#steel covered entry

[ibs-gateway]

Mudroom Front Door Entryway - large modern concrete floor entryway idea with green walls and a light wood front door

[front-facing-pokemon]

[transzodiacdogmom]

it bugs the hell out of me when people call Parts of JoJo "arcs" when they're clearly not arcs, they're several different, for the most part, isolated stories put in a different part of an overarching story like an anthology series. The Parts have arcs in them but the parts are not the arcs themselves.

which is why we call it "Bites The Dust Arc" or "Bohemian Rhapsody Arc" or even "Lets go eat Italian food! Arc"

tl;dr JoJo parts are their own full stories with arcs within said stories but not the arc themselves. but that's just my two cents of nitpicking-ness. call them whatever you like.

[paulmunkotv]

Metal in Boise Mid-sized industrial gray one-story metal exterior home idea with a shed roof

[esteponajabonesecologicos]

Roofing in Dallas Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary white one-story mixed siding house exterior remodel with a hip roof and a metal roof

[natalievoncatte]

There was blood on the door. Lena swept back her jacket in a smooth motion and unholstered her Glock carry piece, holding it low ready as she stepped into the penthouse. The door slid shut behind her and locked itself smoothly. There was no sign of forced entry, meaning whoever came in walked right through her defenses.

She’d armored and fortified this place to the point that the entire building could collapse and she’d probably survive. Some of the materials that went into Lena’s security were not from Earth. Some of them were not from this dimension.

In times past, in good times, she’d have called Alex Danvers, to get the DEO up here for help or hopefully summon Supergirl to her aid. Now those options were off the table.

From its place of dishonor by her sofa, the broken glass in the frame gleamed at her, the time-frozen gazes from her and Kara in the photo staring into her soul.

More blood on the frame, smeared on the edge.

Lena rested her back to the wall and scanned the apartment. There was a clear trail of blood from the door through the living room. Whoever had been here, or was still here, had pressed a bloodied palm to the reader outside the door, leaned on the kitchen island, and picked up the photo, then returned it to its place and left a trail of blood drops to the other side of the penthouse.

To the bedroom.

Steeling herself, Lena press-checked her pistol and ignored the cold ball in the pit of her stomach, along with the screaming instincts telling her to call for her bodyguards and security and the police. She followed the trail of drops, that cold ball climbing its way to her throat. The bleeding got worse as the intruder approached the bedroom, where they’d pushed the door open, leaving a streak of rust on the white.

Lena knew in her heart what she was going to see before she swung the door open.

The gun fell from her hands and clattered on the floor.

Her sheets were streaked with dried blood, but Kara’s cape was as livid a crimson as ever. Fighting the rising gorge in her throat, Lena rushed to the bed, and let out a soft, strained sigh of relief when she saw Kara’s chest moving.

“Mother of God,” Lena breathed, her hands making a vestigial effort to cross herself, the gesture half remember from her earliest youth.

Kara was… a wreck. Her eye was swollen shut and claw marks raked her cheek, the wounds still open and oozing. She’d balled up the sheets and jammed them against a wound in her side, a deep gash that stained the torn material of her suit a dark bruised black.

The Kryptonian in her bed was unconscious, eyes lidded but not fully closed, and deathly pale. Lena reached out a tentative hand and pressed it to Kara’s shoulder and let out a shocked gasp.

She was cold to the touch.

Worst of all was her hands. Her knuckles were busted and split and bloody, palms covered in defensive gashes, crusted with crystals of dark blood.

Lena felt like she was going to burst, like her skin was suddenly three sizes too small. Images flashed in her mind- a defeated, broken Kara, begging her not to turn her back as she lay green-veined and poisoned in a cage at the Fortress of Solitude. Sanctimonius bitch Kara hovering just five feet off her balcony wall, glaring judgment and proclaiming her a villain.

Soft Kara, tending her hurts, holding her cheek in the palm of her hand, her touch always so soft and gentle and tentative, like Lena was some skittish bird.

That wasn’t all. Oh God, that wasn’t all. Kara clutched something to her chest, something she’d grabbed before collapsing in the bed and curled into herself.

Lena’s hooded sweatshirt, the one she used to wear to game nights and movie nights when she wasn’t feeling up to primping and preening, the one she stared wearing when being vulnerable around Kara started feeling like home.

Oh God oh Jesus what am I going to do?

She reached for her phone, then stopped. Kara had fled here from whatever did this to her for a reason. Lena set the phone aside, and assessed.

Kara was out cold. She didn’t seem to be actively bleeding but Lena didn’t dare move her. Instead, she settled for rolling Kara on her back, with great difficulty. She flopped over, boneless.

Lena found her first aid kid and began tending to the wounds.

Fuck, Lena thought. What if she had internal injuries? What if she wasn’t going to wake up?

She focused on what was in front of her. She began by cleaning the wounds, carefully and gingerly applying bandages where she could.

Her hands, oh God her poor hands. Lena wrapped the knuckles gently and pressed ice against them, leaving them testing on Kara’s chest. She dabbed at the wounds on her cheek and carefully taped gauze pads in place after applying antibiotic ointment.

Kara lay on the bed like some badly beaten Sleeping Beauty and she was cold. Her skin felt almost icy, the I only sign that she still lived being the steady but shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Lena grimace. She had to get her out of the suit. First she reclaimed her now ruined and blood-stained sweatshirt and then the ruined top sheet.

Kara’s boots came off, then Lena unclamped her cape and tossed it back from her shoulders.

It took almost half an hour to wriggle her out of the suit, and that was after she had to hunt for the hidden catches and zipper.

Kara lay on Lena’s bed like some wounded goddess out of a forgotten myth, or maybe one never learned.

God she was beautiful, and the sight of her in such distress was more painful than she’d ever admit. Lena felt sympathetic pains in her jaw, her sides, her hands as she imagined the blows that could have wounded her so, wondered what sharpness of blade or claw it took to mark her like this.

Lena spread the curtains, so as to give her as much light as she could. Nurturing light, healing light, but still Lena did not wake.

Finally she learned what did this. Some alien outside Metropolis. They’d stopped it, the creature, but it had taken Kara and her cousin and the other so-called heroes that the news were calling the League.

Lena’s lip was trembling.

She has her grievances. She had her hurts. She had her reasons, her self-righteous justifications and none of them fucking mattered right now because a beaten, broken Kara must have flown from one side of the country to the other to clutch Lena’s fucking hoodie.

“God,” she whispered, sitting in her side chair by the bed. “God what have I done.”

Kara had held them off, she knew. Kept her from being arrested, protected her even after she’d done something awful. New visions flooded her mind, every barb she’d slung and every insult she’d hurled, every word of her explosive raging rant at the Fortress.

She’d killed her brother for this woman. Killed not the man who’d hurt her but the boy, too, the one who treated her like a human being and a sibling, at least for a time. The only family she had.

(The only family you have is lying on that bed and you have to help her)

She was helpless. Kara would either pull through or she wouldn’t. If she didn’t, sooner or later Alex would walk in here and put a bullet through her head and Lena didn’t think she’d mind all that much.

“Why couldn’t you have just told me?” Lena asked. “We could have been great together, you know? We could have been what my brother and your cousin should have been. We could have built a better world.”

Kara said nothing, just breathed.

“I could have told you my secret, then,” said Lena. “I could have held you and touched you and had you. I could have loved you, God damn it. Do you have any idea what you fucking did to me? You gave me the sunrise back and you were too much of a Goddamn coward to let me have it.”

Kara’s hand moved, fingers curling around nothing. She let out a soft sigh but didn’t move.

Lena fought it as hard as she could, fought it for hours. Eventually she had to do it. Gravity, quantum entanglement, call it what you will. She laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling beside her battered sleeping beauty.

“I’m sorry,” said Lena. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry for what I did, I’m sorry for what we lost. It wasn’t worth it, Kara. Nothing was ever going to be worth it.”

She was still pale, cold, even when she rolled onto her side and threw her limp arm over Lena’s body.

Whatever made her move had not shaken her loose from her slumber. Kara curled on her side, chill hand resting on Lena’s flank. Another soft sound escaped her slack lips and she twitched.

The sun was going down.

Lena had to call for help. She knew what would happen. Alex would storm in with her self-righteous fury and judgment and fling accusations and then leave, taking her sister with her.

Worse, she would give Lena that look. The one that filled her with such rage and regret, that look not of judgement or even anger but sorrow, because Alex knew. She didn’t have to say it, it had been dripping from every word and deed directed towards Lena since the falling out began.

Alex knew that Lena was in love with Kara. That was the truth of it, the secret she held so hard to her heart that it had slipped her fingers and everyone had seen it but the two of them.

She loved Kara with every piece of her, every cell, every muscle fiber, every neuron, every bone. It lived in her and coiled in her and it had subsumed her soul until it couldn’t be carved out without making her hollow. She’d tried. When she’d hurt Kara she had only wounded herself even deeper. It had been like swallowing a draught of acid and expecting it to burn another.

She didn’t know what to do. She was helpless. Kara might be dying and Lena had never told her.

“Kara,” she said, shaking her. “Kara God damn you wake up, wake the fuck up! WAKE UP!”

Kara didn’t respond.

With a shriek of rage and pain Lena sat up.

“Please!”

Nothing.

Lena finally did it. She snatched the phone from where she’d dropped it and called.

It all happened as she predicted, save one thing. When Alex stormed in with a sub machinegun in her hands, she stopped and raised a fist, ordering her team to stop outside the door.

Lena was kneeing by the bed by then, half mumbling a prayer and stroking Kara’s cold hand.

Alex did not address her. She began barking orders. Stasis pod, medivac.

Bring the Luthor.

Lena sat in the back of an armored van in a daze. She let herself be led around like a trained pet and somehow ended up sitting in a chair outside a medbay room, while a now cleaned up and properly bandaged Kara lay on a bed beneath sunlamps.

“She’s in a Kryptonian healing trance,” said Alex. “If a Kryptonian gets hurt badly enough their body shuts down and goes into a kind of hibernation. She must have used almost all of her reserves to get back to your apartment.”

Alex glared directly into her eyes.

“To see you one last time.”

Lena swore her defiance in silence, but it lasted no longer than it took her to think the oath before the tears started.

“I have to go. The DEO is working with Superman’s little Boy Scout club to keep the thing that did this to her contained.”

When Alex left, Lena stood up and walked into the room.

Kara did not look regal. She didn’t look angelic. She looked vulnerable and small, like a woman a year or two older than Lena with a black eye and stitches in her cheek.

Lena knew the sun lamps would burn her, but she relished it, looked forward to feeling her skin sting and redden. She deserved it.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Please wake up.”

Nothing.

“Wake up.”

Nothing.

“Darling, wake up for me, please. Just give me a smile, a wink, squeeze my hand. Anything. Please. Please.”

Kara stirred.

“You can’t go yet,” Lena murmured. “I need you to stay. I need you to wake up so I can say—”

Kara’s eyes were open.

“I love you,” Kara whispered. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Lena half coughed, half sobbed and lunged across the bed, ignoring the lamps, the bright lights, everything but Kara. Everything but the kiss.

“Don’t you ever scare me like this again,” Lena choked out.

“Turn the lights off,” Kara whispered. “Get on the bed. I don’t need lamps. I need you.”

“Kara, the things I did,” Lena began.

With a weak, shaking hand, Kara pressed her finger to Lena’s lips.

“There’s nothing we can’t fix if we’re together. Nothing.”

Lena reached over, doused the lamps, and climbed in with her. Kara was finally warm again, though she grimaced when she moved, tucking herself into the crook of Lena’s shoulder.

“I will always come back to you,” said Kara.

Lena held her close and closed her eyes, and for the first time in months she slept without tears.

[wwaheoh]

“Oops! You killed someone!” Victoria Housekeeping x gnReader, Angst + Comfort (Platonic)

Corin Wickes, Von Lycaon (+ Ellen Joe, + Alexandrina Sebastiane)

c/w: contains written depictions of graphic injury, blood, death, and shock (mental).

a/n: with a game with people using chainsaws, guns, guns that shoot black holes, and swords, i dont think hollow raiders are 100% safe. put ellen and alexandrina seperate since they’re not really major players in this

As part of Victoria Housekeeping, your duty was to fulfill the orders of the Master, usually cleaning, guest service, and attending to the needs of the house. However Victoria Housekeeping also had a sort of open secret, with each member having high Ether Aptitude as well as being trained in combat, they also acted as guards to the Master and their estate. Usually it was general defense, to make sure no one breaks in or any guests get any unruly ideas and stash valuables into their coat or bag. Other times it was against Ethereals, enemies born from the Hollows whenever they were stationed within.

However this was the first time Hollow Raiders had been an issue, usually keeping away- either with much bigger scores that an abandoned building in the Hollow, but this specific building was home to a millionaire, having been evacuated due to the spontaneous expansion of a new Hollow Zone. Leading to an eager group of Raiders to break in.

It had been something you were prepared for, weapon in hand and your team close by. Miss Rina had notified everyone about the incoming Raiders, with the others rounding close to your location- being the main entry point that the Hollow Raiders were predicted to enter through.

Clashing against the large group, steel hit steel, yelling and screams as bodies were thrown several feet away and knocked out. It was feeling like a cakewalk, having been taught by some of the best in the business, it was all just following through what you had been trained for.

At least it was until one of the remaining Hollow Raiders attacked you from behind as you were catching your breath- a mistake, Mister Lycaon always tried to drill into everyone’s heads that the danger should not be deemed as passed until there were no enemies around and the rest of the team had arrived to back you up.

You fell to the ground, hitting the marble underneath with a thump- dazed as you attempted to gain your bearings. Strong hands wrapped themselves around your throat, the pressure putting your brain back into alert mode. Your vision refocused onto a cracked helmet, the image of a Hollow Raider logo shining down on you- unable to move with their weight holding you down. Attempting to pry their hands off- several desperate attempts before realizing it was in vain. Darkness crawled from the edge of your vision as you breathing quickened but became more shallow with the pressure on your airway.

As you desperately looked for the others or something to give you even a few more seconds, you felt an object at the edge of your fingertips. Tapping it closer, you grabbed onto it- something sturdy, the weapon they dropped on the ground before going in to choke you. Harsh grip, you turned as much as you can, swinging your arm and hitting them with the object you grabbed as hard as you could.

Crushing through the glass of the helmet, Hollow Raiders often worse, the weapon hit your target. It was a lot softer than you imagined, as if it was dug deep into something.

Liquid spurted out, splashing blots onto the ground. Their grip on your neck loosened nearly immediately.

Warmth trickled onto your face. The weight of the Hollow Raider that had previously been crushing you fell to the side, limp- and now unmoving.

The world was quiet. Only faintly could you hear a familiar voice yelling before quickly taking out and chasing away the remaining Raiders.

The weapon handle was still in your grip, a worn plastic grip attached to a long steel blade. It was covered in red. Underneath you and the Hollow Raider was a puddle of the same red. The pristine whites of your uniform dyed red, black a shade darker.

Then the world became loud.

Corin had been the first to find you, being stationed closest, she charged in after quickly locking in on the enemies. Chainsaw revving to life, she spun forward, slashing at the Hollow Raiders with the battle cry of, “Ahh! Ge~et awa~ay!!” Blood spewed out- injuries that would definitely hurt but nothing fatal- or atleast with medical attention. It was one of the only good things she could recognize, having been taught how to expertly take out enemies without outright killing them, despite the very real threat her- and every one of their weapons brought.

Finally chasing out the rest of the enemies, she turned to look back at you, “Are you-” she stopped, seeing you with a lost look in your eyes. A look she recognized- having seen it on herself and Ellen before. “O-oh no, uhm,” She quickly stopped her weapon and approached, trying not to just wait for someone else to arrive out of fear of messing up helping you- but still apprehensive due to those very same thoughts.

Gently she came closer, remembering what Lycaon and Rina had done for her when she had undergone the same situation. Remembering what she had nearly done wrong with Ellen before Lycaon stepped in.

“Are you hurt?” “...” She looked you over, not seeing any blood coming out of you. “Can you hear me?” You nod. “It’s not your fault- you did what you had to do.” You stare at her, flashes of the corpse beside you flashing before you. “O-okay, uhm, Mister Lycaon and everyone should be here soon.” You perked up at the mention of the others- with everyone else here and no alive active enemies, you’ll be safe. “What happened was something bad. It makes sense for you to be scared.”

You sat there, heartbeat ringing in your ears as you struggled not to think about the corpse beside you. The corpse beside you. There was a corpse next to you. Their blood was on you. The scent of iron-

“You sit here and we’ll wait for the others. What do you want to do?” “I… want to wait for Mister Lycaon…” “He'll be here soon, it'll all be okay."

And true to her word, the others rounded the corner, prepared to fight. However, quickly Mister Lycaon and Miss Alexandrina assessed what was going on and rushed forward. Nodding to Corin, Mister Lycaon took charge, kneeling in front of you. Corin went to Ellen to inform her of your situation. Alexandrina watched over you, sending Anastella and Drusilla to do a perimeter check. At the sight of them all, you finally broke. It felt as if your whole body crashed and you fully awoke again, tears welling up as you jumped to embrace Mister Lycaon. You were safe. He softly embraced you back, warm muscular body like a shield against anyone outside of Victoria Housekeeping to approach.

“You’re okay, we’re here now.”

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time.  It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there. 

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor. 

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it. 

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death. 

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room. 

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago. 

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one.  He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw. 

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy. 

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off. 

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated. 

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it. 

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same. 

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember  what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on. 

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze. 

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain. 

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you. 

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore. 

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin. 

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you. 

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. 

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit. 

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table. 

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further. 

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you. 

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming. 

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe. 

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside. 

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place. 

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp. 

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall.  He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him. 

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth. 

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile. 

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed. 

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

[darksilvania]

The 5 Underground Lake pokemon

HAGABABA [Hag + Baba Yaga + Baba (Slime in spanish)] Poison/Dark The Slimey Pokemon Abilities: Gooey/Liquid Ooze - Corrosion (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become acidic. Its body is naturally covered by a layer of slime that protects it from the corrosivness. It can alter the properties of the slime all over its body, making it slipery or sticky at will. It can even make it acidic and use it to attack its foes.” Moveset: -Slimeball: >Poison type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user spits a large glob of acidic slime to its opponent” >This move its also considered dark type >This move leaves the field covered in slime that causes entry hazard, if the move is used a second time, any entering pokemon will become poisoned -Sludge Wave -Nasty Plot -Acid Armor

THINKERFISK [Thinker + Inketfisk (Octopus in french)] Psychic The Starry-Eyed Pokemon Abilities: Clear Body - Misty Surge (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become psychoactive due to the presence of special fungi. This has altered and greatly expanded this pokemons mind.” Its brain is said to be in a constant altered state, thanks to this it has achieved the ability to see through time and space, past and future, and even achieve enlightment.” Moveset: -Psychedelia: >Psychic type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user bombards its foe with a terrifying mental blast of changing colors and sounds.” >This move confuses the target. >This move reduces the target speed -Expanding Force -Power Gem -Cosmic Power

SPOOKIMERA [Spooky + Chimaera] Ghost/Flying The Long Nose Pokemon Abilities: Cursed Body - Perish Body (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has lost all oxygen, making it impossible for anything to live in it. This pokemon are the spirits of the fishes that used to live inside the lake before it became inhospitable, now they remain trapped in it, wearing their old skins as cloaks” Moveset: -Breathtaker: >Ghost type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user sucks the air from the field, making breathing harder” >This move its also considered flying type >fire type moves can’t be used after this move. >fog, mist, haze or gas are removed -Hurricane -Ominous Wind -Mean Look

TERRORICE [Terrorize + Ice] Ice/Steel The Terrible Claw Pokemon Abilities: Ice Body - Bulletproof (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches subzero temperatures without freezing. To withstand the cold, it covers itself with a thick ice armor, stronger than steel. Its giant claw works just like a chainsaw, using it to cut through ice and rock when looking for food.” Moveset: -Chilling Chainsaw: >Steel Type/Pwr 110/Acc 85/PP 5 “The user slashes at its opponent using its ice cold chainsaw-like claw” >This move its also considered ice type >If the opponent is frozen, this move deals double damage and removes the frozen condition. -Ice Hammer -Metal Claw -Sword Dance

SCALDORM [Scald + Ormr (Dragon in old norse) Fire/Dragon The Intense Heat Pokemon Abilities: Water Absorb - Storm Drain (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches temperatures above the boiling point without evaporating. It withstands the immense heat thanks to its unique oily skin. It produces an oily substance that protects its skin from the water’s heat, this same oil can be used as fuel, and will keep fire burning even underwater.” Moveset: -Liquid Fire* >Fire type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user attacks with a stream of burning oil that remains on the field afterwards” >This move may cause burning >This move leaves a fire entry hazard on the field >This move is super effective against water type pokemon -Scald -Dragon Breath -Fire Spin

[maniculum]

Perlesvaus (Evans translation)

So I'm taking another stab at reading the Sebastian Evans translation of Perlesvaus, for... reasons. Or the High History of the Holy Graal, as he titles it -- funnily enough, the people who put out this reprint apparently looked at the title, said "we're not doing that", and spelt it Grail on the cover.

Despite the bizarre choices in diction, it's still pretty fun, and I want to share some particularly entertaining bits of this text with y'all. (For those of you who aren't up on the two different translations of Perlesvaus and don't know what I mean by "bizarre choices", the Evans translation is from 1898 but pretending to be from, like, 1498.)

N.B.: Marginal notes in red are from the last time I tried this -- they stop showing up roughly a quarter of the way through the book, because that's when I decided to buy the Bryant translation instead.

I just find this funny because "who cares?" strikes me as such a modern thing to say. To me it is a phrase that seems most natural coming from a teenage character in late-20th-century media. But nope. "Who careth?"

This is here just for the bizarre scene. We have three women coming into the throne room (riding mules directly into the building, by the way). One is carrying a severed head decorated with silver and gold. Another has "a pack trussed behind her with a brachet thereupon" -- you can see from the notes that I had to look up "brachet", found out it was an old word meaning roughly "female scent-hound", and then had the mental image of this woman carrying around a beagle in a baby-bjorn.

Again something I find funny. Gawain just leaping through the air to interpose himself between the horses and this hermit, like he's trying to take a bullet for them. This is entirely because he is 100% certain the hermit will handle the saddles incorrectly, and when the hermit assures him he actually does know how this stuff works, Gawain calms down & lets him do it.

This is, for my money, one of the funniest things in all of Perlesvaus, which is saying something because it is a bonkers text. This lady rolls up and provides that description, and the hermit recognizes who she's talking about. Like, "oh yes I did see a knight with a heart of steel and the navel of a virgin". I want to give this description to a sketch artist. (I kind of want to throw it at an AI just to see what it comes up with, but you know. I don't want to encourage the machines.)

This time I'm nit-picking the translation, because that strikes me as a misplaced modifier. Obviously it's meant that Gawain is unaware of events, but the sentence is constructed to make it sound like it's referring to the building itself, which is of course unaware because it's a building and isn't aware of anything. (Also, side note, I like the phrase "as methinketh!")

One more, and I'm leaving this for now...

Here is a case where I was going to complain, but on further examination, I must hand it to Evans. I assumed that he was just randomly archaizing, but I looked it up after uploading this photo, and according to the OED, this was a valid alternate spelling of sovereign from the 17th to the 19th century. (Interestingly, the latest attested example on the OED is from 11 years before this translation was published, meaning this is evidence it was in use slightly longer than the OED entry would suggest -- does anyone know if there's still a way to submit instances of a word to the OED?)

[fatcatscafe]

The Cruciatus Curse

Gender neutral main character

SFW

Summary: Sebastian had once again asked you to meet up. This time along with Omnis the three of you must venture into the depths of Hogwarts's dungeon in order to uncover Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium. Who could imagine the dangers that were awaiting. Trapped by an Unforgivable curse you were faced with a harrowing decision.

Note: I felt like the Crucio quest line was very abrupt and the character's interaction felt lackluster so l decided to rewrite that storyline to better fit what the characters would really do.

It was a sudden notice—delivered in the dead of night. Your owl swooped silently through the window, carrying a letter with a wax seal, a familiar emblem that had become a quiet constant in your life. It was from Sebastian, someone you had grown acquainted with during your recent stay at Hogwarts.

You had come to expect such letters from him—these urgent, unannounced requests that seemed to come at the most unexpected moments. Perhaps it was your shared hunger for knowledge, a thirst for both danger and the unknown. Or perhaps it was the memory of the look in Sebastian’s eyes the day you visited his sister, Anne—a look that spoke of desperation and a need for help that never quite left his gaze. There was also the lingering sense of debt, the day he had covered for you in the library. So no matter how strange or urgent the request seemed you always felt an inclination to help him.

When your owl arrived with a note from Sebastian asking you to meet outside the common room, it wasn’t a surprise. But this time, a sense of dread settled in.

Sebastian’s growing obsession with the Dark Arts and Omnis’s troubled past had you hesitating. You knew he was slipping further down a dangerous path, and that worried you. Yet, something inside you pushed you to follow him anyway. There were your own reasons, ones you couldn’t quite shake that kept you tied to him.

********

It was an understatement to say you weren’t surprised when Sebastian mentioned Omnis’ clear reluctance to enter the Scriptorium, especially with his family’s past. In fact, you had already prepared yourself to persuade him.

What did surprise you was how easily Omnis agreed. Given that you all had something to gain—Omnis seeking answers about his aunt’s death, Sebastian hoping for a cure for his sister, and you eager to uncover mysteries—maybe it wasn’t that surprising after all.

********

After getting struck in the face from Salazar’s snakes and some questionable puzzle-solving skills, you finally started figuring it out.

The tension between the three of you had finally started to ease. With each locked gate you passed, you began to think this was easy. Maybe Noctua Gaunt had been overly cautious, and the Scriptorium wasn’t as dangerous as she had claimed.

Then you reached the final gate. There, before you, was a steel door, twisting and winding, with a face carved in agony, frozen forever in a state of relentless pain.

Suddenly, with a deafening bang, the gate behind you slammed shut, trapping you inside.

"Salazar Slytherin is not yet finished with us," Omnis muttered.

A piercing scream echoed through the chamber. The scream reverberated through the chamber, rattling your bones. For a moment, you all stood frozen, the air thick with dread.

"That was no ordinary scream," Sebastian said, his voice tight. "It came from somewhere... close."

You turned to face the steel door, now feeling like it was more of a warning than a mere barrier. The face etched in agony seemed to almost watch you, its hollow eyes staring back with a haunting intensity.

“We need to find a way out,” Omnis said, his voice laced with urgency. “Now.”

The three of you scramble to figure out a way to unlock the door. It was then you discover Noctua’s remains and her last efforts to escape.

"Her last journey entry," you murmured, a chill crawling up your spine. "She mentions being trapped here—blocked by an Unforgivable curse."

Omnis’ eyes widened, his breath quickening. "I knew it. This is where she died. This is where we’ll die!" His voice rose in panic. "I knew I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!"

He began pacing frantically, his face contorted in fear and anguish.

Sebastian grabbed Omnis’ arm, trying to steady him. "Listen, Omnis, I’m truly sorry about what happened with your aunt, but I know what we have to do, and it’s going to be difficult."

Omnis' eyes flickered to the door. The tortured faces, the word Crucio carved into the metal. Sebastian’s voice dropped lower. "We’re going to have to cast the Cruciatus curse to open it."

Omnis’ face twisted in horror. "Your aunt died because she had no one to cast it on. But we’re different. You know what this means."

Sebastian’s expression hardened. "Omnis, you’re the one with the most experience. You should cast it."

Omnis recoiled, shaking his head. "No. This is the last thing I want to do."

"Omnis," Sebastian said, his voice quieter but firm, "I know. But this is different. Whoever you cast it on will agree first. It won’t be like the innocent victims your family made you hurt. We can’t stay here forever. We have to open the door."

Omnis' hands trembled. "Don’t you get it? The spell doesn’t work unless you mean it. I could never bring myself to do it again. I made a promise to myself. It wouldn’t work if I tried—I can’t do it. It has to be one of you."

Sebastian turned to you, and your eyes locked. A silent understanding passed between you.

"It’s up to us, then," he said. "Either I teach you how to cast Crucio, or I cast it on you. We’ve been left with no choice. I don’t want us to meet the same fate as Noctua. If it comes to it, I will cast it."

You froze, the weight of his words sinking in. To say you were scared was an understatement. Everything you’d heard about the Cruciatus curse painted it as a nightmare. And with Omnis’ tragic past, you were even more determined to stay far away from it.

But maybe it was your encounter with ancient magic that first sparked an unrelenting desire to understand it all, all magic, everything. Despite the evil of it, you still wanted to learn the Cruciatus curse. But the thought of actually using it on someone—especially Sebastian—was something you couldn’t bear.

“I want to learn the Cruciatus curse," you said, your voice clear. "But I won’t hurt you with it. I can handle the pain. It’s fine. Cast it on me."

Sebastian held your gaze, his eyes intense. "I won’t forget this."

You both took a step back from each other. Slowly, Sebastian lifted his wand, aiming it at you. His hand trembled slightly, and his voice came out shaky. "Are you ready?"

Omnis halted his pacing, the silence in the chamber heavy. The only sounds were the sharp, labored breaths and the thick tension hanging in the air.

“I’m ready.”

Sebastian’s eyes were wide with panic, his whole body trembling. "CRUCIO!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

A wave of force slammed into you, as though the air itself had been ripped away. Pain flared briefly through your body, sharp and sudden, but it quickly faded as you gasped for breath, your chest heaving.

The door, however, remained locked.

Omnis' voice broke the silence, cold and resolute. "See? I told you. The curse only works if you're truly desperate or have the determination to truly hurt someone."

He paused, his gaze heavy on both of you. "You didn't mean it. And that’s why it didn’t work."

There was a bitterness in his tone now, as if the weight of his own past—of what he had been forced to do—lingered in the air.

You steadied yourself, taking a deep breath to ground your racing thoughts. "Sebastian," you called out, your voice steady despite the chaos.

His eyes snapped to you, wide and filled with shock, as though the full consequences of the curse hadn't quite sunk in yet.

"We have to get out," you pressed, your voice firm. "None of us are willing to die here. Especially you. Remember why you came here. For Anne."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. "If you die here, you leave her all alone. You can’t let that happen."

Sebastian closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths. For a moment, the weight of everything seemed to crush him, but when he opened his eyes again, something had changed. His posture straightened, the panic slipping away, replaced by a newfound resolve.

His hand, once trembling, was now steady as stone. He took aim, his voice calm but filled with purpose.

"Crucio!"

You braced yourself, waiting for the inevitable impact.

This time, there was no hesitation. A force slammed into you, harsher than before, like a jagged bolt of pain coursing through your body. Blinding white pain searing itself across your body. It felt like every fiber of your being was torn apart, like the very blood in your body was boiling.

You couldn’t stop the scream that tore from your throat, raw and desperate. You weren’t sure what was happening—was the pain real, or had you somehow drifted into a nightmare? Maybe you were on the floor now, but everything felt hazy, like time itself had stretched out into endless eternity.

You thought you had blacked out. When you came to, you found yourself on the cold ground, Omnis by your side, gripping your shoulder with a firmness that was meant to comfort but also betrayed his own inner turmoil.

His face was twisted with distress, but there was something deeper in his eyes—a torment that hinted at the demons he was battling inside. He was reliving something, something from his past that was too hard to shake.

Your gaze flickered upward to Sebastian. He stood still, his body rigid, face drained of color. His breaths came in shallow, labored gasps. The resolve in his eyes was still there, but it was tempered now with guilt and exhaustion. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, how the weight of what had just happened settled over him.

The silence between you all was thick, heavy with unspoken words and the lingering effects of the curse. Omnis kept his hand on your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly, as if he was trying to steady both of you. His eyes flicked nervously between you and Sebastian, as if uncertain what to do next.

Finally, Sebastian broke the silence, his voice hoarse. "Are you... okay?" He asked the question, but it was clear he wasn't sure if he could even believe it himself. His gaze never wavered from you, almost as if he was afraid you might disappear at any moment.

You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as the remnants of the curse still pulsed in your veins. "I'm alive," you replied, your voice weak "But that wasn’t exactly painless."

Omnis let out a breath, his brow furrowing. "You shouldn't have volunteered for that. None of us should have. We’re lucky it worked."

Sebastian's expression darkened. "It was the only way. We had no choice-"

"Look-" you said, your voice trembling slightly as you pointed toward the now-open door. It had seemingly melted into the floor, revealing what lay beyond. The sight before you took your breath away—a massive sculpture of Salazar Slytherin. It was clear now that the scriptorium really had been hidden behind these doors all along.

Omnis was quick to help you to your feet. Sebastian turned slowly, his eyes wide with awe. "We made it," he breathed, his voice thick with disbelief. "It really was hidden here at Hogwarts all this time."

"I know," Omnis murmured, "I can’t believe we’re here."

Despite everything that had just occurred—the pain, the curse, the near-death—you couldn't help but share a quiet sense of wonder with the others. The room before you was magnificent, the very air thick with the weight of history. The sight of one of Hogwarts’ founders was enough to make anyone pause in awe.

As the three of you stepped into the room, Sebastian was quick to push ahead, his curiosity and eagerness to uncover the room’s secrets driving him forward.

Omnis was more hesitant, lingering by the doorway. The events of the past moments weighing heavily on him. The emotional toll of everything that had happened was taking root. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

You, on the other hand, couldn't resist the pull of the room. Every inch of it felt like a treasure trove of untold knowledge, secrets waiting to be unraveled. Even with the lingering pain pulsing in your body, your curiosity overpowered it urging you to step deeper into the scriptorium.

Ignoring the sharp flashes of pain still coursing through you, you couldn’t help but scan the room eagerly, searching for anything that might reveal the secrets this place held. Your eyes landed on something that made your pulse quicken—a thick, ancient book resting on a table, its cover worn and faded. The title caught your breath: Slytherin Spells.

"I think I found something!" you called out

"May I have a look?" Sebastian asked

You handed him the book, watching as his fingers lightly traced the cover, a smile tugging at his lips. "What an honor!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "To be holding a piece of Hogwarts' history, a book that once belonged to a founder… I say we continue exploring this room. Who knows what else it could hold?"

But as the words left his mouth, a quiet, uneasy voice echoed from behind you. Omnis’ voice was filled with palpable tension "I can’t shake this feeling... this lingering unease. We shouldn’t stay here. Let’s find a way out. Please."

Sebastian looked over his shoulder at Omnis, his expression softening just a bit. "I don’t want to leave," he admitted "But I owe you—both of you."

He held the spellbook up, his voice quieter now. "We’ve come this far. I would have never made it without both of you. The secrets in this room, it’s incredible."

Omnis’ voice tinged with frustration and fear. "We were lucky! We could have died in there. Swear, we mustn’t do this again."

You understood both of them, the room, the magic—it was all intoxicating, but there were far too many dangers lurking.

"You're right, Omnis," you said, a resolve settling within you. "Let’s find a way out."

*******

As the three of you exited the dungeon, Sebastian’s voice cut through the lingering silence, a rare softness to his tone.

“Listen, Omnis... about your aunt...”

Omnis immediately halted, the words clearly not something he wanted to hear again. “Please, Sebastian.” His voice was firm, but not unkind. “I meant what I said. The Dark Arts are dangerous, and we need to swear right now to never engage in them again.”

Sebastian hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Understood,” he said quietly, almost reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you... I truly am sorry for everything that happened to your aunt.”

Omnis paused, a flicker of something softer in his expression. He nodded, but his voice cracked with barely concealed emotion. “I... suppose, after all of this, I’m grateful to finally know what happened to her. Thank you. Both of you.”

Sebastian nodded in return, his eyes filled with a quiet sincerity, while you stood off to the side, feeling the weight of their words settle in the air. Omnis began to walk away, his steps slow, each one heavy with the burden of everything that had just unfolded. Neither of you made a move to follow.

The sorrow in Omnis’ posture was unmistakable, a weight pressing down on him that neither of you could lift. There was a slight tremor in his steps as he walked further into the shadows. It was clear that he needed space, that the turmoil inside him was too much to share just yet.

After a long moment, Sebastian spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "He’ll come around. In his own time."

You glanced at Sebastian. He seemed worn down, a bit more haggard than usual. But despite the exhaustion, his hands remained tightly gripping the spellbook, and you could see the determination in his eyes whenever his gaze shifted to it. No matter the toll the journey had taken, his focus never wavered. The weight of Anne’s curse was always there in his mind, and he wasn’t about to let anything stand in his way of finding a cure.

“I think it’s time for me to go too,” Sebastian says quietly. You nod in acknowledgment as he begins to walk in the opposite direction of the common room. You guess he’s probably off somewhere to dissect the book, searching for anything that could help Anne.

As the excitement of the day starts to fade, you become acutely aware of the toll it’s taken on you. Your bones ache with every little shift, and suddenly, like your body remembers the pain, a flash of it shoots through you. It’s sharp, sudden, and leaves you feeling drained.

It’s clear now—you need rest. You turn toward the common room, ready to head back to your dorm and recover. Just as you're about to enter, you hear Sebastian call out.

“Hey,” he calls again. Across the hall, he stands hidden in the shadows, his face barely illuminated by the nearby fire.

“I… I’m really grateful to you. Not just for this. Everything. I’m really glad to have met you.”

He gives a small, tired smile, but there’s a genuine warmth in his eyes. It’s a flicker of the boy you first met before all the chaos, the same spark that drew you to him in the first place.

You nod, grateful for his words, though you don’t trust yourself to say anything back just yet. Your throat feels tight, and words seem almost too heavy for the moment. Instead, you offer a smile of your own, soft and tired but real.

You reply "Me too," then pause "I'm glad we met too." saying the last part quietly, too small for him to hear

For a heartbeat, you both stand there, in the quiet of the hall, the weight of everything that’s happened settling between you. And then he turns and begins to walk into the darkness where you no longer see him.

You stood there for a moment longer staring at the empty hallway. With a deep breath, you finally turned toward the common room, the weight of the night pressing down on you. It had been a long journey, but for now, rest was all you needed.

Part One | Part two

Author’s note: yayy i finished my first writing!! I was so disappointed by this quest that i had to pick up my keyboard to give the boys more emotion during this scene. I tried to keep in game dialogues and keep things the same.

[windser]

PLEASE write out that sylus work. The fandom beeds more spicy MCs and i can tell she would give him a run for his money

pairing: mc x sylus (soulmate!au) wc: 1.2k+

a/n: loooool here is just a bit of a teaser for how i imagined it all playing out. i highly doubt this is how mc and sylus will meet BUT its so fitting for how i image their dynamic playing out. but i really do want to wait for the official drop so I can confirm his characterization. [based on this post]

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

"he’s asking for me ?"

"he identified you by your mark."

your palm immediately goes to cover your wrist, blocking the neat scrawl from view. but it was little too late at this point.

you had never really taken care to hide your soulmate mark from the world. to bear it publicly was often a act of seeking from the individual, showing it proudly as if it might attract their pair sooner.

but for you, it was just as obscure seen or hidden, the mundaneness lining the words that felt like it would never truly have meaning.

‘you’re beautiful’

in your youth days, you thought it was the most romantic gesture to know that your fated person had such a high option of you at first glance. but the years tarnished that same phrase, after hearing it from too many loose lips with hollower intentions.

now it was just a first tattoo, fated second.

the slouch of your shoulder is nonchalant in gesture, though equally weighed down by the situation. “he probably just has intel on it. i’m too careless in the field if i can be identified so easily."

it was a crude bluff, a mere diversion from the pending truth. because yes, it was an indefinite, but only one individual in the world would ever need to find someone based on it.

besides this was the presumed leader of onichynus.

even considering the idea was a headache.

tara shuffles to the right at the sound of your name and you both look up to see jenna waiting, ready by the door.

her quiet nod feels like a direct pang to your temple.

right, a headache indeed.

࿓࿓༄༄࿓

though captured, albeit suspiciously easy, the operation did not come without effort. reportedly there were no casualties but it had been a battle enough in the end.

jenna warns you of as much as the two of you descend further into lower levels of the security facility. there weren’t many criminals who fit the eligibility to be locked behind maximum security. the hiss of the heavy steel doors partying to grant entry spoke volumes about the threshold needed to hold such a threat.

the leader of onichynus was an old tale but not the first. it never occurred to you until now what other individuals might be stored away here for the safety of linkon city.

“ma’am”

the hunter standing before the last sealed door saluted jenna with a stiff salute, the action drawing your attention to the smear of red against his palm.

a battle indeed.

jenna answers with a more tempered gesture, less precise with exhaustion.

“any changes?”

you’d been sent home early into the conclusion of the operation, leaving the higher ups to decide how to deal with the sour victory. it had been less than twelve hours since then and you doubted jenna spent a second of it resting.

the same could he said of the officer standing guard who looked like if he leaned against the wall for even a moment he would slump over.

“none.”

his gaze flicked briefly to you, then down. “is this...?”

it seemed that the leader of onichynus was very vocal with his demands. even without tara's penchant for information, it was now no wonder how everyone knew of your predicament.

you had taken care to clasp your arms behind your back but it seemed the damage was already done.

“the deal was confirmation enough, though at this point it’s all formality.” jenna is addressing you now. her lips turn as she observes the door as if she could see through it. perhaps feeling the aura was enough.

“this is late to mention but you don’t have to do this.”

tardy indeed given that she had already led you to the lion’s den. your face seems to display enough of that sentiment given her sigh.

“if this is true-“ if this man if truly your soulmate, goes unsaid. “then council will reassess the situation.”

the words taste asinine even when they don’t come from your mouth. it wasn’t as if your fate could twist their judgement. the man behind those doors has earned his sentence, it was too late to draw you into the equation.

besides, what would you even do with a criminal as a soulmate? this early in the game, you could cut your loses and actually prepare for a non-fated pairing.

what you did know was that nothing was going to change with one-half meeter of steel between you.

“well let’s see what’s behind door number three.”

jenna doesn’t comment on the joke, likely attributing it to nerves. but in truth, you were just as ready as everyone else to get this over with.

given you had not been present at the exact capture, the face of onichynus still a mystery to you. though this close, you couldn’t help but recall that feeling of the ominous gaze hanging over you. it was one of the few times you had placed the feeling out of your nightmares. the knowledge that it came from the individual fate had decided to pair you with may as well have been the jest of the century.

so yeah you want this over with so you could get the last laugh.

with Jenna’s assent, the officer clears the few steps needed to join his peers where after a short order, the final steel doors began to part.

jenna doesn’t move forward, so neither do you. though you can’t help the slight tense in your limbs as you prepare for ... what a fight or flight?

there was research, anecdotes and stories about the first gaze but you never really summed up what you thought your experience would be.

‘you’re beautiful’

you’d heard it so many times before. would it really be so different this time?

what you notice first is the bareness of the room, appearing as just that, an empty space. well not completely empty; for at its center was a man. one who someone took up every parameter while only being rooted in a single square.

UNICORNS holding measures were … questionable, leaving him in a simple chair with only what you imagined were handcuffs to keep him rooted. this man who nearly cleared an entire squadron. though you supposed an escape wouldn’t come easy for him.

him, who was not just a man, but the dangerous leader to an illegal organization chasing the aether core. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes, likely deprived of rest since his capture, though he didn't give off the impression of losing any sleep over it. he also sported more than a few smudges of dark crimson, making him appear every bit as dangerous as his lore suggested.

you think you hear a sound of protest from jenna as you take a challenging step forward, but it falls on deaf ears as inquisitiveness wins out.

he certainly fit the bill of a criminal figure. yet as he sat there, chained to a simple chair, chest rising with each breath with that slight tilt of his lips. there was just something else that made it hard to believe that this could possibly be your soulmate, questionable choices aside.

the man seemed to take your silence as an invitation as he spoke first.

“you’re beautiful.”

and in that instance, all of the violence and ominousness bled away, leaving just a man tied to a chair with dark eyes looking up at you with expectation.

you don’t realize your lips are curling downward as your eyes flicker back to his hands which were pinned behind his back.

and with your next words you sealed your fate forever.

“sorry, I’m not into subs.”

[zaraomarrogers]

Back to December

Pairing: Lumberjack! Steve Rogers x Fem! Stark reader

WC: 17,616

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mutual pining, implied smut, mentions of breakup, mention of cheating, 18+ content, single dad Steve

Prompts: Steve + Winter holidays + Lumberjack AU + I love you

Summary: Steve and Y/n's story is one of love, heartbreak, and reconciliation. Once deeply in love, their young romance ended when Y/n’s father, Tony, interfered, believing they needed to focus on their individual futures. Devastated, Steve enlisted in the army and later became a single father to Emma, who became his anchor during difficult times.

A/n: This is my entry for @stellar-solar-flare 's Stella's Starry Winter Sky Event. Thank you Stella, for hosting the event and letting me participate, I'm still very new to writing, and with Lumberjack - single dad Steve, I got carried away. This is not beta'd. all mistakes are mine.

The train rumbled steadily along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against steel blending with the soft hum of conversation in the carriage. Y/n sat by the window, her chin resting on her palm as she gazed out at the snow-dusted countryside. Her breath fogged the glass as the familiar landscapes of her hometown came into view, awakening memories she had thought were long buried.

It had been years since she’d been back—years spent carving out a life for herself in the towering chaos of New York City. Yet, as the train approached her destination, the pull of the past was undeniable. Every stretch of snow-covered field, every shadowed outline of the distant woods, brought back flashes of a childhood she had tucked away in the corners of her heart.

She thought of Wanda and Nat, her partners in every mischievous scheme they had cooked up in school. She thought of Bucky, with his easy laughter and protective nature. And then, unbidden, she thought of him. Steve Rogers.

The memories of Steve were vivid, sharper than she expected after all these years. She could see him as clearly as if it were yesterday — leaning against the lockers, his blond hair catching the light, his blue eyes crinkling with a smile just for her. They had been inseparable once, two halves of the same whole, navigating the trials of high school side by side. She thought of their first kiss, stolen on the bleachers one chilly autumn evening. It had been awkward and sweet, the kind of kiss that lingered in your memory forever.

The whistle of the train jolted her from her thoughts. She shook her head, as if she could dislodge the past from her mind. But the memories clung to her, unwilling to let go. She gathered her bag and stepped off the train into the crisp winter air, her boots crunching against the snow. The town looked the same, yet somehow different—smaller, quieter, and wrapped in the gentle nostalgia of familiarity.

Her parents’ ranch was just as she remembered it, the sprawling fields blanketed in white, the wooden fence lined with twinkling holiday lights. Yet, instead of going straight inside, Y/n felt a pull toward the woods at the edge of the property. She had spent so many hours there as a child, building forts with her friends, laughing until her sides ached.

And that’s when she saw him.

Steve Rogers, dressed in a plaid shirt and sturdy boots, stood in a clearing, his axe raised mid-swing. His broad shoulders flexed as he brought the axe down, splitting a log cleanly in two. He looked different now, older, more rugged. But the sight of him working among the towering trees, the snow falling softly around him, sent a jolt through Y/n.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. Memories of him flooded her mind—the way he used to wait for her after class, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d held her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. She remembered the way her heart had raced when he leaned in to kiss her for the first time, the way his lips had felt against hers, tentative but full of promise.

Steve must have sensed her presence because he straightened and turned, his eyes meeting hers. For a second, neither of them moved, the years melting away in the silence between them. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer, something she couldn’t quite place.

“Y/n?” His voice carried through the crisp air, warm and familiar, like the pages of an old book she had loved and forgotten.

Her breath caught, her throat tightening. She wanted to say something, anything, but the weight of her emotions was too much. Every happy memory was tinged with pain, every moment of joy shadowed by the heartbreak he had caused.

Steve took a step toward her, his movements tentative, like he wasn’t sure she was real. “You’re back,” he said softly, the words filled with something like hope.

Y/n’s grip on her suitcase tightened. She took a step back, her pulse pounding in her ears. The urge to confront him, to ask why he had done what he did, warred with the need to protect herself from the hurt that lingered even now.

Before Steve could say another word, she turned on her heel, her suitcase rolling behind her. She didn’t trust herself to speak, to look at him for another second without breaking.

“Y/n—wait!” he called after her, his voice filled with urgency.

But she didn’t stop. The tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she walked away, her boots crunching in the snow. She couldn’t face him, not yet. The past was too heavy, the wounds too fresh, no matter how much time had passed.

As she left the woods behind, her heart ached with a mixture of longing and bitterness. Steve Rogers had once been her whole world. And now, he was a reminder of everything she had lost.

~*~

The sound of an axe biting into wood echoed through the quiet expanse of the forest. Steve Rogers wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath visible in the crisp winter air. It had been a long day, the kind that pushed his muscles to the limit but left him with the satisfying ache of hard, honest work. His team was scattered across the woods, each man focused on their task, the rhythm of their labour blending into the serene hum of the forest.

Steve leaned against a felled log, catching his breath. The plaid shirt he wore was dusted with sawdust, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He glanced around the clearing, the familiar sights of towering trees and snow-dappled earth grounding him in the routine he had come to rely on. Life had changed so much in the past few years—he had a six-year-old daughter now, Emma, who was the centre of his world. His priorities revolved around her, and he liked it that way.

But when he turned his head toward the trail, his heart stopped.

Y/n.

She stood a short distance away, framed by the bare trees and soft light filtering through the canopy. She looked the same and yet different—her features sharper, her stance more self-assured, but her eyes still carried the spark he remembered. She was dressed for the cold, her scarf trailing down her coat, her suitcase at her side like a subtle declaration that she didn’t intend to stay long.

The sight of her hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He hadn’t seen her in years, and yet, here she was, as if time had folded in on itself and brought her back to him.

“Y/n?” he said before he could stop himself, the word slipping out with equal parts wonder and hesitation.

Her eyes locked onto his, and he felt a jolt of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Happiness. Shock. Fear. A sweet, aching kind of stress that threatened to undo the careful balance he had built in his life.

Steve stood rooted to the spot, watching Y/n’s figure retreat into the forest, her suitcase trailing behind her. Each step she took away from him felt like a blow to his chest, an ache he couldn’t ignore. He had imagined this moment for years—what it would feel like to see her again, what he would say—but reality had blindsided him. Instead of joy or closure, he felt the familiar sting of regret, raw and unyielding.

His axe hung loosely in his hand as the noise of the woods—chopping, distant voices of his team—faded into the background. The memory of Y/n’s guarded expression replayed in his mind, and he hated himself for being the cause of it. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable, and it cut deeper than any blade ever could.

He set the axe down and took a few steps toward a nearby log, sinking onto it heavily. His breathing was uneven, his hand instinctively coming to rest over his chest as if he could hold the pain there, keep it from spreading. He had prepared himself for so many things in his life, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing her walk away from him again.

Steve pulled out his phone with trembling hands, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he needed. He hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear, his jaw clenching as he waited for the line to connect.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice came through, steady and familiar.

“She’s here,” Steve said, his voice shaking. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but the words came tumbling out. “Y/n. She’s back.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Bucky’s voice softened. “Y/n’s back? Where did you see her?”

“In the woods,” Steve replied, running a hand through his hair. “She… she walked right past me. I tried to talk to her, but she just—she left, Buck.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he cursed himself for how raw he sounded.

Bucky’s tone was calm but firm, the way it always was when Steve needed grounding. “Take a deep breath, man. What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Steve admitted, shaking his head even though Bucky couldn’t see him. “She didn’t say much. She looked at me like—like she didn’t know whether to yell at me or cry. And then she just walked away.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging low. “I thought I was ready for this, but seeing her… I don’t know, Buck. It’s like all the years I’ve spent trying to move on just disappeared the second I saw her.”

“You never really moved on,” Bucky said gently. “You might’ve told yourself you did, for Emma’s sake, but you’ve been carrying this with you the whole time.”

Steve closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone. “What do I do? How do I fix this? She hates me, Buck.”

“You don’t know that” Bucky replied. “She’s hurt, sure, but hate? That’s a strong word, and I don’t think it’s true. You need to give her time. Let her settle back in. You’ll get your chance to talk to her. Just… don’t let the guilt eat you alive in the meantime.”

Steve let out a heavy sigh, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I deserve a second chance, not after everything I’ve done.”

“Maybe not,” Bucky said, his voice unwavering. “But you’ve got Emma now. She’s your second chance, Steve. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re not the kind of man who gives up on the people he loves. You’ll figure it out. Just… take it one step at a time.”

Steve nodded, even though the weight in his chest hadn’t lessened. “Thanks, Buck. I needed that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Bucky said with a small chuckle. “Now get back to work before your team thinks you’ve gone soft.”

Steve managed a weak smile. “Yeah, right.”

But as the call ended and the forest grew quiet again, Steve remained seated on the log, staring at the spot where Y/n had disappeared. One step at a time, Bucky had said. But Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that, with Y/n, every step would feel like walking uphill in the snow.

And yet, for her, he was willing to try.

~*~

Y/n's arrival at the Stark family ranch was met with warm embraces and bright smiles. Tony Stark, always the charismatic presence, pulled his eldest daughter into a tight hug, his grin wide beneath the streaks of grey peppering his beard.

“There’s my girl,” he said, holding her at arm’s length to take her in. “New York’s been treating you well, huh? You look good, kiddo.”

Pepper was next, her embrace softer but no less full of love. “We’ve missed you; Y/n. Morgan’s been talking about you nonstop since she found out you were coming home.”

Y/n managed a faint smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you guys too,” she said, her tone genuine but subdued.

Morgan, her bright and bubbly younger half-sister, came running down the hall, squealing with excitement as she threw herself at Y/n. “Y/n/n! You’re here!”

Y/n laughed, catching her and spinning her around. “I’m here, Momo,” she said, using the nickname she’d given Morgan years ago. “Have you been behaving for Mom and Dad?”

Morgan giggled, nodding vigorously. “Mostly. But now that you’re here, we can have fun!”

Tony chuckled. “Don’t let her rope you into too much mischief. You’ve barely just arrived.”

As the family settled into the living room, Y/n found herself surrounded by warmth and laughter, the kind of atmosphere she had missed more than she realized. Pepper brought out a tray of tea and cookies, and Morgan immediately began showing Y/n a stack of drawings she’d made for her.

But as the afternoon wore on, Y/n’s smile began to wane. Her thoughts drifted back to the woods, to the shock of seeing Steve again, and the memories that had come rushing in uninvited. The ache in her chest was too much to ignore.

Pepper, ever the perceptive one, noticed Y/n’s change in demeanour. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder when they were alone in the kitchen, away from Tony and Morgan. “You okay, Y/n?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern.

Y/n hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the countertop. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just tired from the trip.”

Pepper didn’t push, knowing better than to pry. “Alright,” she said gently. “But if you need to talk, I’m here. No judgment, just listening.”

Y/n nodded, grateful for her stepmother’s understanding, even if she wasn’t ready to open up just yet.

She spent the rest of the day holed up in her room, the familiar comfort of her childhood sanctuary doing little to ease her restless thoughts. Her phone buzzed repeatedly on the nightstand—texts from Nat, Wanda, and even Bucky. She ignored them all, her thumb hovering over the screen before setting it down again.

Instead, she sat by the window, gazing out at the sprawling fields of the ranch, the sun dipping low over the horizon. The golden light painted the landscape in hues of warmth, but Y/n couldn’t shake the chill that had settled in her chest.

As the evening turned into night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The ranch was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. But her mind was anything but still.

She wasn’t ready to face her friends or the questions that would inevitably come. Not yet. For now, she needed time to process, to gather her strength. Because if she knew one thing, it was that coming back home was going to be far more complicated than she’d anticipated.

The Stark ranch was quiet that morning, the warm sunlight streaming through the living room windows. Y/n was sitting on the couch, half-listening to Morgan chatter about her favourite new toys. She smiled and nodded along; her mind preoccupied with everything she’d been avoiding since her arrival.

Then the sound of a car pulling up outside caught her attention. Moments later, the front door opened, and Y/n glanced up to see Pepper greeting someone warmly.

“Come on in, sweetheart,” Pepper said with a cheerful tone.

A little blonde girl stepped inside, clutching a small backpack and looking around with wide, curious eyes. Her resemblance to someone Y/n knew all too well hit her like a punch to the chest.

“Emma, this is Morgan’s big sister, Y/n,” Pepper introduced with a smile.

Emma shifted on her feet, clutching her backpack straps a little tighter. “Hi,” she said softly, her voice as shy as her demeanour.

Y/n froze, her mind racing. Emma? Steve’s daughter? She felt her heart plummet, the weight of realization crashing down on her. She managed a weak smile and a nod, muttering a quiet “Hi” in return before excusing herself.

Morgan didn’t seem to notice Y/n’s reaction, too excited about her playdate. She grabbed Emma’s hand and led her toward the toy corner, their laughter echoing in the room as Y/n hurried upstairs, her steps quick and uneven.

Once in her room, Y/n closed the door and leaned against it, her chest heaving with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. Steve had a daughter. A daughter old enough to be in school, old enough to have a personality, and old enough to remind Y/n of everything she and Steve had lost.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as tears streamed down her face. Memories of their past, of the life they’d once imagined together, collided painfully with the reality before her. The idea that Steve had moved on, built a life without her—it was too much.

Hours passed as Y/n let herself grieve, her tears giving way to quiet resolve. She couldn’t change the past, but she could control how she faced the present. She had come back to her hometown for a reason, and running from her emotions wouldn’t solve anything.

Wiping her eyes and straightening her shoulders, Y/n got up and paced the room, talking herself into finding her strength. She wasn’t the same girl who had left this town years ago. She was older now, tougher, and more confident. She could handle this.

Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the missed calls and texts from Nat, Wanda, and Bucky. With a deep breath, she hit the call button on Nat’s number.

“Finally,” Nat answered almost immediately, her voice sharp but laced with concern. “I was about to send a search party.”

“Sorry,” Y/n said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ve just been... processing. Are you guys free? I thought maybe you could come over.”

There was a pause, then a teasing, “About time. We’re on our way.”

After the call, Y/n smoothed her hair, touched up her face, and made her way downstairs. Emma and Morgan were still in the living room, their heads bent together over a set of building blocks. Emma looked up as Zara entered, her shy smile returning.

“Hi, Y/n,” Emma said, her voice a little more confident now.

Y/n smiled back, her chest tightening but this time with something gentler. “Hi, Emma. What are you two building?”

“A castle!” Morgan exclaimed, holding up a small tower of blocks.

Emma nodded enthusiastically. “Morgan said you can help if you want.”

Y/n hesitated, then crouched down to their level. “A castle, huh? I think I can manage that.”

As the afternoon went on, Y/n found herself drawn into their world of imagination and laughter. Emma, to her surprise, began to open, chatting shyly about her favourite colours and stories while Morgan egged her on.

By the time Nat and Wanda arrived, Y/n was laughing along with the girls, a small piece of her heart mending as she realized that perhaps she could face the future after all.

The warm golden light of the afternoon poured through the windows of the Stark ranch, bathing the living room in a cozy glow. Y/n sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her, with a mug of steaming cocoa in her hands. Across from her, Wanda and Nat were sprawled comfortably, their faces alight with laughter and nostalgia. It had been years since they’d all been together like this, and for the first time since her return, Y/n felt a flicker of comfort.

“I still can’t believe you’re engaged!” Y/n exclaimed, looking at Wanda with genuine delight. “You and Bucky... It’s perfect, honestly. I always thought you two would end up together.”

Wanda blushed, a shy smile spreading across her face as she twirled the engagement ring on her finger. “He’s my rock. I mean, he’s still as stubborn as ever, but... I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Nat chuckled, her sharp green eyes sparkling with amusement. “And speaking of surprises, guess who’s dating a brainiac these days?”

Y/n arched a brow, looking at Nat. “No way. You? Who?”

Nat smirked; her tone deliberately casual. “Dr. Bruce Banner.”

Y/n nearly choked on her cocoa. “The scientist? The one who’s always on TV talking about gamma radiation and saving the world with his brain?”

“That’s the one,” Nat confirmed, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “He’s... different. Calm. Kind. He grounds me, you know?”

The conversation flowed easily, the three of them slipping back into the rhythm of their friendship, sharing stories and laughter. But as the light outside began to fade, a quieter moment settled over the group.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to Y/n, and she found herself hesitating when they asked about her time in New York. She admitted she’d been working hard but felt a deep emptiness she couldn’t shake. Nat and Wanda exchanged a glance before Wanda decided to break the silence.

"Y/n, we never stopped rooting for you and Steve," Wanda said gently. "I know it's been years, but... he struggled after you two broke up."

Y/n blinked, her heart squeezing. "What do you mean?"

Nat sighed; her tone soft but serious. "After your breakup, Steve threw himself into everything he could—work, enlisting, anything to keep himself busy. But it was obvious he was hurting."

Wanda nodded, adding, "And when Emma came into his life, she became his whole world. He’s an incredible father, Y/n, but it wasn’t easy for him. Raising a child on his own, balancing everything... it’s a lot."

Y/n swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her now empty mug. "I had no idea. I mean, I always thought he moved on and was fine. But hearing this... it makes me feel awful."

Nat reached out, squeezing Y/n’s hand. "It wasn’t your fault, Y/n. You didn’t know. But Steve’s been through a lot."

Wanda hesitated before saying, "There’s more to his story, but it’s not our place to share it. If you’re ready, talk to him. He deserves that chance."

Y/n nodded slowly, her emotions a whirlwind of guilt, sadness, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been so focused on her own pain, on the heartbreak she’d carried for years, that she hadn’t considered what Steve might have endured.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda reached over, placing a comforting hand on Y/n’s arm. “Because we know you still care about him. And because he deserves a chance to tell you his side of the story.”

Y/n looked down at her mug, her thoughts racing. The man she had seen in the woods wasn’t just the boy she had loved and lost. He was someone who had been shaped by heartbreak, sacrifice, and resilience. And for the first time, she wondered if there might still be a place for her in his life—and in Emma’s.

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the large windows of the ranch's living room, casting a golden hue over the cozy gathering. The air was filled with warmth and nostalgia, the kind that only comes from reconnecting with old friends.

Morgan had claimed her usual spot beside Y/n, snuggled against her side as she listened intently to the women talk, occasionally chiming in with her youthful curiosity. Emma, on the other hand, had hesitated for a moment, her small hands clutching the edge of her sweater as she lingered by Morgan’s side.

Y/n noticed the hesitation and gave Emma a gentle, inviting smile. “You can sit here too, Emma,” she said softly, patting the space beside her.

Emma’s eyes brightened just a little, and she shuffled closer, climbing up onto the couch. At first, she sat with a small gap between her and Y/n, but as the conversation continued and the atmosphere grew lighter, Emma found herself leaning into Y/n’s warmth. Soon, she was snuggled against Y/n, just like Morgan, her little head resting against Y/n’s arm.

Tony stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold from a distance. His sharp eyes softened as he took in the sight of his eldest daughter surrounded by love and laughter, with two little girls nestled close to her. It was a picture of familial warmth, one he hadn’t seen in years, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

Pepper approached him quietly, her curious gaze following his line of sight. “What’s on your mind, Tony?” she asked gently, sensing the weight in his expression.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with his emotions. “Just... thinking about how much time we’ve lost with her,” he admitted, his voice low and tinged with regret.

Pepper studied him for a moment, her intuition picking up on the guilt that clouded his features. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”

Tony exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Pep, there’s a reason Y/n stayed away for so long. And... it’s partly my fault.”

Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t press him, giving him the space to continue.

“When Y/n and Steve were young, they were inseparable,” Tony said, his gaze never leaving Y/n as she laughed softly at something Morgan whispered. “They had these big dreams, but they were so caught up in each other. I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing by stepping in. I told Steve he needed to let her go so she could focus on her future, her career. And he listened to me. He broke her heart because I asked him to.”

Pepper’s hand came up to her chest, her eyes widening in surprise. “Tony... you never told me that.”

“I thought I was protecting her,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. “But all I did was push her away. She’s been carrying that hurt for years, and I don’t even know if she can forgive me for it. Seeing her now, with Emma, with Morgan... I can see what I took from her. From them.”

Pepper placed a comforting hand on his arm, her expression softening. “You made a mistake, Tony. But you have a chance to make it right. This time, you can show her how much you regret what happened. Support her, be there for her. It’s not too late to undo some of the damage.”

Tony nodded, his heart heavy but resolute. As he watched Y/n lean down to kiss Morgan’s forehead and gently brush Emma’s hair back from her face, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to make amends.

In the living room, Y/n felt the warmth of the two little girls beside her and the laughter of her friends around her, a bittersweet mix of emotions swirling within her. She had come back to her hometown to escape her memories, but it seemed they were determined to catch up with her.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to face them head-on.

The early evening had draped the town in a gentle chill, the streets glowing with festive lights and a promise of the holiday cheer to come. Steve wiped his hands on a rag as he finished up his work for the day, his mind restless. Thoughts of Y/n occupied him constantly since her return, but the weight of his hesitation kept him from reaching out.

When Bucky pulled up in his truck, Steve wasn’t entirely surprised. His best friend always had a way of nudging him toward the things he avoided.

“You off the clock?” Bucky asked, leaning casually out of the driver’s side window.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, folding the rag and tossing it into his work bag.

“Good. I’m headed to pick Wanda up. She’s hanging out with Y/n, Nat, and the kids over at Stark’s place. Thought you might want to tag along.”

Steve stiffened at the mention of Y/n. “I’ll just grab Emma from outside when she’s ready. No need for me to go in.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shutting the truck door and hopping out to stand next to Steve. “Rogers, you’ve been dragging your feet ever since Y/n got back. Don’t you think it’s time to stop hiding?”

“I’m not hiding,” Steve said defensively, but the look Bucky gave him said otherwise.

“She’s here, Steve. You can’t just keep avoiding her. Besides, it’s not just about you. Emma loves spending time there, and whether you like it or not, Y/n’s part of her life now.”

Steve sighed, knowing Bucky was right but still reluctant. “Fine. But just for a little bit.”

With a smirk, Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. “Atta boy.”

When they arrived at the ranch, the warm glow from inside the house was inviting, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch. Steve’s resolve wavered, but before he could change his mind, Bucky gave him a light shove toward the door.

Wanda greeted them with a grin, pulling Bucky into a quick kiss before dragging him inside. “Pepper’s insisting everyone stay for dinner,” she announced, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Steve hesitated, standing just inside the doorway, his gaze scanning the room. Y/n was there, sitting on the couch with Morgan and Emma perched beside her, their giggles mingling with Nat’s teasing remarks. For a moment, Steve forgot how to breathe.

Y/n looked up, her eyes meeting his. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken words and lingering memories. Her expression flickered—surprise, tension, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“Steve, Bucky,” Pepper called from the kitchen, breaking the moment. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Steve shuffled into the living room, taking a seat at the far end of the couch. Emma ran over to him immediately, her face lighting up. “Daddy! Look what Morgan and I made!” She held up a colourful paper ornament, her excitement contagious.

“It’s beautiful, Em,” Steve said, his voice warm as he ruffled her hair. Y/n watched the exchange, her heart aching at how natural and loving Steve was as a father.

The evening passed with a mixture of light conversation and awkward silences between Steve and Y/n. She couldn’t help but notice the little things—the way Steve’s face softened whenever Emma spoke, how he always seemed attuned to her needs. He was a good father, and that realization tugged at something deep inside her.

As dinner wound down, talk of Christmas filled the air. The children’s excitement was infectious, and even Y/n found herself smiling despite the tension she carried.

Steve stole glances at Y/n throughout the evening, his heart heavy with the weight of the past. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words remained stuck in his throat. Christmas was only a few days away, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this holiday season might be his only chance to set things right.

~*~

The soft morning sunlight streamed through the curtains of Steve’s modest home, casting a warm glow across the cozy interior. Steve knelt by Emma’s bed, brushing her golden hair into two neat braids. Emma, ever the chatterbox, swung her legs excitedly as she recounted her latest adventures at the ranch.

“And then Y/n said my snowman was the best one she’d ever seen!” Emma exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “She even gave him a scarf. Morgan said it looked silly, but Y/n said it was stylish.”

Steve chuckled, tying off the first braid and starting on the second. “Sounds like Y/n knows a thing or two about snowman fashion.”

Emma nodded enthusiastically. “She’s really nice, Daddy. Did you know she can braid hair like a princess? She did mine yesterday, and Morgan’s too. It looked so pretty!”

Steve smiled softly, his heart warming at the thought. “Yeah, I bet she’s good at that. Y/n’s always been good at making people feel special.”

Emma tilted her head, looking up at her dad curiously. “Did you know Y/n when you were my age?”

Steve paused, the hairbrush still in his hand. “Not when I was your age, no. But I knew her when I was a little older than you. We went to school together.”

“Were you friends?” Emma asked, her voice filled with innocent curiosity.

Steve finished the second braid, tying it off with a pink ribbon. He smiled wistfully, sitting back on his heels. “Yeah, we were. She was one of my best friends.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Really? Did you have fun together like I do with Morgan?”

“We did,” Steve said softly, his thoughts drifting back to those days. “Y/n and I had a lot of fun together. She’s always been funny and smart, just like you’ve seen.”

Emma beamed at the comparison. “I like her, Daddy. I miss her when she’s not at the ranch.”

Steve’s heart ached a little at her words. “Do you, now?”

Emma nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. She makes everything more fun. And she smells nice, like flowers. And she tells the best stories.”

Steve chuckled, reaching out to boop Emma’s nose. “You really like her, huh?”

“Yeah,” Emma said with a giggle. Then her expression turned thoughtful. “Daddy, do you like Y/n?”

Steve felt his breath catch at the question. He looked at his daughter’s expectant face, so innocent and full of trust, and decided to answer honestly. “I do, sweetheart. Y/n’s... special.”

Emma’s smile grew even wider. “Good. ’cause I think she likes us too.”

Steve’s heart squeezed at Emma’s words. He wished it were that simple.

“Well,” he said, lifting Emma off the bed and setting her on the floor, “we’re lucky to have her around for the holidays, aren’t we?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah! Maybe she can come over again soon?”

Steve smiled, kissing her hair gently. “Maybe. Let’s finish getting you ready first, okay?”

As Emma chattered on about all the things she wanted to show Y/n next, Steve couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Emma’s innocent joy reminded him of the good things still left in life—and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what was broken.

~*~

As Y/n settled back into the rhythm of her hometown, spending more time with her friends—including Steve—things began to shift in ways neither of them had anticipated. What started as casual group hangouts—bonfires by the lake, game nights at Bucky and Wanda’s, or lazy afternoons at the café—turned into something more. There was a magnetic pull between them, subtle at first, but undeniable.

It was the little things that caught Y/n off guard. The way Steve’s eyes would linger on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The soft timbre of his laugh when she cracked a joke, a sound she hadn’t realized she missed. The way he’d instinctively help her with her coat or offer her his arm when the ground was icy.

For Steve, it was harder to hide how much Y/n still meant to him. He’d watch her laugh with Nat and Wanda, her eyes lighting up in that way he’d always adored, and he’d feel that familiar ache in his chest. Seeing her bond so naturally with Emma only deepened the longing. It wasn’t just nostalgia anymore—it was the realization that the feelings he had for her never truly went away.

One chilly evening, their group decided to go ice skating at the frozen pond. Y/n, not exactly graceful on skates, wobbled her way onto the ice, much to everyone’s amusement. Steve, ever the protector, skated over and offered his hand. “Need a little help?” he teased, his voice warm.

“I’ve got this,” Y/n replied, though her wobbly stance said otherwise.

But when she slipped, Steve caught her, his hands firm on her waist as he steadied her. Their faces were suddenly close, their breaths mingling in the cold air. For a moment, neither of them moved. The laughter of their friends faded into the background as their eyes met, a spark flickering between them. Y/n quickly pulled away, muttering something about needing more practice, but the moment lingered in both their minds long after.

Another time, during a group dinner at the ranch, Y/n found herself sitting across from Steve. Their knees accidentally brushed under the table, and neither of them moved to pull away. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt through Y/n, her cheeks flushing as she focused on her plate. Steve, for his part, couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Their friends weren’t blind to what was happening. Nat and Wanda exchanged knowing glances whenever Y/n and Steve were in the same room. Bucky, always one to tease, made a comment one evening about the way Steve’s attention seemed to follow Y/n wherever she went. “You’ve got it bad, Rogers,” he joked, clapping Steve on the back.

Steve didn’t deny it. He couldn’t.

But Y/n was more conflicted. The old wounds from their breakup hadn’t fully healed, yet, every time she was around Steve, she felt a warmth she hadn’t realized she missed. It scared her, but it also gave her hope.

As Christmas approached, their longing for each other became even more apparent. Whether it was decorating the town’s Christmas tree together or stealing glances at each other during a snowball fight with the kids, the connection between them was undeniable. They were both trying to navigate the unspoken feelings that had resurfaced, unsure of how to take the next step but unable to ignore what was blossoming between them.

The nights grew colder, but for Y/n and Steve, the warmth they felt in each other’s presence was enough to melt the ice that had formed around their hearts.

~*~

The house was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fireplace and the soft hum of Morgan’s voice as she played in her room. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking Emma’s hair. The little girl’s head rested against her chest; her cheeks still streaked with dried tears. Emma had clung to Y/n after her fall down the stairs earlier, seeking comfort in her arms, and now she was fast asleep. Her bruised forehead and the tiny split on her lip made Y/n’s heart ache.

When the knock came at the door, Y/n rose carefully, cradling Emma against her, and opened it to find Steve standing there. His expression immediately shifted to one of concern when he saw Y/n holding Emma, her injuries visible even in the dim light of the hallway.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping inside, his voice tinged with worry.

“She fell down the stairs while playing with Morgan,” Y/n said gently, shifting Emma slightly in her arms. “I cleaned her up, and she’s okay now, just a bit shaken. She was scared, so I let her stay close. She finally fell asleep.”

Steve’s face softened as he approached, brushing a hand over Emma’s hair. “She used to get sick a lot when she was a baby,” he murmured, his voice low as if speaking more to himself than Y/n. “Every little thing worried me back then—fevers, colds, scrapes. I’d stay up all night, holding her, just to make sure she was okay.”

Y/n watched him, her heart twisting at the tenderness in his voice. “It must have been so hard,” she said softly, her fingers still running through Emma’s blonde curls.

Steve nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, but I just... figured it out. She became my whole world, and I couldn’t let her down.” He glanced at Y/n, his blue eyes heavy with emotion. “You’d never believe how terrified I was when I first found out I’d be raising her on my own.”

Y/n hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for so long. “What happened, Steve? To Emma’s mom?”

Steve leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he looked at the sleeping child. “Her mom, Peggy... We met while I was in the army. We were together for a while, but things didn’t work out. She... cheated on me, and when she found out she was pregnant, she didn’t tell me until after Emma was born. By then, she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be a mom. So, I took Emma and left.”

Y/n’s breath caught. “She just walked away from her own child?”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. It hurt at first, but I couldn’t focus on that. Emma needed me. I didn’t have time to fall apart.”

Y/n reached out, her hand brushing his arm. “You’ve done an amazing job with her, Steve. She’s such a sweet, kind girl. That’s all because of you.”

He glanced down at her hand, then back at her. “It hasn’t been easy, but... she’s worth it. She’s my everything.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of his story hanging between them. Y/n looked at Emma, her small body curled up against her chest and felt a wave of protectiveness she hadn’t expected. She thought of her own childhood, of losing her mother and how lost she’d felt until Pepper stepped into her life. Emma didn’t have her mother, but she had Steve—and now, maybe, she had Y/n too.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Y/n said softly, meeting Steve’s gaze.

Steve’s eyes searched hers, and for a moment, the years of pain and separation seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them in that quiet, vulnerable moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Emma stirred slightly in Y/n’s arms, and Steve gently reached out to take her. “I should get her home,” he said, his voice steadier now.

Y/n nodded but hesitated before speaking again. “Steve... if you ever need help, with anything, just let me know. You don’t have to do this all on your own anymore.”

His lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “I appreciate that, Y/n. More than you know.”

As he carried Emma out the door, Y/n watched them go, her heart full of emotions she hadn’t expected to feel. It wasn’t just Steve she was drawn to—it was Emma too, and the possibility of being a part of something bigger than herself. Something that felt, for the first time in a long time, like home.

~*~

Steve stood in the entryway of Tony's home office; his fists clenched by his sides. He had been expecting a simple exchange of pleasantries when he came to pick up Emma for the day, but instead, Tony had requested a private conversation, and now here they were.

Tony motioned for Steve to take a seat, his eyes tired, as if carrying the weight of years of regret. There was no joy or casual banter between them—only an underlying heaviness that neither of them had acknowledged until now.

"Steve," Tony began, his voice quieter than usual. "We need to talk about Y/n."

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the familiar unease from years ago returning. "About Y/n?" He let out a sharp breath, trying to keep his composure. "I don’t think there’s anything to talk about."

Tony leaned forward; his voice filled with something Steve couldn’t quite place—was it guilt? Regret? "There is, Steve. I know you’ve been struggling with this, and I’ve seen the way Y/n’s been affected by everything. I see how sad she is. I made a mistake, a huge one. You were right when you left, but now... now I’m realizing just how wrong I was asking you to break up with her."

Steve’s chest tightened at the mention of that day—the day Tony had asked him to end things with Y/n for their futures. The day that had broken them both in ways he wasn’t sure they could recover from.

"You’re right," Tony continued, a weariness in his tone. "I can see it now. She never really got over it, and neither did you. And for that, I’m sorry. I should’ve never asked you to do it. But I see it now. I can’t ignore it anymore. I just want to fix it."

Steve’s hands tightened into fists again, the anger bubbling up from the depths of his gut. He stood up, his voice growing firm, tinged with frustration. "You can’t fix it, Tony. You can’t just come in now and try to fix things after all these years. You can’t play with our emotions like that. You think it's that easy? You think I can just forget everything? Forget the hurt, the years of pain that I carried because of your decision?"

Tony flinched slightly, but Steve didn’t give him a chance to respond.

"I broke up with Y/n because you told me to. I didn’t want to. I loved her, but you—" Steve shook his head, his voice rising. "You made me believe it was the right thing to do, for her, for us. You said we had careers to build, futures to chase. You convinced me it was for the best, that we’d both be better off. But look at what happened. Look at the wreckage left behind."

Tony’s face fell, his eyes full of sorrow. "I know, Steve. I know. And that’s why I’m saying I made a mistake. I see how she’s been affected, and I know how you’ve been affected, too. But I can’t change the past."

"Exactly," Steve replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "You can’t. And neither can I. You don’t get to tell me what to do now, or how to fix things. It’s not that simple."

Tony’s silence hung in the air, thick and heavy. Then Steve took a step forward, his voice low but resolute.

"You’re right about one thing, though," Steve continued. “Y/n deserves to know the truth. She deserves to hear it from you. You were the one who asked me to walk away from her. You were the one who asked me to break her heart. So, you owe it to her to be the one to tell her why."

Tony’s face turned a shade paler at Steve’s words, the weight of what he’d done crashing down on him in that moment. He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "You’re right. I need to tell her."

Steve looked at Tony, his expression hard. "You’re not going to fix it by telling me what to do. You’ve got to fix this with her. She’s your daughter, Tony. It’s your responsibility now. Don’t leave it to me."

Without another word, Steve stormed out of the office, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure what had set him off more—Tony’s overbearing attitude or the underlying guilt that still gnawed at him about the past. Either way, the conversation had done nothing but make him angrier.

When Steve entered the living room, he saw Emma and Morgan playing on the floor, their laughter filling the air. For a moment, he almost felt at peace, watching the two of them in their world of pretend and innocent fun. But the anger still lingered within him, a storm he couldn’t shake.

"Em," he called, his voice more curt than he intended. "It’s time to go."

Emma didn’t look up at first, too engrossed in her play. But when she did, her face lit up with a smile. "Daddy, I don’t want to go yet. I’m playing with Morgan."

Steve’s heart sank, and the frustration from his conversation with Tony flared up again. "I said it’s time to go," he repeated, more forcefully this time.

Before Emma could protest further, Steve walked over, gently but firmly scooping her up in his arms. "Daddy, no!" Emma cried out, her small hands gripping at his shirt. "I want to stay with Morgan! Please, Daddy!"

Steve’s grip tightened slightly, and he held her close, trying to ignore the look of distress on her face. He could feel her starting to squirm, her sobs breaking his resolve, but he remained firm. The situation at Tony’s office had stirred up too much anger and pain for him to process, and he couldn’t let Emma’s pleading get in the way of what he thought was best for her—at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

By the time they reached home, the tension between them was unbearable. Emma was still crying softly in his arms, her small body trembling with emotion. Steve set her down gently on the couch and crouched in front of her. His anger had faded, replaced by the overwhelming guilt of his actions.

"I’m sorry, kiddo," he said, his voice softening. "I shouldn’t have done that. I was angry, and I took it out on you."

Emma sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I just wanted to play with Morgan. You didn’t have to take me away from her."

Steve’s heart ached, and he pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I should’ve let you stay longer. But sometimes… sometimes things get complicated, and I don’t always know how to handle them. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my frustration."

He paused, feeling the weight of his words. He wanted to explain more—about the conversation with Tony, about his own struggles, about the way things with Y/n still haunted him—but he knew Emma was too young for all of that.

"You’re allowed to be sad," Steve continued, his voice cracking slightly. "But sometimes, I have to make decisions that aren’t easy, and they might not always make sense to you. But I promise you, I’m doing my best, okay?"

Emma clung to him, nodding slowly. "Okay, Daddy."

"Thank you for understanding," Steve whispered, kissing the top of her head. "You mean the world to me, Em. And I’ll always try to do better."

They sat like that for a while, the tension slowly melting away. Steve made a mental note to make things right—for Emma’s sake and his own.

~*~

Y/n knocked on Steve’s door, her jaw tight with frustration. Morgan stood beside her, holding a small basket of cookies they’d baked earlier. Y/n had noticed Emma’s absence for days now and couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. When Steve finally opened the door, his dishevelled appearance confirmed her suspicions.

“Y/n,” Steve said, his voice heavy with surprise and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“Steve,” Y/n replied, her tone curt. “I haven’t seen Emma in days. Is she okay?”

Steve sighed and stepped aside, letting them in. “She’s upstairs resting. She’s been feeling under the weather.”

Y/n eyes narrowed. “Under the weather? Steve, it’s freezing outside, and you’ve been taking her to work with you? What were you thinking?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I was thinking I don’t have much of a choice, Y/n. Not everyone has the luxury of dropping everything to bake cookies and hang out at the ranch.”

Morgan flinched at his tone, and Y/n placed a calming hand on the little girl’s shoulder before turning her full attention to Steve. “That’s not fair,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I didn’t come here to fight. I came to check on Emma. She’s a child, Steve. She shouldn’t be dragged into adult problems.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, clearly on edge. “You think I don’t know that? Do you think I want this? I’m doing the best I can, Y/n!”

“The best you can?” Y/n shot back. “Steve, you’ve always been a great father. But isolating Emma and keeping her out in the cold isn’t fair to her. Why didn’t you just bring her to the ranch? Pepper and I could’ve helped.”

Steve’s eyes flashed with frustration. “Because it’s not just about Emma! I can’t face Tony after what he said to me. I won’t let him manipulate me—or you—again.”

Zara’s anger softened slightly at his words, but she wasn’t ready to back down. “This isn’t about my dad. This is about Emma. She needs more than just you, Steve. She needs warmth, stability, and people who care about her. And whether you like it or not, I’m one of those people.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he looked truly defeated. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I just... I didn’t know how to handle it. I’m trying to protect her, Y/n. And maybe I’m failing.”

Y/n stepped closer, her voice softening. “You’re not failing, Steve. But you can’t do this alone. You don’t have to.”

He met her gaze, the walls he’d put up slowly crumbling. “It’s hard, Y/n. It’s hard to trust again, to let someone in.”

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But Emma deserves more. And so do you.”

They stood there for a moment, the tension between them easing as the weight of unspoken emotions hung in the air.

Morgan tugged on Y/n’s hand, breaking the moment. “Can we see Emma now?”

Y/n smiled down at her. “Of course.” She turned back to Steve. “We’ll check on her, and then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Steve nodded, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. “Okay.”

As Y/n and Morgan headed upstairs, Steve stayed behind in the living room, taking a deep breath. For the first time in days, the loneliness didn’t feel so suffocating.

The warmth of Emma’s hug lingered as Y/n descended the stairs, her thoughts a storm of emotions. Upstairs, the sound of Emma and Morgan’s excited chatter echoed, a stark contrast to the tension she felt building in her chest.

Steve stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his expression guarded. When he saw Y/n, his features softened slightly, but there was still an undercurrent of unease in his stance.

“How did you know?” Steve asked, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Y/n folded her arms and tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Morgan told me. She’s been upset that Emma hasn’t been coming over. And when a six-year-old is upset, they tend to spill everything.”

Steve sighed and looked away, his jaw tightening.

“Steve,” Y/n pressed, taking a step closer, “what’s going on? Why are you keeping Emma away? And what exactly did my father say to you that has you acting like this?”

Steve’s eyes snapped back to hers, conflicted. “Y/n, I don’t think—”

“No,” she cut him off, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle, Steve. I’m done with people keeping things from me to ‘protect’ me. I deserve to know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration matching hers. “It’s not that simple.”

��It never is with you, is it?” Y/n’s voice cracked, her emotions threatening to spill over. “You’re shutting me out again, Steve. Just like before.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his tone defensive.

“No, what’s not fair is being kept in the dark about things that directly affect my life!” Y/n snapped. She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll go ask dad myself. Maybe he’ll actually give me the truth.”

Steve stiffened but said nothing as Y/n grabbed her coat and walked out the door, her heart pounding with anger and sadness.

She arrived at the ranch, her emotions in turmoil. She found Tony in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey by the fireplace. He looked up, surprised by her abrupt entrance.

“What did you say to Steve?” Y/n demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

Tony set down his glass, his expression shifting to one of guilt. “Y/n, I was only trying to—”

“Tell me.” She cut him off, her voice trembling.

Tony hesitated, then sighed deeply. “I told him to try and make things right with you. That I was wrong to push him to break up with you all those years ago.”

Y/n froze, her chest tightening. “You... you told him to break up with me?”

Tony nodded, his face etched with regret. “You were both so young. I thought I was doing what was best for you—for your future. I didn’t want you to be tied down or distracted. I thought I was protecting you, Y/n.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she stepped closer, her voice rising. “You thought you were protecting me? By tearing apart the only thing that made me happy. Do you even realize what you did, Dad? The years of pain and loneliness I went through. Steve and I... we could have been a family. Emma... Emma could have been my daughter!”

Tony flinched at her words, the weight of her accusation hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Y/n, I didn’t know it would turn out this way. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

Y/n shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Your mistake cost me everything. And now you think you can just fix it by pushing us back together? Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done?”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand, stopping him. “I can’t do this right now. I need to think. To process all of this.”

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Tony sitting in silence, his guilt heavier than ever. Upstairs, Y/n locked herself in her bedroom, the weight of the revelation crashing down on her.

All the possibilities of what her life could have been played out in her mind, and for the first time, she allowed herself to mourn the life she had lost—the life she could have had with Steve and Emma.

~*~

Bucky leaned back in his chair, nursing a beer as he listened to Steve with a mix of curiosity and concern. They were seated in the living room of Steve’s cabin, the cool weekend air carrying the scent of pine and freshly chopped wood.

“So, you haven’t seen Y/n since that day?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shook his head, staring into the distance. “No. I dropped Emma off at the ranch yesterday, but she wasn’t around. Pepper took Emma in, and Tony didn’t say much.” He paused, his grip tightening on the bottle in his hand. “I’m pretty sure Y/n knows everything now. Tony must’ve told her.”

Bucky frowned. “You think that’s why she’s avoiding you?”

Steve nodded, his jaw clenching. “What else could it be? She came here demanding answers, and I couldn’t even give her the truth. Now she knows I didn’t fight for us, that I let her go because her dad told me to. She probably hates me for it.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s heavy. But are you sure she’s avoiding you? Maybe she’s just... processing everything.”

Steve scoffed. “Processing? She’s been through hell because of decisions I made—or didn’t make. I don’t blame her for not wanting to see me.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I get it. You’re carrying a lot of guilt, but you need to stop assuming what Y/n’s thinking. You’re not doing yourself or her any favour by hiding out here and playing the martyr.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What am I supposed to do, Buck? She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to me. The last thing I want is to make things worse.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Steve, you’ve got to stop being so damn noble all the time. You love her, don’t you?”

Steve hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Of course, I do.”

“Then you need to tell her that. You need to let her know how you feel—how you’ve always felt. Let her decide where to go from here. But sitting around and assuming the worst? That’s not helping anyone.”

Steve leaned back on the couch, exhaling heavily. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Bucky smirked, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Start by showing up. Go to the ranch, talk to her. Even if she’s mad, even if she’s hurt, she deserves to hear the truth from you. All of it.”

Steve looked at his old friend, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking in. “You really think she’d want to hear from me?”

Bucky grinned. “Steve, Y/n’s not just anybody. If there’s one person who can take all the messy parts of you and still care, it’s her. But you’ve got to give her the chance to decide for herself.”

Steve nodded slowly, determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right. It’s time I stop running from this.”

Bucky raised his beer. “Damn right. Now go get your girl.”

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the ranch as Steve parked his truck by the driveway. He hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly before exhaling a deep breath. It was now or never. He couldn’t let Y/n slip away again—not without fighting for her this time.

He found Y/n in the barn, busy brushing one of the horses. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, and Steve could tell she was lost in her thoughts. The sound of his boots crunching on the hay-strewn floor made her stiffen.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” she asked without turning around, her voice sharp but tinged with exhaustion.

“I needed to see you,” Steve said, his tone calm but firm. “We need to talk, Y/n.”

She spun around, her eyes blazing. “Talk? Now you want to talk. After everything? After I had to hear the truth from my father instead of you?” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “Do you have any idea what that felt like, Steve? To know you just... let me go because someone else told you to?”

Steve stepped closer, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “Y/n, I didn’t just let you go. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I was scared, and I was stupid. I didn’t know how to fight for us back then, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, her body trembling with anger and hurt. “Do you even understand what that did to me? I spent years trying to figure out why you left, why I wasn’t enough for you to stay. And now, to find out it wasn’t even your decision—” Her voice broke, and she turned away, wiping her tears furiously.

Steve moved closer, his voice soft but resolute. “Y/n, you were always enough. You were everything. I loved you then, and I love you now. I never stopped. The only reason I made it through losing you was Emma. She gave me a reason to keep going when I didn’t have one anymore.”

Y/n turned back to him, her face wet with tears. “You say you love me, but how am I supposed to trust that, Steve? How do I know you won’t walk away again the next time things get hard?”

Steve reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. “Because I’ve learned, Y/n. I’ve learned what it means to fight for the people you love. And I’m standing here, right now, telling you that I’ll never let anyone—or anything—come between us again. Not your father, not my fears, not anything.”

Her resolve cracked, and she let out a shaky breath. “Steve...”

“I’m here, Y/n,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away her tears. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Without thinking, Y/n closed the gap between them, burying her face in his chest as the tears she’d been holding back poured out. Steve wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if to shield her from all the pain they’d both endured.

“I hate that you broke my heart,” she murmured against his chest.

“I know,” Steve said softly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”

For a long moment, they simply held each other, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them but also knitting them back together.

When Y/n finally pulled back, she looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks and a fragile smile. “I’m still mad at you.”

Steve chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s fair.”

But when he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the moment, the warmth of his presence chasing away the cold walls she’d built around her heart.

For the first time in years, Y/n felt the ache in her chest begin to ease. And as Steve held her, she realized that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

~*~

The days following Y/n's emotional confrontation with her father were a whirlwind of emotions. She tried to focus on her work and the budding moments she was sharing with Steve while keeping her distance from Tony. Pepper, ever the mediator, reassured Tony to be patient, to give Y/n the time and space she needed to process everything.

One crisp evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Steve sat in the living room with Emma. She was sprawled on the floor with her colouring book, her blonde curls tumbling over her face as she concentrated on staying inside the lines. Steve watched her for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, leaning forward on the couch.

Emma looked up, her big blue eyes curious. “Yeah, Daddy?”

Steve hesitated for a second, running a hand through his hair. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded eagerly, setting her crayon down. “What is it?”

“Well,” Steve began, leaning his elbows on his knees, “how do you feel about Y/n?”

Emma’s face lit up instantly. “I love Y/n! She’s so nice, and she makes the best cookies. And she says my hair is really pretty, just like hers used to be when she was my age!”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, Y/n’s pretty great.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “What if... Y/n and I spent more time together? Like, a lot more?”

Emma tilted her head, considering his question. “Like, she’d come over all the time?”

“Maybe,” Steve said with a small smile. “Or maybe we’d all spend time together, like a family.”

Emma’s eyes widened with excitement. “Like a real family? Like, with you and me and Y/n? And Morgan too?”

“Well, not exactly Morgan,” Steve said, laughing softly. “But yeah, like a real family.”

Emma’s grin stretched ear to ear. “I’d like that a lot! Y/n makes you smile more, Daddy. And she gives really good hugs.”

Steve’s chest tightened at his daughter’s innocent words. He reached over and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “You know, Emma, you’re the most important thing in my life. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Emma snuggled into him, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “I am happy, Daddy. Especially if Y/n’s around.”

Steve kissed the top of her head, his heart full. “You’re a pretty amazing kid, you know that?”

Emma giggled. “I know.”

They sat like that for a while, the warmth of their bond filling the room. For the first time in a long while, Steve felt a sense of clarity. Whatever the future held, he knew that Emma’s happiness—and his own—might just lie in finding a way to bring Y/n into their lives for good.

~*~

As Christmas drew nearer, the air around the ranch seemed to hum with a renewed warmth. Y/n and Steve were slowly, almost instinctively, rekindling the romance that had once defined their youth. It started with small, fleeting moments—a shared laugh over a childhood memory, lingering glances across the room, and the way their hands would brush when passing something to each other.

Their friends noticed, of course. Wanda and Nat exchanged knowing smiles during group gatherings, while Bucky teased Steve about how obvious he was. “You’re like a lovesick puppy, Rogers,” Bucky joked one evening, earning a roll of the eyes from Steve.

Pepper, ever the supportive presence, quietly encouraged Y/n. “You deserve happiness, Y/n/n,” she said softly one night. “You’ve always carried so much weight on your shoulders. Maybe it’s time to let yourself feel joy again.”

Despite the happiness blooming around her, Y/n couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in her chest. Deep down, she was scared. The thought of starting something serious with Steve—something that could so easily be shattered by the distance and her demanding career in New York—terrified her. She didn’t want to risk hurting herself or, worse, hurting him and Emma.

One evening, as snow began to fall softly outside, Y/n found herself alone in the barn, brushing down one of the horses. The familiar rhythm of the task calmed her racing thoughts. She didn’t hear Steve come in until he cleared his throat softly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle.

Y/n looked up, startled but quickly recovering. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet was filled with the soft sounds of the horses and the distant laughter of Emma and Morgan playing inside the house.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Steve finally said, stepping closer.

Y/n sighed, setting down the brush. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just... been thinking.”

“About what?” Steve asked, his gaze steady but kind.

“About us,” She admitted. “About what happens when I go back to New York. About how complicated this all is.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “It is complicated. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Steve,” Y/n began, her voice faltering. “What if this doesn’t work? What if I hurt you? Or Emma?”

“You won’t,” Steve said firmly. “You won’t hurt us, y/n. I know you’re scared—I am too. But we’ve been given a second chance. Don’t you think that’s worth fighting for?”

Y/n looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, but all she found was sincerity. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do this,” she whispered.

Steve took her hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve always been. And I’ll be here to remind you of that every step of the way.”

Her heart ached at his words, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside her. She wanted to believe him, to trust in the possibility of a future together. But the thought of leaving again, of potentially breaking both their hearts, loomed large in her mind.

For now, all she could do was lean into his embrace, letting his warmth and steady presence soothe her fears. As the snow fell outside, Y/n silently hoped that she could find the courage to hold on to the love they were rediscovering.

As the horse let out a low, familiar whinny behind them, both Steve and Y/n froze. The sound triggered a memory so vivid it felt like stepping back in time.

It had been a sweltering summer night years ago, the kind of night where the air felt electric and alive. They’d snuck out to the barn after a party, giggling like children as they dared each other to step into the quiet, shadowy space.

Steve remembered how Y/n had laughed, teasing him about being nervous, though her own hands trembled slightly. He’d pulled her close, their laughter fading as the tension between them shifted, the magnetic pull undeniable. One moment, they were talking; the next, they were kissing—passionate and all-consuming. They’d stumbled back into one of the horse stalls, too caught up in the heat of the moment to care about anything else.

For Y/n, the memory brought a rush of warmth and embarrassment all at once. She remembered the way Steve’s hands had roamed, hesitant at first but growing bolder as they explored. She’d been just as eager, tracing the contours of his jaw, his shoulders, their breaths mingling in the thick summer air. It had been thrilling, terrifying, and perfect all at once.

Now, standing in the same barn, the weight of that memory pressed down on them like a tangible force. Their eyes met, the past and present colliding in a way neither of them could ignore. Y/n’s heart raced as she saw the flicker of recognition in Steve’s gaze.

“Do you remember—” she began, her voice barely a whisper.

“The horse stall,” Steve finished, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah, I remember.”

Y/n let out a nervous laugh, but it quickly died in her throat. The tension between them was palpable, and she could feel her resolve wavering. Her instincts took over before she could think better of it.

She stepped closer, closing the already small gap between them. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted softly, her eyes locked on his.

Steve’s breath hitched, and before he could respond, Y/n stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was nothing like the one they’d shared as teenagers. This one was deeper, richer, laced with years of longing, heartbreak, and unspoken feelings. Steve’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer, while Y/n’s fingers slid into his hair, anchoring herself to him.

For a moment, time ceased to exist. The barn, the snow outside, the complications of their lives—all of it faded, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable connection they shared.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Steve rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Y/n.”

Her heart ached at his words, but for the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

“So am I,” Steve said, cupping her cheek gently. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Y/n nodded, her fears momentarily silenced by the warmth of his touch and the promise in his words. For now, that was enough.

~*~

The snow crunched beneath Y/n's boots as she made her way to Steve's house on Christmas Eve, her breath puffing in the crisp air. The cabin stood warm and inviting against the wintry backdrop, its windows glowing softly. Y/n knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal Steve, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

"You're here," he said, stepping aside to let her in.

"You asked for help," she replied with a teasing smile. "I couldn't leave you to ruin Christmas on your own."

Steve laughed, his voice deep and warm. "Well, I appreciate it. There’s still plenty to do."

The hours passed in a blur of shared chores and easy laughter. Y/n helped Steve arrange the decorations, hang stockings, and prepare the dining table. They worked side by side in the kitchen, bickering playfully over recipes. Y/n couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable, so at home.

As the sun began to set, painting the snowy landscape in hues of gold and pink, Y/n found herself in Steve's bedroom, tidying up while Steve finished setting up lights outside. She opened the closet to hang up a stray coat and froze.

There, tucked neatly among Steve’s shirts, was a familiar piece of fabric. She reached for it and pulled it out—a dark, elegant dress she hadn’t seen in years. The rip along the side was unmistakable. It was the dress she’d worn the night they’d surrendered to their passion in Steve’s bedroom all those years ago.

Her heart raced as memories flooded back: the heat of their kisses, the way Steve had looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered in the world. She held the dress to her chest, her cheeks warming.

"Y/n?" Steve’s voice called from the hallway before he stepped into the room. His eyes immediately fell to the dress in her hands.

She turned to him, holding it up. "You kept this?"

Steve hesitated; his face tinged with vulnerability. "I couldn't let it go," he admitted quietly. "It was the only piece of you I had left, and... I needed something to hold on to."

Y/n’s throat tightened, her emotions warring within her. She took a step closer, her eyes locked on his. "You held on to this... all these years?"

Steve nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Because I never stopped loving you. Even when everything fell apart, I never stopped."

Y/n’s heart swelled, her defences crumbling. She closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face. "I’ve missed you, Steve. More than I can say."

He leaned into her touch, his hands settling on her waist as if she might slip away. "You don’t have to miss me anymore," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Before she could think, her lips were on his, their kiss igniting a fire that had never truly gone out. Steve guided her to the bed, his hands reverent as they explored her, his kisses trailing across her skin. Y/n felt herself surrender completely, her fears and doubts forgotten in the warmth of his embrace.

The soft glow of Christmas lights casting warm patterns on the walls as Y/n lay beneath Steve. Their connection was electric, every touch and kiss charged with years of longing, love, and a passion that refused to fade.

As they reached the peak of their shared pleasure, Steve, breathless and overwhelmed, held her close, his strong arms cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. When he looked down at her, he saw tears glistening in her eyes, streaking down her flushed cheeks.

Panic flickered across his face. “Y/n?” he asked softly, his voice shaky with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head quickly, her lips trembling as she cupped his face in her hands. “No, Steve. No, you didn’t hurt me,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. Since I’ve felt so loved, so whole. You make me feel incredible.”

Relief washed over Steve, and his features softened. He brushed away her tears with the pad of his thumb, pressing his forehead gently against hers. “You mean everything to me, Y/n,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ve missed this, missed you. I love you so much.”

Y/n’s tears turned into a soft, watery laugh, and she kissed him deeply, pouring every bit of her love and gratitude into the kiss. “I love you too, Steve,” she said when they pulled apart. “More than words can say.”

Steve pulled her into his arms, rolling onto his side so they lay tangled together, their bodies warm under the sheets. He held her close, running his fingers through her hair and pressing gentle kisses to her temple as they lay in the quiet aftermath of their reunion.

For the first time in years, Y/n felt truly at home, safe in the arms of the man who had always been her heart’s truest desire.

"I think this might be the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had," she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips tracing patterns on Steve’s chest with her fingers.

Steve kissed her forehead, pulling her closer. "Mine too," he whispered.

The warmth of their bodies, their steady breathing, and the quiet intimacy filled the space with a sense of peace. Yet her mind churned with unresolved emotions.

"I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him," she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness.

Steve’s hand gently ran through her hair, his touch soothing. "It’s okay to feel that way, sweetheart. He hurt you, and it’s going to take time. Don’t rush yourself."

Tears prickled at her eyes, but she blinked them away. "You know, sometimes I think about how different things could’ve been if... if he hadn’t interfered. If we hadn’t broken up." Her voice wavered, and she paused before continuing. "I would’ve been here, Steve. With you. And Emma... she could’ve been mine."

Steve’s chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, and he tilted her chin up so their eyes met. "Y/n, I think about that too. All the time. But we can’t change the past. All we can do is figure out how to move forward. Together."

Her eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity and love. "What happens when I go back to New York?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s thumb brushed her cheek, his expression thoughtful but determined. "We figure it out, one step at a time. Long distance won’t be easy, but if this—" he gestured between them, "—means as much to you as it does to me, then we’ll make it work. Somehow."

Y/n nodded, her emotions a tangled mess of hope, fear, and longing. She sat up slightly, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and looked down at Steve with a tender smile. "Then let’s make the most of the time I’m here."

Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his, a kiss that started sweet but quickly deepened into something more. She hovered over him, her hands on either side of his face as she poured every unspoken emotion into the kiss.

Steve’s hands slid along her back, pulling her closer as their kiss grew more fervent. Their breaths mingled; their movements synchronized as they lost themselves in each other once again.

In the quiet sanctuary of that room, Y/n and Steve allowed themselves to be vulnerable, to heal through their connection. And as the evening stretched on, their passion burned brighter, a promise that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

~*~

The cozy warmth of Steve's cabin was filled with laughter and the scent of mulled wine and freshly baked pies as Y/n and Steve welcomed their friends for the Christmas gathering. Nat, Wanda, Bucky, and Bruce gathered in the living room, the fire crackling softly in the background, casting a golden glow on everyone’s faces.

As soon as Y/n walked in with a tray of cookies, her cheeks faintly pink from the cold, Wanda’s keen eyes narrowed playfully. She nudged Nat and whispered, “Do you see that glow? Something’s different.”

Nat smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, I see it. And it’s not just her. Look at Rogers over there, practically floating.”

Y/n didn’t miss the way her friends exchanged knowing glances, but she played it cool, offering cookies and casually chatting as if her heart wasn’t still racing from earlier moments with Steve.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Steve were in the kitchen, ostensibly refilling drinks but mostly talking in low tones. Or rather, Bucky was talking.

“So” Bucky began, leaning against the counter with a mischievous grin. “You’re glowing, Steve. Care to explain?”

Steve didn’t look up from the cider he was pouring. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me,” Bucky teased, crossing his arms. “You and Y/n. Something happened, didn’t it?”

Steve tried to maintain a neutral expression, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Bucky let out a bark of laughter. “I knew it! You dog! What did you do, propose to her under the mistletoe? Finally tell her you’ve been pining after her for years?”

Steve shot him a look, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “It’s not like that. We’re... we’re figuring things out.”

“Figuring things out, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Steve groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you not make a big deal out of this? We’re taking things slow.”

Bucky leaned in, his grin widening. “Yeah, real slow. You’ve been mooning over her since high school, Steve. I’m just saying it’s about time. But hey, if you need any pointers—”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, his tone both exasperated and amused.

“Fine, fine,” Bucky said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But I’m not the only one who’s noticed. The girls are definitely onto you two.”

Back in the living room, Nat and Wanda were interrogating Y/n with their own brand of teasing.

“So, Y/n,” Wanda began, feigning innocence. “What’s new? You look... radiant.”

Y/n tried to brush it off, focusing on arranging a tray of snacks. “It’s just the holiday spirit.”

“Holiday spirit, my ass,” Nat chimed in with a smirk. “Spill. Did something happen between you and Steve?”

Y/n’s cheeks flamed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, Steve and Bucky returned with the drinks.

Bucky wasted no time. “Ladies, did you notice our boy Steve here? Doesn’t he look... lighter? Happier?”

Wanda and Nat burst into laughter as Steve groaned. Y/n covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, raising a hand. “Can we not make this into a thing?”

“Oh, but it is a thing,” Wanda said, grinning. “And we’re very happy for you both.”

Nat raised her glass. “To Y/n and Steve. Finally figuring it out.”

The evening buzzed with the sound of laughter and holiday cheer as the group of friends sat around Steve’s cozy living room, the soft glow of fairy lights reflecting off the windows. The Christmas gathering had been a heartwarming success so far, with Nat cracking jokes, Bucky bantering endlessly, and Wanda and Bruce sharing stories of their recent escapades.

As the evening wore on, a knock on the door drew everyone’s attention. Steve got up to answer it, and Y/n instinctively straightened up on the couch. When the door opened to reveal Tony, Pepper, Morgan, and Emma, Y/n felt a pang of nervousness tighten in her chest.

Tony stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/n. There was a brief, tense pause before Pepper gently nudged him. With an awkward cough, Tony approached his daughter.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

Y/n hesitated, the tension between them still palpable, but she mustered a small smile and stepped forward. “Hi, Dad.”

She wrapped her arms around him in a tentative hug, her heart heavy with the weight of their unresolved issues. “Merry Christmas,” she said softly.

“Merry Christmas, Y/n,” Tony replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Pepper stepped in with a warm smile, hugging Y/n tightly. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”

Morgan and Emma bounced in behind them, their energy a stark contrast to the adults’ careful exchanges. Emma’s eyes lit up when she saw Y/n.

“Y/n!” Emma squealed, running to her and throwing her arms around her waist. Y/n knelt to hug the little girl, her heart melting at the sight of Emma’s excitement.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Y/n said, brushing a hand through Emma’s blonde curls.

Emma looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “Are you staying the night? Please say yes!”

Before Y/n could respond, Steve’s deep voice cut in from behind her. “She’s staying.”

Y/n turned to look at him, her brow raising in surprise. Steve gave her a small, reassuring smile, and before she could protest, Emma let out a delighted cheer and clung to Y/n’s neck.

“We’re a family!” Emma exclaimed, her voice filled with pure joy.

Y/n felt her throat tighten as the weight of Emma’s innocent words hit her. She hugged Emma closer, her heart swelling with emotion.

Tony watched the scene unfold, his eyes softening as he saw the genuine connection between Y/n and Emma. Pepper placed a gentle hand on his arm, whispering, “Give her time. She’ll come around.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of warmth and laughter. Y/n stayed close to Emma, helping her with a plate of cookies and listening to her excited chatter about Christmas morning. Steve caught Y/n’s eye several times, their unspoken connection growing stronger with every shared glance.

As the night wound down, Y/n tucked Emma into bed, the little girl clinging to her hand until she fell asleep. When Y/n finally returned to the living room, she found Steve waiting for her by the fire.

“She’s happy when you’re around,” he said softly, his gaze steady.

Y/n looked down, her emotions swirling. “I’m happy when I’m around her too.”

Steve reached out, taking her hand in his. “We’ll figure it out, Y/n. Together.”

Y/n nodded, her heart cautiously hopeful as the warmth of the fire and the promise of new beginnings enveloped them both.

~*~

The winter holidays came to an end too soon, leaving behind a trail of cherished memories and bittersweet goodbyes. Y/n packed her bags reluctantly, dreading the moment she would leave Steve and Emma to return to her life in New York. The drive to the train station was quiet, filled with stolen glances and held hands. Steve kissed her goodbye with a promise, “We’ll make this work. I love you.”

Y/n smiled through the tears brimming in her eyes. “I love you too. We’ll figure it out.”

Back in New York, Y/n threw herself into work, her days packed with meetings, deadlines, and the bustling city life. But no matter how busy she got, there was always a moment she carved out for Steve and Emma.

Every evening, like clockwork, she would FaceTime them. The calls became a ritual, something the three of them cherished deeply. Emma would eagerly grab Steve’s phone, her small face lighting up the moment she saw Y/n’s face on the screen.

“Y/n!” Emma would squeal, recounting her day in vivid detail, from school adventures to her latest attempts at drawing horses—something she and Y/n had bonded over during the holidays.

Steve would join in after Emma was done chatting, his deep voice a soothing presence on the other end of the call. They would talk about their days, laugh at silly inside jokes, and share quiet moments where words weren’t needed.

For Emma, the separation was the hardest. She missed Y/n’s hugs, her stories, and the comfort she brought. Steve noticed the subtle sadness in his daughter’s eyes when she realized Y/n wasn’t there in person. He tried his best to keep her spirits high, from spontaneous ice cream nights to cozy father-daughter movie marathons, but Emma would always end the day asking, “When will Y/n visit again?”

On tougher days, when Emma’s longing became too much, Steve would sit with her, holding her close as she rested her head on his chest. “Y/n misses you too, Em,” he would tell her gently. “We’ll see her soon, I promise.”

Y/n, too, felt the pangs of distance. On quieter nights, she would look out at the city lights, missing the warmth of Steve’s arms and the sound of Emma’s laughter. But they made it work—sending each other silly photos, voice notes, and even surprise packages.

The first few months were an adjustment, but the love they shared kept them grounded. Steve and Y/n both knew the road wouldn’t always be easy, but they were committed to navigating it together.

By spring, Y/n had planned her next trip back to the ranch, a visit both Emma and Steve eagerly counted down to. Until then, the daily calls, heartfelt messages, and unwavering support from their friends kept their bond strong.

They weren’t just figuring out a long-distance relationship—they were building a foundation for a life together, one step at a time.

After the frosty months of estrangement, the air between Y/n and Tony had finally begun to thaw. It wasn’t perfect—there were still unsaid words and a lingering sense of betrayal—but it was progress. And at the heart of their tentative reconciliation was Pepper, the ever-patient mediator who skilfully navigated the emotional terrain between her husband and stepdaughter.

Pepper often nudged Tony subtly, reminding him that reconciliation wasn’t just about apologies but also about action. Tony took her words to heart, and one evening, during a quiet dinner at the ranch, he presented Y/n with a proposal.

“I’ve been thinking about the future of this ranch,” Tony started, his voice carefully measured. “We’ve been doing great locally, but there’s room to grow, especially with a more structured supply chain. I need someone with sharp ideas and a strong work ethic to lead that effort. Someone like you.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “Are you... offering me a job, Dad?”

Tony gave a small nod, his expression sincere. “Yes. I know you’re busy in New York, but this could be a way for us to work together—build something meaningful as a family. I’m not trying to pressure you, but I want you to know the doors open. Always.”

The words struck a chord in Y/n. She didn’t respond right away, instead mulling over the offer in the quiet of her bedroom later that night. She stared at the twinkling lights of the ranch, memories of her childhood swirling with the idea of a future back home.

She thought of Emma—how the little girl’s eyes lit up every time they spoke, how natural it felt to step into a motherly role for her. She thought of Steve—his steady presence, his love, and the life they’d started building together. And she thought of Tony, who, despite his flaws and the pain he’d caused, was genuinely trying to make amends.

When Y/n finally confided in Pepper about the offer, Pepper gave her a knowing smile. “He means well, Y/n/n. He knows he can’t undo the past, but this is his way of trying to build something better moving forward. No one can replace the time you lost, but maybe this is a chance to create something new.”

Pepper’s words stayed with Y/n as she started to consider the possibilities seriously. Could she truly leave behind the life she’d built in New York? Would moving back mean losing herself, or could it be a step toward the life she wanted—a life with family, love, and a sense of belonging?

As the days passed, Y/n’s heart and mind wrestled with the decision. She hadn’t given Tony an answer yet, but for the first time, she began to see a future where her career, her family, and her love for Steve all could coexist.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the fresh start she needed.

~*~

Years later, as Y/n stood at the edge of the sprawling ranch, the golden hues of the setting sun painting the horizon, she couldn’t help but marvel at how much her life had changed. The land, once just her father’s domain, now carried her mark, her vision woven into every fence, barn, and field. Taking Tony up on his offer all those years ago had been a leap of faith, but as she gazed out over the thriving ranch, she knew it was one of the best decisions she’d ever made.

The years had been filled with hard work and triumphs. She poured her heart into the business, working side by side with her father to expand their reach and modernize their operations. Over time, the resentment she had once harboured toward Tony softened, replaced by mutual respect and understanding. Eventually, she forgave him completely, and their relationship became one of genuine closeness.

Her personal life blossomed alongside her professional success. Steve and her officially became a family, their love for each other stronger than ever. Emma, once a shy little girl, grew up under Y/n’s nurturing care, thriving in the warmth of their united household. She became more than a stepmother to Emma; she was her rock, her confidant, and her greatest supporter.

She smiled, remembering the laughter and joy they’d shared over the years. Bucky and Wanda’s wedding had been a highlight, a celebration filled with dancing, teasing, and promises of forever. She could still hear Emma’s giggles as she twirled around in her flower girl dress, and the pride in Steve’s voice as he toasted his best friend.

Then there was the day Natasha announced her pregnancy. Y/n laughed aloud at the memory of Nat’s dramatic reveal at a dinner gathering, followed by Bruce’s sheepish yet beaming smile. Their group of friends, once a band of carefree teenagers, was now a circle of parents, spouses, and mentors.

Emma and Morgan grew inseparable over the years, Morgan looking up to her big sister with stars in her eyes. Y/n had a front-row seat to their adventures and milestones, from their first horseback rides to late-night study sessions. Morgan’s admiration for Emma reminded Y/n of the bond she once longed for with a sibling, and it filled her heart to see the girls so close.

But the greatest joy of all came when Y/n became a mother again. Steve and her welcomed twins, a beautiful baby boy and baby girl who completed their family in ways Y/n hadn’t even realized were possible. The house was alive with the sounds of children’s laughter, the clatter of tiny feet, and the warmth of a love that had weathered every storm.

Olivia was the perfect blend of Steve and Y/n. She had her father’s piercing blue eyes and strong jawline but carried her mother’s warm, mischievous smile and expressive mannerisms. She was inquisitive and fearless, always trying to keep up with her siblings, but with a sweetness that melted hearts instantly.

Her twin brother, Ethan, was another story. He was all Y/n—sharp-witted, endlessly curious, and a bit headstrong. He had Y/n’s eyes and infectious laughter but a softer disposition that reminded everyone of Steve. Together, the twins were an unstoppable duo, their personalities complementing each other as they navigated toddlerhood with endless energy and curiosity.

Y/n smiled as she thought about Emma, now a teenager, stepping into her own and showing such grace as a big sister. Morgan often called Emma her role model, which always made Y/n’s heart swell. And then there were Ethan and Olivia, her mischievous three-year-old twins, who brought boundless energy and joy into every corner of their lives.

The sound of boots on the wooden porch pulled Y/n from her thoughts. She didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

“Admiring your kingdom again?” Steve’s voice came, low and teasing, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She leaned back into his embrace with a contented sigh. “Just taking it all in. It’s crazy, isn’t it? How everything fell into place.”

Steve kissed the side of her head, his beard tickling her cheek. “Not crazy. You worked your butt off for this. You deserve every bit of it.”

Y/n turned in his arms, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Says the hot lumberjack who made it all possible.”

Steve chuckled, pulling her closer. “Hot lumberjack, huh? I seem to remember a certain stubborn Stark who wouldn’t take no for an answer when she decided to transform this place.”

Y/n laughed, swatting his chest lightly. “Stubborn Rogers now, thank you very much.”

“Stubborn and beautiful,” Steve said, leaning in for a kiss.

Y/n and Steve were mid-kiss, their shared moment of quiet intimacy filled with the warmth of their love and the sound of their kids playing inside, when the door suddenly burst open.

“Mama! Daddy!” Ethan’s voice rang out as he sprinted inside, his little feet thundering across the hardwood floor. Behind him came Emma, Morgan, and Olivia, who was trailing behind with a big grin and messy hair.

Emma was the first to notice the scene, her face breaking into a wide smile as she folded her arms. “Caught you!” she teased, her tone playful.

Morgan, ever the cheeky one, joined in, hands on her hips. “Big sister Y/n getting all romantic. This is too much!”

Y/n let out a groan, her cheeks flushing with colour as she pulled away from Steve. “Oh, come on. You two are impossible.”

Steve chuckled, scooping Olivia up into his arms. She giggled, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck and looking at Y/n with an impish glint in her eye. “Mama and Daddy were kissing!” Olivia exclaimed proudly, as if it were the most scandalous thing she’d ever seen.

“Yes, Ollie, and it’s perfectly normal,” Y/n replied, trying to keep a straight face while suppressing her own laughter.

Ethan, now tugging on Y/n’s hand, tilted his head curiously. “Can we kiss too?”

Y/n knelt down, scooping Ethan into her arms with a warm smile. “Of course, my love.” She planted a soft kiss on his forehead, making him giggle before he wriggled free to run.

Morgan leaned against the door frame, smirking at Y/n. “I knew coming out here was the right call. You two are too adorable to handle.”

Y/n playfully swatted Morgan’s arm before pulling her and Emma into a warm hug. “All right, enough teasing. You two are worse than the kids sometimes.”

Steve walked over, still holding Olivia, who was now playing with the collar of his shirt. “Okay, gang, who’s ready for dinner?”

A chorus of “Me!” and “I’m hungry!” filled the air as the kids ran off inside toward the dining area. Y/n gave Steve a look of exasperated affection, shaking her head.

“You’re good at wrangling them, Rogers,” she teased, smoothing her coat.

Steve leaned in close, a playful smirk on his face. “Takes one to know one, Mrs. Rogers.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She looped her arm through his as they followed their rambunctious crew toward the dining room, their home filled with laughter, teasing, and the unbreakable bond of family.

~*~

As Y/n stepped inside the warm glow of their home, the aroma of roasted turkey and freshly baked pies greeted her. The sound of laughter and chatter from the dining room made her smile as she took in the sight of her family and friends gathered around. The house was alive with joy, a testament to the love they had built and shared over the years.

Steve stood by the doorway, a mischievous grin on his face as Olivia sat proudly on his shoulders. Her tiny hands gripped his hair, and her giggles echoed through the room. "Mama!" Olivia called out, her face lighting up as she spotted Y/n.

Steve wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "I think this one is claiming your spot as her favourite, babe."

Y/n laughed, walking over to gently poke Olivia’s belly, earning a fit of giggles from her daughter. "Oh, she knows who spoils her the most," She teased back.

Meanwhile, Ethan came barrelling toward Y/n, his cheeks puffed out with candies he had sneakily swiped from the dessert table. “Mama, look!” he mumbled through his stuffed mouth, holding up another piece of candy like a trophy.

“Ethan James Rogers,” Y/n said in mock sternness, crouching down to his level, “are you sneaking sweets before dinner again?”

Ethan nodded unapologetically, his big eyes twinkling with mischief. Steve shook his head, laughing. “That’s your son, alright.”

“Definitely yours,” Y/n shot back with a wink, scooping Ethan into her arms.

As they moved toward the dining room, Bucky’s voice boomed, “Look who finally decided to join us! Took you long enough, Rogers clan.”

“Hey, someone had to wrestle these two into decent clothes,” Steve retorted, tickling Olivia’s sides, making her squeal with delight.

Natasha rolled her eyes with a smirk, bouncing Bucky and Wanda’s one-year-old son on her hip. “And yet Y/n looks flawless, as always. Teach him your secrets, girl.”

Y/n waved her off with a laugh, setting Ethan down as he made a beeline for Morgan and Emma, who were attempting to keep a tower of gingerbread from collapsing on the dessert table.

Pepper and Tony were seated at the head of the table, watching the chaos with fond smiles. Tony leaned toward Pepper, whispering loud enough for Y/n to hear, “Told you this ranch would be the heart of everything.”

Pepper patted his hand. “You got one thing right, Tony,” she teased, sharing a knowing look with Y/n.

The evening unfolded in a symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and friendly banter. Bucky and Wanda exchanged playful jabs about whose kids were better behaved, while Bruce tried—and failed—to mediate. Natasha and Steve had a competitive debate over who would win in a snowball fight, and Y/n found herself pulled into planning the inevitable showdown for the next day.

As the evening wound down and the fire crackled in the background, Y/n looked around the room. Her heart swelled as she watched her family and friends, the people who had been there through thick and thin, now all intertwined in this beautiful, chaotic life.

Steve caught her gaze and walked over, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked softly.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her heart full. “Just thinking about how lucky we are.”

Steve kissed her forehead, Olivia now asleep on his shoulder, her little hand clutching his sweater. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Y/n nodded, watching Ethan climb onto Bucky’s lap as Emma and Morgan whispered secrets across the table. “And it’s only going to get better.”

As they stood there together, surrounded by love and laughter, Y/n knew she had everything she’d ever dreamed of and more. The family she thought she’d lost, the love she thought was out of reach, and the life that had fallen into place perfectly—all of it was hers.

[whenalltheeyesopen]

At this point @jellyskink has shown Ford losing no fewer than three separate pet shows, so I made a followup to the fic where Irene drives him home while he's having an abandonment-related mental breakdown.

Enjoy! (AO3 cross-post)

Irene paced three steps along the hall runner. She tapped the little ivy leaf that marked the midpoint, turned, walked back.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," she said out loud to the empty hallway.

Then she picked up her phone and made a call.

---

Dr. Ibis almost didn't answer. Dr. Irene Oleander was a nice enough woman, but a call from her so soon before one of his regular appointments with that patient was a guaranteed migraine. It was fine when she was just requesting his most recent x-rays, but sometimes she called to tell him that she had found flesh-eating worms in the man's gums and to please be careful in case Bill Cipher had been denying his favorite pet medicine access.

Whatever this was, it would be just as unpleasant tomorrow. It was probably important, possibly time sensitive. Sometimes, the migraine needs must be endured.

"Hello, Irene," he said.

"Yusuf. How are you doing?"

"Fairly well." He gave the file on his computer screen a quick once-over. "Busy with work. I assume you're calling for business?"

There was nothing but the white noise of a poor connection.

"...Hello?"

"I'm here," Oleander confirmed. She sounded uncomfortable. "This is going to sound extremely strange, but I wanted to ask you a favor."

Ibis raised an eyebrow, even though she couldn't see. He tried to make sure the humor was obvious in his inflection: "I hope we aren't on such bad terms that a favor is outlandish to ask."

"No, no, it's just- it's an outlandish favor."

Ibis hummed. "Irene," he said, "does it by any chance have anything to do with a certain mutual patient?"

To his chagrine, she did not respond immediately.

He sighed loudly. "Just tell me what it is."

"Is there a custom trophy shop near you?"

"A what?"

"A trophy shop, or a place that does etchings or something."

"Uh-" he had never had cause to investigate, but he was pretty sure the print shop did tchotchkes. "I think so?"

"Right. Um." Oleander made a strange noise. "Um, so, after your last appointment, you asked me to try and get Dr. Pines to start flossing regularly since he hadn't been listening to you. And I did talk to him, and last I saw him he said he had been."

"Well that's peachy," Ibis said drily. "He eats nothing but organ meat and candy with as far as I can tell a side helping of stainless steel deadbolts. But at least he's flossing."

"Believe me, I'm fighting that same battle," Oleander said. There was real anger in her voice. She was much more invested than Ibis in the lost cause that was patient health.

Static again.

"Alright," she said. "Can you, um. This is going to sound stupid. Can you make him a trophy for it."

Ibis almost couldn't believe his ears. "For flossing?"

"I know it's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous doesn't begin to cover it."

"I'll pay you back for the cost, and - I don't know, I'll buy you dinner or something. Or owe you a favor."

Ibis glanced over at his computer again. He did some mental timesheet math.

"Yusuf?"

"I'm thinking."

"Please. I know it's dumb, but he's had a really bad... Uh, series of encounters."

"Yes, I saw them on TV."

Oleander's voice went quiet while she swore away from the receiver. "You were watching."

"I thought it might be fun to see how Calimari did."

"That's... Very sweet of you."

"I found Cipher's entries infinitely more entertaining."

"You-" Oleander cut her own furious response off, apparently remembering that she wanted Ibis to owe her a favor. "Will you help me cheer him up or not?"

"Well," Ibis said, "you do have a way with insurance companies."

"You want me to do your insurance coding for you???"

About eight hours of it, in fact. "If you want me to cheer up your sad little man."

"Yusuf, I swear-"

"Deal or no deal?"

She went silent again. She was definitely fuming at him.

"...Deal."

"Fantastic."

"Thank you."

"I hope you have a marvelous day, Irene."

"You too."

"I'll send you the relevant documents."

"Lovely."

He logged out if his computer. He stretched his shoulders, stiff from too much desk jockying, and headed out the door.

Maybe flossing trophies would enter his normal hygiene support system after this.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Lost in the Eyes

Bearblr Promptober Day 7: Orgasm Control

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend finally figured out how to get his mind to shut up, and he cannot get enough of it.

Warnings: swearing, Carmy x Reader/generic lass (leave me alone), sub!Carmy, orgasm denial, light smut

Notes: Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

This is NOT a journal entry. All journal entries are titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

07 Oct 2024

She finally figured out how to get his mind to stop doing acrobatics, and it only took her about a week of seriously trying. He doesn’t know if he should be frightened or grateful; all he knows is it feels heavenly.

He lets her hold his wrists down when she does it. It’s a show of forfeiture that makes him actively choose to disengage the part of his mind that needs to be at the helm of the ship all the time. It’s a task—a near-insurmountable one when she first tried it because it takes him so much effort to yield to her strength. He’s fucking powerful, alright? Looks cute, cuddly, a little lost in the eyes, but his muscles feel like bundles of braided steel cable when tense, can move her like she’s not there when they want to.

He used to get frustrated, almost to the point of being angry when she denied him an orgasm, almost enough for her to abandon the idea, but when he was back to being his sweet, gentle self, the perfectionist genius who had to master a thing he set his mind to, he’d want to try again.

Now? Now he can’t get enough of it.

“Shh, easy, baby. Easy,” she whispers, slowing her hips to a halt.

His dick throbs deep within her, he chokes out something of a pathetic sound, and his arms easily slide along the bed so he can bury his face in the crook of his elbow as if her hands are not shoving them into the covers. He thrusts up his hips to chase down the second orgasm denied to him, but she squeezes her legs around his hips as hard as she can. He feels it—her thighs dig into his hipbones—but it’s more of a nonverbal signal to him to stop, which he obeys.

“Shh. Good boy. You’re being so good for me Carm.”

“Fuck!—Baby, please, I can’t!” He digs his heels into the mattress, twists his wrists in her grasp, but with no real strength behind the movement. “Fuckfuckfuck…”

“Breathe, my love. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

With that, he inhales a sharp breath, blows a trembling one out. Does it twice more. Then the haze sets in, and his body turns to lead, sinks into the bed; mind slows, slows, slows, stops in a small sphere—just their breathing, his heart pounding, the soft, tight, wet heat of her cunt, her weight on his hips, soothing the remains of that sharp ache in his back from working all day. No restaurant. No Cicero loan. No review. No streetlights, neighbor’s dog, traffic, creaking building—his mind becomes a shimmering field of snow and all that exists at the center is them.

She relinquishes the grip on his wrists and traces her mid-length fingernails up the insides of his forearms just hard enough to form little shadowed divots that follow her fingers.

“There you go… that’s it… relax. Let go.”

Carmen lets out a long, soft sigh. His eyes stay closed. His larynx jumps when he swallows, and she can’t help but plant a kiss on it. She trails her fingernails to his chest, traces similar lines down his torso. His back arches as she passes over his abdomen, but he relaxes again the moment her touch feathers away to nothing. He’s pliable in the few minutes it takes him to recalibrate. Opens his mouth eagerly to deep, exploratory kisses, doesn’t make an effort to hold her. Allows her to tension his hair in her closed fists. He’s also needy. Whines again when she straightens back up, only hushing when she slips two fingers in his mouth for him to suck and trace the pads of with his tongue. She’s entranced by what that mouth can do. Never ceases to stir the heat in the pit of her stomach.

When he returns to the world of the living, he sweeps her hand away, hooks his behind her head, and drags her down for a kiss. She placates him for a minute, lets him get some of his pent-up energy out, lets him grab her hips with near-bruising force and rock her on his dick for a few blissful thrusts. All she does is encircle his wrists and brush her thumbs along his radial pulses, and he grumbles, sure, but allows her to pin them next to his head again. His eyes flutter open, bottomless pits of obsidian inlaid in bezels of aquamarine, fixated on her, absorbing every detail of her face. Now her eyes drift closed at how full she feels, and he watches her move with saccharine adoration, listens with reverence to breathless whispers of his name tumbling from her swollen lips. Safe, content, whole, belonging.

Yes. He can’t get enough of her.  

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

hi! i loved songcord so much, i thought you could really do this idea justice. i was thinking, and what if reader finds lip gloss or something similar in one of the old buildings and decides to try it on. either of the sully boys (your choice!) just cannot stop looking at it and wanting to kiss them! maybe a little spice please? thank you!

Lɪᴘ-Gʟᴏss

➜ Pairing: Lo'ak x gender!neutral!reader

➜ Summary: You find a little treasure while exploring an abandoned building in 'Hell's Gates' with Lo'ak that leads to a tender moment between the two of you.

➜ Warnings: kissing

➜ Word Count: 1.7k

➜ Notes: hi guys ^_^

“Lo’ak we can't be here!” You hissed, tugging at his hand in an attempt to get him to turn around. He refused, continuing to move through the thinning underbrush of the forest. 

“It’s been abandoned for years, we’ll be fine!” he replied insistently, pulling you along with him. You grumbled in protest, but he ignored you, looking through the last layer of leaves to make sure it was, in fact, as clear as he insisted. His eyes swept the area back and forth, catching at every small movement before he deemed it clear and marched right through onto the turf of Hell’s Gate.  

You bit your bottom lip, cursing his stubbornness and scurrying out of the greenery behind him. You follow behind him as he runs to the nearest concrete structure. It takes the two of you, and a good amount of pulling, to pry the airtight door open. Finally, it swings open, its hinges squeaking from years of neglect and making you stagger back. It begins to close again by the time you both regain your footing, and you both slip through the narrowing entry. Just barely avoiding the heavy thing closing on your tail. You squeak in surprise.  

The inside of Hell’s Gate is just as empty and – if not more – dead as the outside. It lacks the lively greens that have grown over the grey structures. Everything is white, gray and an “ugly medical blue" as you'd heard Jake describe it once. The machines and tables are covered in a heavy layer of dust.

You swipe the pad of your finger over one as you pass it, frowning as the blue of your skin turns grey.  

“This is gross,” you state, whipping your finger against yourself with a frown. Lo’ak nods in agreement.  

“Definitely not as cool as what we have back in the mountains,” he adds, although technically speaking it's all the same, just less dusty.  

“But look at the size of it…no way all those tiny sky people needed this much space,” you joke, and Lo’ak laughs. Pushing the door to the next room open, he notes that this door is much lighter than the last.

The two of you walk in, your eyes glazing over everything in the room as you drift off from him to explore it. The room reminds you of where Norman and some of the other scientists sleep, so you gather it must be some type of sleeping corridor, although it is quite bare. There are no sheets or pillows, no bags full of belongings or clothes on hooks or racks. Just steel and metal structures that stack on top of one another and hold thin white mattresses on them. Although the mattresses can hardly be described as white now.  

“It's empty!” Lo’ak exclaims from his side of the room, beginning to make his way towards you. You open your mouth about to agree with his statement before a small bag catches your eye. It’s tucked under one of the bunks, just barely visible from where you stand. It must have been forgotten. You have to bend down to see the whole thing, and get down on your hands and knees to reach it. 

Lo’aks heavy footsteps halt as he reaches you. “What are you doing?” he questions with furrowed brows and an amused smile.  

“I found…” you reach under the bunk, pausing as you grasp onto the bag and pull it out, “this.” You pull yourself back up, grasping the tiny bag between your pointer and thumb. There's a floral pattern imprinted on the fabric. Unsurprisingly you don’t recognize any of the plants depicted in the design.  

“Is there anything inside it?” he asks with a grin, giddy eyes eager for an adventure. You shake the bag to answer his question, a small grin of your own forming when you feel something rattle around inside it.  

“Yes!” you giggle, fumbling around with the piece of fabric, trying to find a way to open it. After a moment your large fingers get a grip on the tiny zipper head. With a gentle tug you pull the zipper open, and flip the bag upside down, letting the small treasure inside fall into your palm.  

This time you're both confused as you stare at the small clear tube in your hand. Inside you can see a long stick that goes through the middle and looks to be connected to the silver head of the tube and a thick looking liquid. The tube looks to only be half full, with a light pink tint to the liquid inside. 

Your eyebrows furrow and you shake the bag again to check if there's anything else inside, maybe something that could explain or at least give you a clue to what the odd-looking liquid is for, but nothing comes out.

Lo’ak takes it from your small hand into his larger one, spinning it between his fingers. He squints looking closely at it.  

“I think something is written on it…” he says uncertainly. He brings it closer to his face, in an attempt to read the tiny English text. A language he could just barely read, thanks to his lessons with Jake as a child.  

“Can you read it?” you ask, watching as he sounds out the letters to himself. His mouth opens and closes, whispers of sounds coming from them for a minute before he strings them together. 

“Lip-gloss.” He says uncertainly, and then he repeats it, more confident this time, “It’s lip gloss.” Lo’ak frowns at the tube uncertainly, letting you take it from his hands. You roll it over your fingers, inspecting it.  

"I'm going to try it.” You decide.  

“You don't even know how to use it.” Lo’ak argues.  

You look at him like he’s stupid. “It’s gloss for your lips, you put it on your lips, Lo’ak. It’s in the name.” He rolls his eyes, his face contouring into an almost pout like expression. You giggle, which only upsets him further and he looks away from you.  

Turning your attention back to the tiny tube, you decide to ignore him for a moment. You grasp the tube by the bottom with one hand, fumbling at the top of it with the other, attempting to unscrew it. You grunt in frustration as your fingers slip and fumble around the tiny thing, but after a few moments of struggle and much effort it gives a little pop, and the top unscrews.  

You can feel Lo'aks eyes on you from where he stands, watching as you bring the product-soaked wand to your lips, gliding it along the surface of the soft skin. You can't see it, but Lo’ak is blushing as he sees the soft tint of pink showing through the gloss. The way he’s so eagerly staring at your lips doesn't go unnoticed, and your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment when you notice it.  

You bring the tube down, hesitantly asking, “does it look bad?” His eyes snap to yours, and he clears his throat. 

“No it-” he stutters, and you cringe at the hesitation. “It looks good.” He looks away, taking a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself, before moving in front of you to continue into the next room. “We should explore more before we have to head back.”  

He swings the metal door open, holding it open for you with an outstretched hand, and letting it shut behind you. You can't bring yourself to make eye contact with him, still slightly embarrassed, but you can feel his eyes on you, or more so your lips. The next couple of rooms are the same as the last, and you guys walk through sleeping area after sleeping area in silence until Lo’ak speaks up.  

“Are you alright?” he asks suddenly. You turn your head slightly, your eyes fluttering up to meet his and then going back down.  

“Yes why?”  

“You’re red," he says.  

You offer a half-assed explanation, “It’s just a little bit hot in here.” Suddenly he stops walking, and you come to a halt beside him. Your eyebrows furrow and you look at him in confusion. “What’re you doing?” you ask.   

He doesn't answer for a long moment, and you can practically see the gears in his head turning as he thinks. If this had been in a different context, you would’ve made a joke about how it's probably taking him so long to think of whatever it was because he doesn't do much thinking, but you hold your tongue.  

“I think the lip gloss looks really nice on you!” He blurts suddenly, and your cheeks flush a deep red.  

“Thank you Lo’ak.” You say shyly. He takes a step closer to you as you speak, his eyes trained on your lips as they move before flicking up to your eyes. He takes another step towards you and your breath hitches at the lack of distance now. You can faintly feel the heat radiating off him, and your eyes flutter up to meet his. 

“What’re you doing?” The question comes out in a whisper. The distance between you and him, or lack thereof, makes you breathless. Lo’ak doesn't respond, instead your answer comes as the feeling of a rough hand cupping your waist and another on your cheek, pulling your face forward. You don't have time to think about what happens next, and as if by instinct your eyes flutter shut, and you feel his warm lips pressing against yours.  

The kiss is slow, and sensual, and you melt into it. You’ve known the Sully boy most of your life, but never had you thought that you would end up in a situation like this with him. After a moment Lo’ak pulls back, and breaks the kiss.  

As his eyes open and meet yours there’s an oddly raw and venerable look in his eyes that you’re not used to. You’ve only seen it a couple times, and you were honestly not sure you were supposed to have seen it, but this time your gaze feels welcome.  

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly, and you can hear an underlying worry and nervousness in his tone.  

You assured him gently, "That was perfect.”