, and you’d wanted to punch her in the face. “That you claim that Bucky loves you, but he’s made no attempt to contact or see you. In your time of need, he wasn’t there. Is that how you treat someone you love?”

“Yes.”

The therapist had sighed your name, but you weren’t going to let Her keep going. You’d simply left, and texted Sam that you wanted that link to his survivors group therapy thing.

And the therapist hadn’t gotten it. No one really got it. They couldn’t. The symptoms, as it were, appeared stupid and irrational to everyone else, but you had proof. You weren’t an idiot. You’d picked up the blood-covered man on the side of the road not to be a Samaritan or out of naivety, but because you had to.

And Bucky had been there. He’s been here.

But you know him. And you know that he’s hiding from you on purpose, but he’s still there, because he always comes back.

You know he’s blaming himself. That he’d refused to even tell you about Hydra, because it would put you in just a little more danger. And you know about all the things they made him do, and that—when he’d been himself the most, before he’d leave and come back in the shell—he’d have nightmares about blood on his hands and choking down his throat.

And he’d let you hold him. But that was before. When some of that blood hadn’t been yours. 

Perceived as yours. As far as you’re concerned, none of this was even close to his fault. And if he’d show himself, you’d grab his face between your hands and tell him that, over and over and over, until he got it. 

But for now, indefinitely meant until you found where he was hiding, or he showed himself. 

You’d wait for him.

That’s how this works. You wait for him, and Bucky comes back.

And you’re still living, even without him. You’ve made friends. You got a cat, small and white and kind of a dramatic little bitch, and you named her Alpine. You don’t really go out, but you didn’t do that before, either. When someone asks you out, you polity turn them down and explain that you do have someone, they’re just solider. And you’re waiting for them to come home from war.

It’s not a lie. 

It’s just a different kind of war than they assume. 

Time continues to pass. Sometimes you’ll let your gaze linger on the sky for a little longer, just so Bucky knows you’re looking for him. You like your job—especially the money, you’ve never had money before, and most of it ends up donated but it’s good to know it’s there—and you like your apartment, and nothing really changes but that’s okay. You don’t need it to change. 

You’ve had enough change for a while. You still have to do the group therapy thing, and you get nightmares about Rumlow fisting a hand in your hair and forcing your jaw open, and you don’t wear swimsuits or tank tops, because you don’t have any desire the explain the Hydra brand on your shoulder.

Tony had offered to fix it. He’d said that, if you wanted, he could make it disappear. 

You’d turned him down. You won’t erase it. Won’t pretend it never happened, because it did, and you’re still standing despite of it. 

Hydra won’t hurt you again. If, somehow, all of Tony and Steve’s measures—along with Bucky’s nightly vigils he thinks you don’t know about—fail, you won’t let Hydra take you. You can shoot a gun now, and Nat taught you how to do the thigh move thing, and you can build a bomb.

You’d gone to the compound, to learn all those things. And you’d felt Bucky there the whole time, even if you’d never seen him.

It was more than enough. To know he was safe, and somewhere that he could exist without pain. 

And time just keeps moving. And you just keep waiting.

There’s a habit you’ve developed, and you know it’s not healthy, and you don’t really fucking care. 

You go to DC a fair amount, for work. And the Smithsonian exhibit about Captain America has been there forever, and it’s been altered since the everything that comes with the passage of time, but never anything you don’t know. There are things that are wrong, parts that Bucky had told you that hadn’t made it into the updated Fall of Hydra and freedom of the Winter Solider bit of the exhibit. Bits about his childhood with Steve the public didn’t get to know about, but you did. 

It’s one of the reasons visiting the exhibit helps. You get to see his face, but you can just google that. It’s mostly just reading over all the information, and being able to fill in a lot of the gaps. It’s even further proof that he existed with you, and you hadn’t just gone fucking insane. You knew about Bucky’s sisters, even though they were never mentioned. You know that this exhibit painted Steve to be a perfect little patriotic angel, but brave and good of heart meant reckless and good of heart. That it wasn’t an ironic twist of fate that Bucky was rescued by Steve. 

Steve had gone looking for Bucky. He’d gotten that mission together to save Bucky, because Bucky was worth saving.

“Ma’am?”

You glance to the side, and find a wide-eyed teenage boy bouncing on his toes. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, watching you carefully. “You been standing here for like, a really long time. And I’ve just been doing my report,” he holds up a notebook and pen, as if to prove their existence. “But you looked a little sad. I just wanted to check.” 

You just stare at him, and he swallows, extending a hand.

“I’m Peter by the way.”

He’s bouncy. A little puppy like. And when you give him a soft smile and your name he relaxes, even as you can see that concern starting to spread across his face. 

You have been here for a while. You’re always here for a while. But nobody’s ever asked you about it. And now you have to come up with a really good reason. 

“I’m just waiting for someone.” You shrug, and the Peter’s eyes widen.

“At a museum? Is he supposed to meet you here?” He pauses. “Or she? Or, is it multiple people? Maybe two people? There’s no reason for me to think it’s a he-“

“It’s a he.” You hum, and Peter relaxes. “And I doubt he’s coming. I just like to wait here.”

“Why?”

This kid is nosy. He’s lucky he looks so earnest, or you’d walk away. “It reminds me of him.”

“Oh. Did you guys… Go to a lot of museums together?” Peter glances at the Bucky exhibit. “Was he a fan of Mr. Barnes?”

You snort at that. “No, I don’t think he was.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.” You answer without a thought. Bucky’s the whole world. “Still am.”

Peter’s silent for a long moment. “How long have you been waiting for him? Your guy?”

“A while.” You shrug, glancing down at his notebook. “Don’t you have a report to be doing?”

“I- Uh, yeah. Are you sure you’re okay? I can wait with you-“

“No.” You let out a long breath, looking back to the exhibit. To Bucky’s face, a little younger than you’ve ever gotten to see it. 

But he’d still look youthful, when he helped you plant your flowers, and frowned at the TV, and laughed like nothing had ever been wrong in the world.

“He probably won’t show up today.” You say, trying not to let your own words break your head. “I’m just here. In case.”

“Oh.” Peter frowns at you. “When do you stop waiting?”

“I don’t.”

Peter’s just a kid, but you also don’t feel like trying to dance around it today. Bucky’s yours. He’s home.

He comes back, and you wait. 

He just has to come back.

“If it helps,” Peter mumbles. “Maybe he wants to come back, but can’t. That could’ve happened, right?”

You shake your head. “He can. And I know he wants to. He just has to be ready.”

“And you’re just gonna… wait?”

You nod, and you can almost feel Peter’s gaze shift from you to the picture of Bucky. He really is handsome. And you’d waited a whole lifetime for him before.

What’s a little while longer.

“Good luck with your report.” You give Peter a small smile, and he smiles back at you, his expression still nervous. 

“Thank you. I’m, uh- I’m sorry for bothering you-“

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He nods to himself, then starts to back away. “I hope your guy shows up for you!” 

Peter smiles at you one last before he bounces away, and you give him a small wave in return.

You don’t move. That’s part of the waiting. 

And Bucky won’t show up today.

But you hope he does, too.

——————

“Barnes!”

Stark’s shout was coming from behind him, but Bucky didn’t break pace. He didn’t want to talk to Tony right now. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He needed to get on his bike, so he could make it down to the city and continue his creepy ritual. 

If he missed Her, he’d have no way of knowing if She was safe. And Steve had promised She’d be fine, but there was always a fucking chance. A small but real chance that, the one night Bucky didn’t check on Her, Hydra would find her and she wouldn’t come home. And they wouldn’t know She was gone until it was too late. Hydra wasn’t supposed to take prisoners, but they’d take Her. And they’d still know what She meant to Bucky, and this time, he’d lose Her.

His soulmate. 

Peter’s word had been rattling around in Bucky’s head for weeks. Soulmate. Bucky’s soulmate. That was why She was an instinct. Why She was safe. The safest place. They vibrated together—whatever the hell that meant—so She was for Bucky, the same way part of him always wanted to crawl back and be for Her. Be wanted, and cared for, and safe.

Bucky didn’t deserve to be safe. He barely deserved the government’s forgiveness, let alone Her’s. The only star that had been left in the sky, guiding him home whenever he got lost. The wind that turned to blow him where he needed to go, and the sunlight that sometime filtered through his windows in the compound, reminding him that things did get better. She’d made everything better. 

He’d have to live with this, though. Just seeing Her, like the work of art She was. Watching, but never, ever touching. 

“I know you can hear me, terminator!” Stark shouted, and Bucky sped up.

He was faster. If he just got away-

“Friday! Lock the hallway doors!”

“Right away, sir.”

The door locked, seconds before Bucky got to freedom. 

“What the fuck, Stark-“

“Don’t throw a tantrum.” Stark waved him off, panting slightly as he caught up. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you like an adult, Barnes, you’re the one who- Never mind. Not important. Why have you been sending my prodigal child to spy on your girlfriend?”

Bucky blinked. “You’ve got kids?”

“I’ve got the kid. Peter.”

“The spider-boy?”

“He prefers man.” Stark shrugged. “But yes. He’s been stalking your girl, Barnes, and I want to know why.”

Bucky stared at Stark for a long moment, the word processing through his head. His girl. Her. Peter was followed Her. Stalking Her. Maybe keeping tabs on Her for Bucky, but Peter knew Bucky had been watching Her, and maybe this was a trap, and Peter had snitched, and now Bucky was supposed to admit he’d been following Her, but if Stark had something to say about that he better damn say it and move on, because Bucky wasn’t going to be stopping until one of them was dead. Preferably him, as if She died first, he’d plant all those flowers on Her grave then crawl into the coffin at Her side, holding Her until she remembered who She was and came back home, home to Bucky-

“Hey!” Stark snapped his fingers in Bucky’s face. “Answer my question, tin man. Why’s the kid following her around?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky grunted, and Stark sighed.

“Here’s the deal, okay? I know about your little trips. I’ve known about them, because, as I attempted to explain before, I am keeping her safe. But apparently I should stop trying to tell super-soldiers from the 40s to trust technology, cause Cap keeps throwing out his very expensive Starkwatch, and you feel the need to act as a personal body guard to a woman who you refuse to even speak to.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it-“

“No.” Stark pointed a stern finger at him, eyes narrowing. “I will not watch it, because I’m find with the stalking, but I will not let you loop the kid into your crimes. You know, besides the one he’s doing on purpose.”

“I didn’t loop the kid into anything.”

“Then why was he trying to talk to me about-“

“He followed me.” Bucky snapped, taking a firm step forward. “And I told him to drop it. That’s all that fucking happened, Stark, so unlock the doors or I will break them open.”

If Stark was fazed, he didn’t show it. Of course he didn’t. Asshole. “That wasn’t all that happened.” 

“Yes it-“

“Peter told me about your conversation.” Stark snapped, holding Bucky’s gaze. “About the soulmate shit. And that you thought it was bullshit.”

“He fucking what-“

“I just wanted to help!” Peter squeaked, seeming to fucking materialize from the ceiling before dropping down at Stark’s side. “And Mr. Barnes didn’t make me talk to her, Mr. Stark, I did that myself-“

“You talked to her.” Bucky was trying to keep his voice from being a shout, but it was just coming out poisonous. “I told you that was it.”

“But it’s not it-“

“Peter.” Stark stepped forward, and Peter’s mouth snapped shut. “How did you get into this hallway?”

Peter bowed his head, his voice only a mumble. “Clint showed me the vents.”

“And why the fuck did you go after-“

“Barnes.” Stark snapped, his eyes narrowed. “Deep breaths. We’re handling this. Peter, why did you go talk to our lovely, angry ex-assassins soulmate-“

“She’s not-“

“She is.” Stark shrugged. Like the words were fucking nothing, instead of a grenade straight to Bucky’s heart every time they were said, because the universe couldn’t do that to Her. “I’d bet most everything I own that she is. I am more worried about why you,” he glared at Peter. “Felt the need to participate in their sad little pining situation.”

“I just wanted to talk to her,” Peter mumbled, staring at the floor. “I didn’t mean to run into her, I promise, but I was on a field trip, and she was there. Looking at your exhibit!” Peter gave Bucky a wide, almost hopeful smile. “And she said she was waiting for someone! And that she was still a fan of you-“

Stark’s nose wrinkled. “A fan? She collecting little Barnes stickers?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it- It made more sense in context. But she’d said she’d wait for you forever, Mr. Barnes! So that’s what she wants, right? You?”

Bucky couldn’t move. Him. She wanted him. 

The kid could be lying, but he didn’t seem like the type. 

But there was no reason for Her to want Bucky. He’d never done anything for Her. He’d only gotten Her hurt, and failed Her.

Yet She was still waiting for him. 

She’d always been waiting for him. Every time he’d left, Bucky could remember Her waiting for him. And She was beautiful and kind and smart, and could’ve had anyone, but She’d chosen to wait for Bucky. There had been times where he’d be gone for months on end, but still.

She’d be waiting for him.

“Stark.” He grunted. “Let me out. Now.”

“But-“

Stark placed a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder, and the kid shut his mouth. “Friday, open the doors.”

It wasn’t a trap. Stark didn’t do traps like that. He only held Bucky’s gaze, and nodded to the exit.

“Make good choices.”

Bucky grunted, and walked away. 

Choices.

That hadn’t been something he’d had, for so long. And they were fucking hard.

Nobody talks about how fucking hard choices are. 

You have to make all the right ones. For yourself. For everyone else. And there are so many options, and they’re all complicate and simple all at once, and you’re always supposed to just make the right ones. Maybe it was an instinct he’d had before, then lost, but Bucky doesn’t have a goddamn clue which ones are the right ones. He doesn’t have a clue about anything.  

He had a clue about Her. No matter how many times he’d been wiped, Bucky had always had a clue about Her. At first it would just be a breach in the programming, telling him to go. Go to Her. Then it was the flowerbed that some part of his brain had understood to mean if he stood there, he’d be somewhere better. And he’d always be flooded with more and more knowledge of everything when She was lying in his arms, and he was at peace. 

He hadn’t done peace in a while, either. Here—at the compound—Bucky had the choices, but he didn’t have peace.

He missed it. 

Missed Her. 

All the fucking time, Bucky missed Her.

And he could spend another night on the roof, but She was already home. Bucky could feel it, running right along that instinct, that She was here but out of his sight.

He didn’t want Her to be out of his sight. He just wanted Her. And Peter said She was waiting for him. Looking at his exhibit and waiting for him. Just like how, every night, he returned to watch Her. 

And Bucky hated not being in control. He hated not having a choice. 

But he’d never had a choice with Her. It had always just been find Her. Go to Her. Go, go, go, you have to go to Her. First disguised as the program, but deeper. Part of Bucky, instead on just a voice in his head and strings on his body. 

She was deeper.

She was his. 

And before Bucky knew it, he was in the building. At Her doorstep.

Knocking on the door. 

It was a horrible, terrible, god fucking awful idea. His fist had barely left the wood, and Bucky knew it had been a terrible idea.

And it was far too late to turn back. The door swung open, and there She was.

Even more beautiful up close. Still clear. Colorful and made of sharp lines, and a soft, gentle smile. Like She’d been expecting him. And every bit of Her could split the heaviest of fogs, and guide Bucky home. 

To Her. 

“You’re here.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Her voice was soft too. Every bit of Her had always been soft. Not movable, not weak, but soft.

Like a ton of feathers. Just as heavy as iron. Just as strong. 

But crushing Bucky down softly, easily. 

He’d been fighting for so long. Every time he’d found Her, he’d been fighting something. His body, a target, Hydra, himself. 

And She’d been waiting. 

Bucky might be done fighting. And this—strong, suffocating, clear softness—was maybe the best place to rest. The safest place.

So he nodded, and Her smile grew as she stepped aside. 

“I didn’t know when you’d be… back.” She mumbled, scanning over Her apartment as she led him inside. “It’s a little bit of a mess, but-“

Bucky cut Her off with a grunt. “It’s good.” You’re good. Perfect. I’m home, and I don’t know where to go from here-

“Do you want to sit down?”

She’d always done that a lot. Understood what he needed. Taken care of him, even when he’d really been nothing more than a burden. 

“You- You don’t have to-“

Bucky sat down before She could finish, and her lips twitched slightly. 

There was a soft, rolling squeak, and suddenly something was jumping onto Bucky. He barely had time to brace his body back, before he realized that it wasn’t an attacker, or bomb, or any sort of threat to Her.

It was a cat. A pure white cat, purring on his lap and examining Bucky with big, curious eyes.

“That’s Alpine.” She mumbled, and Bucky glanced up at Her, clearing his throat.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Let her smell you.” Bucky nodded, offering his hand, and Alpine had barely smelled it for a second before She was head-butting him, settling further into his lap.

A soft smile grew on Her face. “She likes you.”

“Gesso so.”

“Do you want-“

“I want you.” Bucky muttered, trying not to think too much. Thinking had always been his enemy. And She needed to stop asking what he wanted, because this wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was the one who failed, then left, then stayed away. 

“I-“

“I want to talk, doll.” He looked up at Her, not caring how much of his voice sounded like pleading. “Please, sit.”

She swallowed, and nodded. Dropping right at Bucky’s side, where he could feel the warmth of Her body. He reached out a slow, careful hand, keeping Alpine in his lap and giving Her plenty of time to swat it away.

But She didn’t. She let Bucky trace his thumb over Her cheekbones, then tuck some hair behind Her ears. Let him linger.

“Hi.” She whispered, Her eyes locked on his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He murmured, giving Her a tiny and weak, but real, smile. 

She returned it. Like it wasn’t even a thought. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me.” His voice was a rasp, and what if She didn’t want to have him. What if She didn’t want him, and the spider-kid had been gone-

“Bucky?”

He nodded, something starting to sting at his eyes and strangle him, and She took a long breath.

“Why now?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Why- Why now?” She whispered. “I know you’ve been watching me, I just- I need to know why you were gone. And what made you came back. So I- I want you to stay, this time.” She swallowed, and Bucky could feel it in his own throat. “Please stay this time.”

Bucky couldn’t think about how She’d known he was watching Her. He only thought about the tears starting to roll down Her cheeks, and how She’d been waiting. Alpine was strolling away from Bucky to comfort Her, and that should’ve been his problem. Not the damn cat’s.

He never should’ve made Her cry. Ever.

He’d made the wrong choice. So many wrong choices. There was blood on his hands, over his heart, and beaten and painted over his skull. 

He wanted to start making the right choices.

He wanted to be clean.

“I didn’t want to leave you, babydoll.” He kept his voice low and slow, and She made a weak, choked sound. “I- I’m so fucking sorry. I was comin’ to get you, but Hydra got you first. Then I couldn’t find you, and I had to get mixed up in a lot of stuff to find you and- You’ve always deserved better than me, sweet girl. Better than an old man covered in blood, and I was tryin’ to be- I needed to be selfless. Needed to give you a shot at something better, and that meant me staying away. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry for not being there, and makin’ you wait, and- I’m-“ Bucky slid to his knees before Her, wrapping his arms around Her stomach. “I’m sorry. I never shoulda ever left, and I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence, as Bucky stayed on his knees, and She scanned over his face. She could break him. Cast him out, and he’d deserve it, make him repent a little more than just tear and apologies, make him earn it-

“I forgive you.” 

Bucky blinked. “But-“

“I do. I forgive you. But it’s not selfless to leave me, Bucky. And I don’t care who I deserve. And I don’t want better. I want you.” She swallowed, Her eyes going glossy on his. “And I need you to believe me when I say that.”

Believe Her.

That was easy.

She’d always helped him remember, always cared for him, always trusted Bucky not to hurt Her, even when She really shouldn’t have. 

If all Bucky had to do for Her to forgive him was believe Her, that was going to be the easiest thing in the world.

“I believe you.” He muttered, and Her smile is going to make him move mountains. “Thank you.” 

“Can we start over?” She whispered, Her eyes so bright on Bucky’s, and no choice had ever been easier.

“I’d… Like that. Please.”

“Good.” She gave him a small smile, extending out one hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

Bucky swallowed, taking Her hand slowly. It didn’t vanish. 

This was real.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” His voice was a little hoarse. She didn’t seem to mind. “But you can call me Bucky, doll. What’s, uh- You got a name?”

Her smile grew, She said Her name and Bucky had never heard her last name before. It suited Her well.

Barnes would suit Her better.

But he’d deal with that later. Right now, they were starting over. Bucky was starting over. 

With Her.

And there was no solider programming to breathe through, but there was still the sheer power of Her. And there it was. The calmness and clarity through his whole body. Bucky could feel it.

He was home.

End Note: Are y'all ready for some toothrotting fluff and a-grade smut. They're about to be so happy you have no idea.

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[gunilslaugh]

Chapter 2: Tangled Web

Part of my To All The Boys I've Loved Before Series WC:~1.8k

It was Lee Jooyeon.

Your blood runs cold. You swear you can hear his footsteps walk across your living room and begin up the stairs. Your eyes shift over to your bedroom window. You had to get out of here. Suddenly you're springing up from your bed and dashing over to the window. 

“What are you doing?” Jiseok questioned, his face sprouting a look of concern. Then he sees you open the window and begin to make your way out. “Hey! Hey! No!” He’s rushing over to you. “You can’t jump out the window y/n.” His arms circle around your waist and pull you back, just like they did not all that long ago.

“You don’t want to see me so bad that you’d rather jump out the window?” It was Jooyeon. Of course he made his way to your room by now. You make the mistake of turning to look at him. You can’t even look at him long, quickly averting your eyes. 

“I-” You sigh, not knowing what to say. “You can let go now Jiseok,” you tell him. His arms loosen and fall away from your body. He then steps over to close your window. 

“So I got an interesting piece of mail this morning,” Jooyeon said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out an envelope. One that will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. “Care to explain?” he twiddled the letter between his fingers.

“No, n-not really.” You look down at your feet.

“Her nephew found the letters and sent them out,” Jiseok spoke. Jooyeon tried to stifle his laughter at the information Jiseok just shared, but he couldn’t, finding the situation to be quite comical. 

“That, that is comedy gold,” he states. “Wait, did you say letters?” he asks. It suddenly hit him that he wasn’t the only one who received this love letter of sorts from you.

“Yes, letters. Because I was dumb enough to write a letter to each guy I ever had a crush on.” You hide your face in your hands. You can feel both Jiseok and Jooyeon’s eyes on you and wish you had the ability to disappear. 

“It’s not really dumb.” Jiseok tried to comfort you.

“Did Gunil get one too?” Jooyeon abruptly asked. You take your hands away from your face, your gaze moving to where your phone lies on your bed, being reminded of the message that Gunil sent you. “Did he contact you?” His question sounds more frantic. 

“You know what, I really can’t do this right now. Can you both please leave?” you say. 

“Answer me. Did Gunil get a letter?” Why does he sound so desperate? 

“Why does it matter? But you know what? Fine, if you guys don’t want to leave. I will leave.” You walk over to your bed picking up your phone and briskly brush past Jooyeon on the way out of your room. The two boys go to follow you, however your brother stepped in front of them stopping them. 

“Let her go. It’s time I put on my protective big brother hat.” Your brother mimed putting on a hat. “She’s clearly really overwhelmed right now. I get that you guys probably have questions, but she’s not in a state to answer them right now. Especially if it’s you two.” 

Jiseok wasn’t entirely listening to what your brother, his best friend, was saying. His main focus was on you as you made your way out of your house. He really does want to run after you, but the last sentence your brother said caught his attention. 

It caught Jooyeon’s attention as well. “What do you mean especially if it’s us two?” he questioned. Jiseok looked at your brother wanting to know the answer as well. 

“Let’s talk in my room.” Your brother guides the two of them the short distance to his bedroom then gestures for them to enter. He has the pair of boys sit on the edge of his bed while he grabs his desk chair and rolls it over to sit in front of them.

“I’m not proud of what I’m about to admit,” he starts. “I may have been a snoopy big brother and one day I found the letters y/n was hiding in her closet. Naturally I read them.” 

“That is such an invasion of privacy,” Jiseok stated, clearly judging. 

“Yeah dude that’s not cool,” Jooyeon said. 

“Look I know, but I had good reason. I notice something off in y/n’s behavior. She started to avoid Jiseok. In all the years we’ve known each other she has never done that and when I asked her about it, she acted like she wasn’t. Since she wouldn’t answer me I went looking for answers myself,” he explained. 

“You didn’t think to ask Jiseok if he knew why?” Jooyeon asked, motioning to Jiseok. 

“He did ask, but I didn’t really know why either,” Jiseok answered. 

“Precisely, so like I said I went looking for answers. Y/n was away for the weekend. Gone out on a hiking/camping whatever it was in the woods.  I took this opportunity to look through her room and I found a box that contained some letters. Letters that were addressed to some guys. Now I swear I really wasn’t gonna pay much attention to them, but then I saw that one was addressed to Jiseok. Naturally I had to read it and that’s when I discovered y/n’s crush on Jiseok. Then I read the rest of the letters, which is debatable on if I should have done that.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jiseok stated. 

“I’m sorry I’m nosy,” your brother said. “But look I’m about to get at something. At this time there were only five letters. Jooyeon’s hadn’t been written yet,” your brother informed. “So things get a bit more interesting from here. Once y/n got back I noticed that she was acting even stranger. Now imagine my surprise when one night she came back looking extra exhausted, so I jokingly asked her if she and Jooyeon really got into it. Only for her to tell me that she and Jooyeon weren’t fighting. In fact they hadn’t bickered in a while.” Jiseok turns to Jooyeon. 

“You two stopped fighting?” he asked, shock apparent on his face. 

“It’s been weird for me too,” he says. 

“Back to the story. I used my new degree in sleuthing to check her closet again and when I opened the box that contained the letters I found Jooyeon’s. At first I thought wow she got over Jiseok quick, but then I remembered that she was still avoiding Jiseok and why would she do that if she was over him? She wouldn’t, so I came to the conclusion that she liked you both, at the same time. That’s why she was acting so strange,” he concludes. 

Jiseok and Jooyeon look at each other. A kind of tension building between them. 

“One other thing. Your guys' letters are different from the others. The other four of them sound like she was reflecting on her crush on them. Like she was clearly over them, but you two.” He points at them. “They were written while she had feelings for you,” he adds. 

Again Jiseok and Jooyeon look at one another. Did you really like them both at the same time? Who would you pick?

Meanwhile your feet didn’t slow down once you were out of your house. They moved fast, sounding on the pavement. You felt like you had to get as far away as possible. You made it to a cafe that was a few miles away from your house. You ordered your drink then took a seat at one of the tables outside. As you sip your drink you feel like you're finally able to relax a bit. You lean back in your chair, trying not to think about the events that just happened. Your peace was very short lived though. 

“Y/n?” A voice called. It has been years, but you still recognize it. 

It was Goo Gunil. 

Your eyes widen as you see him standing in front of you. Life really did hate you didn’t it?

“Gunil..hi” you say awkwardly. 

“Can I sit?” He gestured to the chair in front of you. You think it over briefly in your head. Oddly you find that seeing Gunil here in front of you didn’t cause the same sense of panic that facing Jiseok or Jooyeon did. 

“Sure,” you replied. He pulled out the chair and took a seat. 

“How have you been?” he asked, causing you to laugh. 

“Well…could definitely be better,” you say. “You don’t have to waste time with small talk though. You want to know about the letter right?” You cut to the chase. 

“I was surprised to receive it,” he tells you. “Though my biggest question isn’t necessarily about the letter itself,” he adds. 

“What do you mean?” you question, brows pulling together. 

“You didn’t read my message I take it.” Using his head he nods to your phone that’s sitting on the table. 

“Look when letters you wrote to guys that you’ve had a crush on suddenly get sent when they were supposed to stay tucked away in your closet forever. You’re not really in the mood to read messages, specially when they are from one of those said guys,” you said.

“I understand.” Gunil raised his hands slightly. “Why did you address them though if you never wanted to actually send them?” 

“Because I’m an idiot,” you laugh. “I don’t know. I guess they just felt unfinished without the addresses and I kinda wrote them as a form of closure so…” You trailed off and leaned forward to grab your drink. 

“Well for the record our laughter in physics didn’t mean nothing. It's sweet that you read the books I liked just so you could talk to me about them,” he tells you. A bit of embarrassment bubbles in your stomach. 

“I forgot I wrote that part.” You cringe, making Gunil chuckle.

“I guess I should get back to my main question. The main reason why I was surprised to get this letter was because I thought you were dating Jiseok back then,” he tells you. 

“What!?” Your voice raises in shock, facing contorting into a state of confusion. “W-where did you get that from?”

“Jooyeon. He told me that you were dating Jiseok,” he reveals. 

“Like Lee Jooyeon?” you checked. 

“Yes, Lee Jooyeon. The one we had physics with.” He confirmed. 

“Why would he do that?” You’re completely utterly confused. You always thought it was a miracle graced by God that Jooyeon never outed your crush on Gunil, but now you’re finding out that he told Gunil you were dating Jiseok.

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taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143 @seungseung-minmin @junhanism

[panerasbox]

—JUST TONIGHT; 12 Days To Go

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader.

Genre: angst.

Word count: 1,284.

summary: bad idea, right?

a/n: thank you @venuirs for the prompt idea!! i was not familiar with the song before hand, so hopefully this is okay 🫶🏻

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

You don’t remember sending the text.

You do remember the way your thumb hovered over Melissa’s name for a good ten minutes, the burn of cheap wine in your throat, the way the word lonely settled somewhere low in your chest until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“u up?”

Two words. That’s all it took.

Five minutes later, Melissa answered. Three words back: “Come over. Now.”

You’re not proud of what happened next.

You’re even less proud of the bruises you’re now trying to cover with a sweater that absolutely does not match the weather forecast — a mistake made clear when you step inside Abbott Elementary and immediately start sweating through the damn thing.

You’re tugging at the neckline, cursing yourself for not investing in better concealer, when Ava struts past you, sunglasses perched low on her nose, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“Damn, girl,” she says, slowing to look you up and down like you’re a specimen in a museum. “Who the hell wrecked you?”

You freeze.

Out of the corner of your eye, across the hall, you catch a glimpse of fiery red hair.

Melissa’s laughing at something Jacob said, casual, unaffected, looking like she didn’t just wreck your whole entire life twelve hours ago.

You tug your sweater higher, pretend to cough into your hand, and mutter, “Bad idea. Bad fucking idea.”

You’re halfway through pretending to reorganize the supply closet when the door swings open.

You nearly drop the box of printer paper in your hands.

Melissa slips inside like she owns the place — like she owns you, too — and shuts the door behind her with a soft click.

Her eyes flick over you, amused, lingering just a little too long at your neckline where the edge of a bruise peeks out from under your collar.

“You’re makin’ it real obvious, hon,” she says, voice low and dangerous, the way it used to sound against your skin.

You narrow your eyes. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you—”

Words fail you. You gesture vaguely at your own neck, like that’s enough explanation.

Melissa just smirks.

“Thought you liked it rough,” she says, and you swear the temperature in the tiny room jumps ten degrees.

You set the box down a little too hard. “It was one night,” you snap, more to yourself than her. “A mistake.”

Melissa steps closer. One step, then two, until you’re backed up against the shelves, breathing shallow.

She’s close enough that you can smell her perfume — something spicy and familiar, and it makes your knees a little weak.

“Yeah?” she murmurs.

Her hand comes up — not touching you, but close enough to feel the heat — like she’s daring you to close the distance.

“Then why,” she says, tilting her head, “are you lookin’ at me like you want another?”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that you’re already leaning in, that your hands are already itching to grab fistfuls of her stupid leather jacket and pull.

You hate that it feels like gravity when it comes to her — inevitable, inescapable.

You manage to choke out, “Because I’m an idiot,” right before the door bursts open and Janine pokes her head inside.

“There you are! We need someone to help decorate for the Career Day assembly—”

She freezes. Blinks. Smiles way too brightly. “Uh, were you two… fixing the copier? I’ll… come back.”

She disappears before either of you can explain.

Melissa chuckles under her breath and when you glare at her, it only makes her grin wider.

“Career Day, huh?” she says, already halfway out the door. “Good thing I’m good at repeatin’ mistakes.”

You stand there, heart pounding against your ribs, wondering how the hell you’re gonna survive the rest of the day.

You spend most of it avoiding eye contact with Melissa, ducking into classrooms, pretending to be very, very invested in decorating a Career Day banner that Ava insists should say “Future Billionaires Only.”

Every time you catch a glimpse of her — the flash of leather, the flick of red hair as she laughs at something, the curve of her mouth when she thinks no one’s looking — it’s like being hit by a truck all over again.

Worse, she knows it.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, lingering too long in the teachers’ lounge, brushing past you just a little closer than necessary in the hallway, smirking whenever you flinch like a coward.

By the time dismissal rolls around, you’re about two seconds away from either screaming or making another terrible decision. Possibly both.

You’re gathering stray markers from a table when you hear it — her voice, low and close behind you.

“Hey.”

You straighten so fast you nearly knock the bin of supplies off the table.

Melissa catches it easily, one hand, steady like always.

You hate her for that. Hate how steady she is when you’re nothing but a mess inside.

“You busy tonight?” she asks.

Just like that. No lead-in. No apology.

You blink at her.

“I—what?”

“After Career Day. Drinks. My place,” she says, casual as anything. Like this isn’t insanity. Like you didn’t spend your whole afternoon trying to scrub the memory of her mouth from your skin.

You stare at her, mouth dry.

“You don’t even like me,” you say, because it’s easier than admitting the real problem — that you don’t trust yourself around her. Never have. Never will.

Melissa’s face changes — just a flicker, but you catch it.

A crack in the armor. A reminder that this used to be something real before you both smashed it to pieces.

“I liked you too much,” she says, voice low.

“That was the problem.”

You swallow hard, throat suddenly dry.

“We fought all the time.”

Melissa shrugs, but there’s something brittle at the edges of it.

“You wanted things I couldn’t give you. Some white-picket-fence fantasy. I’m not built for that, hon. You knew it then, and you know it now.”

You flinch, like she slapped you.

Because yeah, you did know. You just hoped — stupidly, stubbornly — that she’d change. That you could be enough to make her want to try.

“You broke my heart,” you say, quietly.

You don’t mean to. It just slips out.

Melissa exhales through her nose, like she’s been waiting for you to say it.

“I know,” she says. “And you broke mine right back.”

Silence stretches between you, tight and messy and full of everything you were never brave enough to say.

For a second — a stupid, dangerous second — you almost reach for her.

Almost apologize.

Almost ask if maybe this time could be different.

But you don’t.

Because you know better.

And Melissa, bless her stubborn heart, knows better too.

That doesn’t stop her from stepping closer, from tilting her head in that infuriating, irresistible way.

“Don’t gotta be forever,” she murmurs. “Just tonight.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh that feels like it might turn into a sob if you’re not careful.

“You make it sound so easy.”

Melissa smiles, slow and sad.

“It is easy, sweetheart. We just make it hard.”

You should walk away.

You should slam the door shut like you swore you would the last time you let her wreck you.

Instead, you close your eyes.

You breathe her in — the smell on her jacket, the sharp spice of her perfume, the memory of her mouth on your skin — and you say, voice shaking:

“One drink.”

Melissa grins, all teeth and trouble.

“One drink,” she agrees, lying right to your face.

And you let her.

Because you’re an idiot.

Because you’re still in love with her.

Because it was never going to be anything else.

[the-cockroach-that-survived]

neurodivergence can give context and reasoning for people's actions, yes. it doesn't excuse them, though. it doesn't make the harm done disappear. it doesn't take the need for accountability away. i think it can be even infantilizing to say so, in my opinion.

I just woke up so this isn’t getting the BEST response apologies if it’s half baked or rude I’m just tired of having the same conversation over and over again

I never said that. I never said it excuses the need for accountability. But guess what. Dream takes accountability constantly. Most things I can think of off the top of my head (outside of situations where he was literally just lied about) he has reflected and apologized, or in some cases, he literally just did something some people disagree with and some people don’t so he wouldn’t necessarily have to apologize, it was just his personal decision to do something

Hurting people is not the end of the world, it happens, and for ND people, it happens unintentionally or without understanding the full context/consequences constantly. That doesn’t completely relieve them of responsibility, no, but it does recontextualize things in a way that matters and most people obnoxiously never take into account or will purely say things like “that’s not an excuse” “that’s infantilizing” or whatever else when that’s literally not true and not the point at all

I’m autistic, I have unintentionally and/or unknowingly hurt people before. Not once have I acted like because I’m autistic and didn’t know that what I was doing was wrong, that means it doesn’t matter. I do however explain to people that my autism affects my actions and understandings of things, along with my communication style, and many times with that context, I straight up was arguably not in the wrong at all, because I had no idea what I was doing was hurtful, and despite me communicating multiple times that I need to be told directly if there’s an issue, people never did, and then only did when they were so mad about it that they blew up at me or cut me out, which is entirely unfair

A lot of the mistakes I’ve seen Dream make have been a direct result of how his neurodivergence affects his understanding of certain things AND others’ understanding of him. Many of the issues I’ve seen other creators express having with him have been the results of misunderstandings or blowing things way out of proportion (that is, if they even give any sort of proof to back their claims at all, which they usually don’t. In fact, usually their claims are so vague that it baffles me any fans are so up in arms about it)

I hate that every time I bring this up, this is the response I get. Saying that someone’s neurodivergence matters in the context of things and that it can in fact completely change how certain situations play out or look is not me saying they can’t/shouldnt/don’t need to take accountability when they DO actually hurt people, nor is it remotely infantilizing, it is compassionate and frankly necessary for a full understanding of certain situations, and I would argue it’s more ableist to say otherwise. Autism is a disability with social difficulties being a huge part of it. That IS going to affect things and it NEEDS to be taken into consideration, rather than nearly entirely brushed aside because it’s “not an excuse”

[justinsfriendsdotcom]

Not to be mean but why the fuck are you making art of actual killers being groomed??? You have to be fucked in the head to like that shit. At this rate by the time you’re an adult you’ll be so messed up that you’ll end up being someone with zero morals.

I understand where you're coming from, i dont take it as hate or with ill intention, and im not upset with your question!

to explain it simply, leaving the personal factors out of this, i draw and write as i please. Seeing as what i do or what i spend time on wont change the horrible events of reality, i do as i enjoy.

seeing as you've been recommended my art, with the tags being full of tcc, i would assume you are also tcc! meaning you are a fan of murderers. I dont see how its not hypocritical to enjoy the stories and cases of murders, yet find it so bazaar when someone enjoys the stories/cases/ or circumstances of people who have committed crimes that aren't murder. They're both morally wrong, why are you any better than me? But, that's just my personal opinion.

In regards to what you said, yes, i am fucked up in the head! I'd like to thank you for your concern towards my future, my dear internet stranger, but I don't see my morals just disappearing one day because of what i indulge in and enjoy. But back with the tcc argument, isn't that exact behavior that fuels this community? If there weren't fucked up individuals who indulged in their self-destructive tendencies, no crimes would've been committed, thus, no true crime community!

↑ IN NO WAY AM I SAYING I WOULD EVER COMMIT/GROW UP TO COMMIT CRIMES OF ANY KIND.

seeing as i wasted a lot of energy to respond to something relatively negative, and this addressed mostly everything I think I'll need to, i will no longer be responding to any "hate comments." If you're or anyone on my page, and feels the need to leave your negative opinions in relation to something like this, please refer to this post!

[lol-jackles]

In the past misha has said castiel started out as a powerful angel but over time the writers starting making him weak and awkard because of mishas personality. Would you say this is the writers just being lazy instead of being creative?

As I mentioned earlier, writers eventually turn characters into the actors, it's believable that writers make Castiel awkward because they saw how awkward Misha was around the cast. Just go to any SPN conventions featuring Misha and you can see that he looks and feels out of place in the fraternity atmosphere. Where else do you think the writers got the idea for endverse!Castiel's harem and having an orgy in the middle of the episode?

As for "weak", do you mean the de-powering of Castiel every season until they stop explaining how his sporadic power works? Castiel was de-powered for the same reason why Sam's power disappeared after season 5,  because otherwise he would be an ex deus machina who could solve cases in the first 5 minutes of every episode.  What are they going to fill for the next 40 minutes?

It’s been long my unpopular opinion that Misha was Singer’s contingency plan since season 5 in case Jared prematurely leaves SPN. That way Jensen then will be promoted to lead and Castiel will be Dean’s new hunting partner. Except Jared didn't leave, and Misha kept waiting for his big day. So in the mean time the writers struggle to figure out what to do with Castiel.

There was a real chance that Jared would not return for season 11 so Misha and his team worked to prepare for his big day, long-time fans remember the YANA debacle. (X) (X). Around late season 13, Jared told WB that he accepted an offer from CBS and will leave SPN after season 14. Misha must have thought his time finally has come so he negotiated to get back on the regular status and the higher salary that comes with it.  Only for they to officially announce that SPN's 15th season will be its last during the filming of the season 14 finale. Imagine Misha’s shock and dismay, emotionally I imagine it felt like a giant middle finger to him.

[dailyriolu]

A silly guide on how I draw normal Riolu vs My sona

[moonchild-in-blue]

I know I'm pretty mia lately (life is kicking real hard), but WHERE TF IS ADAMROSS??

(his Instagram is just deactivated)

Snap Snap Boyfriend pls come back 🥺

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

So you mentioned how you leave Hawke in the fade, do you ever bring Varric with on that quest? (Maybe I'm just a sucker for angst ((which I totally am cuz for my canon warden I have her date a soft Alistair who is pissed and dumbs her when she makes him king and then she makes the ultimate sacrifice and Alistair is devastated he never got to talk it out with her)) so I always take Varric and Cassandra with cuz I think it's nuts that the game doesn't have him react in the fade to leaving Hawke. So I picture a dramatic speech like fuck this Hawke let someone else be the hero for once, you deserve to live. And Cassandra is there seeing someone she put on a pedestal and saw as an unstoppable hero met their end.)

I've brought a few different combos into the fade but my favorite combo is definitely Varric/Cassandra/Solas; Varric because of Hawke, Cassandra because of Divine Justinia, and Solas for the fade itself.

I love and hate the fade quest for a number of reasons, but the part of me that revels in angst just adores it, it's such a heartbreaking part of Inquisition's story. I keep Alistair a Grey Warden, so it becomes a final choice of either making him stay behind, or my Hawke, Ed... it's a brutal choice that ends with Ed staying behind.

The meta reason for making this choice is I love Alistair too much. I want him and my warden to remain together until the end so I'd leave nearly anyone in the fade just to save him. And I don't want to make him king just to avoid the hard choice; he never wanted it, and Rose wasn't ever going to force it onto him.

But from a story-telling standpoint, Ed staying behind hurts so much because that's literally his fear; if he had his own fear engraved tombstone in the fade, it'd say something like "Abandonment" or "Being Left Behind." It's one of the reasons he stays by Anders' side after the events of DA2 despite ending their romantic relationship, he can't abandon the man he's loved for years even when everyone tells him he should....until, of course, we get to the fade and he feels he no longer has a choice.

Ed never wanted to be some hero or champion, but it's so engrained in his identity now that he constantly feels the burden of sacrificing pieces of himself for others. He feels the guilt of every loss he's suffered, whether it was actually his fault or not. In his mind, no matter how much it hurts, or who it hurts, it's the "right" choice to leave him behind... he's read enough of Varric's tragedies to know how this goes.

I also headcanon that when Carver's made a warden, he goes back to Fereldan to serve under the Hero of Fereldan and becomes best friends with Alistair. So I imagine that's another reason Ed insists he be the one to cover them. He went to great lengths to keep his brother out of this mess [even though Carver protested every step of the way] and doesn't want Carver to lose his best friend, even though he would also be devastated to lose his brother, but y'know.... Ed's just like, "Tell Carver I'm sorry, and that I always thought the world of him."

Even as Alistair, who never got to know his brother and dreamed about meeting his sister only for her to reject him, argued back... it's no use. Ed made up his mind to face his greatest fear to save them, and Ash begrudgingly agrees with him.

As for Varric, it hurts to watch him ask happened to Hawke... and then to listen to him recount a story about the kind of person Hawke was... and to give him a comforting hug... it all hurts.

But... that being said, I have thought about possibly doing a run where I do leave Alistair behind in a worldstate where Rose made the ultimate sacrifice. Alistair lost her and became disillusioned with the Grey Wardens, only remaining because what else is there for him? When it comes to someone staying in the fade, he insists it be him. He faces the nightmare as Hawke and the Inquisitor escape, and mutters under his breath, "Wait for me a little longer, my love," before attacking.

...because why not break my own heart some more, y'know?

Whether I'll be brave enough to attempt that is yet to be seen.

[thetangibleghost]

Two years into my Truman show delusion and I've finally come up with a metaphor

Me wearing a giant silly hat: remember, the giant silly hat isn't real. You are NOT wearing a giant silly hat.

Someone: *coughs*

Me, still wearing a giant silly hat: fuck fuckfuck. This is all to much this is all happening so fast why is it so hard to be alive I just want to feel simple things and this is so much an- god wait I'm so selfish and self centered even if I was REALLY wearing a giant silly hat that doesn't mean that cough was about me. That's silly. Almost as silly as this giant fucking hat.

Caring friend: hey, is something the matter? You seem agitated.

Me, in my stupid fucking giant stupid silly hat: I just freaked my self out again about my silly hat haha.

Them, doing obvious mental math: ... That's alright.

Me, wearing a giant silly hat still: you know, I appreciate when you stare at me thinking for an entire minute before saying something vague and supportive, but I thought I should let you know, it just feels like your staring at my giant gaudy hat.

Them: it's just... I was always told that people who think they are wearing giant stupid ugly awful hats take them really seriously. So you have to be super careful.

Me, in my big hat: yeah, I guess. It's different for everyone but like... You keep treating me like I'm scary? Almost like I'm wearing a huge giant fucking stupid ass shitty hat that sucks and is really heavy.

Them: okay? How do I help?

Me, wearing a stupid hat but curious: do you see the hat?

Them: I'd rather not answer that question.

Me, in my hat: 😔

Guy who coughed: it's not a delusion if you know it isn't real :/

Fourth guy who literally no body asked: I'm pretty sure if you think your wearing a giant hat you should kill your self because that's so self centered. Like why would YOU have a giant silly hat? That so selfish to even think about. I can't even talk to you or really view you as a person cause I just think it's so childish.

Me, in a giant silly hat: what about this situation makes it seem like I'm pleased? Is it the hat?

[sonofsin]

I've felt off since showering. all I know is that a kid who had no awareness that it isn't the early 2000s fronted and had to be caught up to speed... I've been stuck with both persephone and steph nearby internally and am being affected by both of them. I want to just enjoy fallout and playing, but the ghosts feel very loud.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Honestly fascinated learning more of the fanon vs canon going on here. Truly tempted to read Tim's comics just to see the extent of what's been done to him

[iridescentoracle]

@eglerieth replied to your post: Hello! I am here to ask about your Dior headcanons…

What’s your Galadriel headcanon?

Oh man, I didn’t see this!! Thank you for asking, i fully did not expect anyone to actually get far enough into the Dior post to see that let alone actually want to know. Sorry I’m two days late!

So! What we know about Galadriel in the Silmarillion:

She hated Fëanor but thought being a queen sounded pretty sweet/desired power

She’s named as one of the leaders of the Noldor across the Helcaraxë

Instead of founding her own kingdom (like she’d explicitly originally wanted) or moving in with her brother she got married and stayed in Doriath and learned a lot from Melian

Eventually Melian was like “hey so you should explain the weird ominous evil metaphysical cloud i can see hanging over the Noldor so i can explain about it to my husband bc he should really learn about whatever happened before it blows up in everybody’s faces” and Galadriel was like “yeah he probably should but i’m not telling”

At some point Galadriel asked Finrod why he wasn’t married yet

One time Melian casually foreshadowed Beren’s existence to Galadriel, who has no recorded response

That’s it. That’s literally all we know about what she was up to. She was super jazzed about the prospect of Ruling A Kingdom and then made friends with a queen and learned a bunch from her and… was still alive after the War of Wrath, and in between we have nothing.

We don’t know how she survived the Second Kinslaying, we can assume she made it to the Havens of Sirion but don’t know how she survived the Third Kinslaying let alone what she did/where she went after that… we don’t know what her reaction was to the death of her only remaining family member in Middle-earth, for which her cousins and the great-uncle in whose kingdom she lived were both partially responsible…

Like, that's weird, right? Galadriel is firmly established as someone bold and interested in being a ruler and stubborn as all get out, and then she… does nothing and everybody seems to forget she exists for several hundred years and some major political upheavals that should have personally affected her? It's not just me? That's really weird?

So, my Galadriel headcanon is that she’s inexplicably absent for most of the Quenta Silmarillion because she was deliberately erased/left out by the scribes writing things down because there was no way to acknowledge her presence in Doriath during and after Beren & Lúthien’s whole everything without getting into the messiest bit of Sindar-Noldor political tension that didn’t involve the Fëanorioni, because (again, headcanon) Galadriel Did Not Respond Well to her uncle getting her brother killed as a side effect of trying to get her cousin’s boyfriend killed and there was A Lot Of Tension for a while there (when you’ve got that kind of interpersonal tension between people who are both essentially Political Figures, i figure it’s probably going to turn into political tension unless they’re both trying very very hard to avoid that and potentially even then)

…and then after Thingol’s death a few years later, I think one of the primary contenders for Next Ruler of Doriath was Galadriel “Well I Came Here For A Kingdom In The First Place” Granddaughter-of-Olwë and also her husband is related to Thingol* and Lúthien’s clearly removed herself from contention so if the Sindar want a monarch who’s actually related to the last one they both qualify, it’s perfect and obviously Galadriel should be the next queen of Doriath (it is not obvious to everyone)

* on a side note, Celeborn is mentioned twice in the Quenta Silm: #1, Galadriel stays in Doriath because she’s marrying a “kinsman of Thingol,” while #2, shortly after Thingol’s death, Celeborn is referred to as a “prince of Doriath.” Not actual evidence, but it sure fits in nicely!

Like I said in the Dior post, I don’t think anything ever came to outright surface-level conflict; a civil war in Doriath is not getting left out of the Silmarillion. Tension between Galadriel and Thingol, though? and then between Galadriel and [various other contenders for the throne after Thingol, potentially including Dior himself when he arrived] that had everyone a little nervous? when she didn’t become queen and did (however begrudgingly) accept that Dior was the closest thing to a consensus pick and did survive the next several thousand years only to finally wind up as functional queen of most of the remaining Sindar despite eschewing the actual title? That I can see getting diplomatically left out of the histories, and explaining why she’s completely during the parts of the story where you’d think she’d be most involved.