#need to draw the minor characters more. sarah my wife my love my everything i miss you

[spellboundcities]

Could we get some Seth when you're not busy?

There is not enough Seth content and it makes me sad

okay google how to do a face study of a character that shows up twice (affectionate)

[amandaoftherosemire]

One Foot in Heaven...

Fandom: Marvel Dark AU

Pairing: Demon!Steve Rogers X Angel!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Joseph Rogers, Sarah Rogers, Maria Hill, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Nicholas Fury, Natasha Romanoff, James Barnes, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8,332

Format: Two-part One-shot

Warning: Violence, angst, fluff, flangst, language, implied smut, implied torture, implied abuse, domestic and child, minor character death.

Summary: In a 19th century New York City carved up between angels and demons, you and Steve have roles in the eternal war you neither asked for nor wanted. All you really want is each other.

A/N: Written for @buckysforeverprincess’ Into the Nightmare 2K challenge. 🎉🎉🎉Congratulations, dearest!! 🎉🎉🎉 I had such a great time with this challenge. Everyone should go follow her right now cause she’s great!

Set in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, but I stayed vague so that I didn’t end up spending the rest of November doing research in the interests of historical accuracy. I am a pedantic butthole so that is totally something I would do. I had intended to have this up before Halloween, but once I got going I couldn’t stop, because I am also a verbose butthole 🤨🤔. I had promised to make this a one-shot, however, and though it’s been split into two parts for clarity’s sake, it is complete.

Prompt: Angels and demons have never played fair.

One Foot in Heaven

Upon the news that his third wife had borne him a daughter, your father beat a servant to death.

At least, he thought, the otherwise useless creature he'd tied himself to this time had managed to survive pregnancy with his child, something no other woman had managed. Though a daughter was worse than worthless to him, this was the first child to survive as well, so perhaps his vapid little wife would have some use other than her money after all.

Truth be told, all he'd wanted out of a wife was an heiress who could bear his children. She may have disappointed on her first try, but she'd done better than her predecessors. As he stood panting over the broken body of the maid he'd destroyed with his fists on the floor of his study, he considered using some of her money to buy his stupid little wife something sparkly for the birth. Not that he cared enough to know, but he imagined that as a woman she'd like that, and with the smell of blood in the air he was feeling indulgent.

As you saw your father only once in a blue moon, growing up you were mostly insulated from his disdain for you and his growing impatience with your mother. Though he exercised his husbandly rights on a regular basis to get the son he so desperately sought, his unassuming little wife rarely conceived. On the few occasions she’d gotten pregnant, she miscarried, but survived each time. He had begun to hope that she wouldn't survive the next so that he could be free to seek out another, younger wife who might finally be able to give him an heir.

To his frustration, he was reliant upon human women and their weak bodies to get what he needed. As he couldn't be certain he'd ever find a woman capable of giving him a son, he used your existence as a backup plan, arranging your engagement to a powerful family with the potential to be extremely useful to a creature with ambition. The boy was weak and sickly, but your father figured that would make him easier to manipulate. If nothing else, marrying you off to the little invalid as soon as possible would minimize the danger you posed.

You couldn't remember a time that you didn’t know Steve, didn't know that one day you and Steve would marry. You couldn't imagine a world in which you didn't adore every single thing about him, a universe in which you weren't meant to be together forever. Three years old when you were born, Steve had been your world your entire life. Because Steve's mother, Sarah, and your mother were old friends and comrades, both were delighted with the match.

Unbeknownst to their husbands, your mother and Sarah were intelligent and strong-minded women. Though they weren’t aware of it, Joseph Rogers and your father were being outmaneuvered by far more brilliant minds and your betrothal was only part of it. The only concern was whether you and Steve would comply. By the time you were sixteen and Steve nineteen, however, it had become clear that neither of you had eyes for anyone else.

Steve was small, both short and slim, and prone to illness. He spent most of his time inside, both because he was often sick, but also because any number of things outside could set off a fit of wheezing. He was pale both from the lack of sunshine and the arsenic used to treat his asthma. You knew that others looked at Steve and saw weakness, but you saw strength.

Steve wasn't just your betrothed, your beloved, he was also your best friend and the person you trusted above all else. You knew Steve wasn't weak, but quiet and shy. Steve had an unshakeable concept of right and wrong and a complete inability to ignore his conscience.

He also had not just a willingness, but an eagerness to fight for what he thought was right. If Steve thought something must be done, he would do it, regardless of all else. Between you and James, Steve's brother in arms and best friend, you had barely managed to keep him alive. His utter disregard for his own health and safety made it a nearly impossible task.

You may have been mad, but you looked forward to a lifetime of it.

Not long after your seventeenth birthday but shortly before the wedding, all hell broke loose.

You and Steve had inadvertently set the stage for the calamity a couple of days prior. You had taken a rare chance to be alone together; both your mothers had been very careful about chaperones for years.

The gardens of your father’s country estate where he most often left you and your mother to your own devices were massive and elaborate. Near the center was a little bower where the trees had been tied to force them to grow together into an arbor. After years of neglect and tucked away where you had to almost crawl in, you and Steve had found it as children and immediately claimed it as your secret. You’d spent hours there together, talking and dreaming.

Years later, in that place of childhood dreams, you and Steve had exchanged vows of your own making before making love for the first time. As you promised to love him forever and a day, joy, bright and brilliant, burst upon you like sunlight. As you moved together, tentatively as each of you was afraid of hurting the other, the pleasure was so pure and radiant you were sure it had to be magic.

 You weren’t really surprised. You and Steve had always made magic together.

A few days later, in the library of his family’s house in Brooklyn Heights, you and Steve sat next to one another on a sofa in the corner. Under the fan of your skirts, Steve had taken your hand and was brushing his thumb over the back of your fingers, something he'd done a thousand times before.

This time, though, knowing what his face looked like flushed with passion, how his eyes had glowed as they took in the sight of your body finally bared completely to his gaze, even that little touch was electrifying. Completely distracted, neither of spoke as you each focused on that point of physical contact. You could hear the little catches in his breathing you knew to be the surest sign of Steve's excitement. You'd heard them before every kiss he'd ever stolen.

You didn’t notice your mothers sending one another worried glances at the change in your behavior; you and Steve normally held animated conversations whenever you were together. You didn’t notice the looks of malevolent glee your fathers traded or the subtle smell of brimstone that permeated the room as the men tossed back celebratory glasses of brandy.

You did notice, however, the look of corrupted lust that lived in Steve's father's eyes when he crossed to you, his voice booming out. "Well, my dear! We always considered you one of the family. The day after tomorrow, it becomes official!” Joseph Rogers' eyes raked the bared skin of your chest your neckline exposed and made your skin crawl. Now that you knew what healthy desire looked like, it seemed easy to see the twisted, malignant kind for what it was.

When he reached out and snagged your hand in his, it took everything you had to not yank it out of his grip. Afraid to make a scene, especially so soon before the wedding, you forced your hand to lie lightly in his and allowed him to draw you to your feet. It seemed almost painful in that moment, but you let go of Steve's hand as your skirts fell around you.

"A kiss for my soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" he announced with a leer that a week ago would have looked avuncular and harmless. You didn't know why Steve's father, who had always seemed to you like a mostly benign drunkard, if a little over familiar, now looked like a demon from the pit. Mesmerized by the flames that danced behind his eyes, you didn't cringe away though every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run.

As his overly wet and deeply unpleasant mouth met yours, blinding light bloomed behind your eyelids and a sound like you were directly underneath clanging cathedral bells screamed inside your head. A searing pain shrieked through your body, leaving you unable to feel, see, or hear anything. It couldn't have been long before you came back to your senses, but nothing made sense when you did.

Your mother was cradling you in her arms where you'd fallen to the carpet. Your father was looking at both of you with a sneer of disgust that didn't hide the predatory gleam of anticipation that shone in his eyes. You shuddered as you looked at him; it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

He was a handsome man, but under his skin something… revolting lived. It was the raw red of a dangerously warm wound but mottled with what looked like bruises in varying states of healing, ranging from green to purple. Your gorge rose at the sight and you ached to scramble back, away from boiling black eyes so cold they burned.

"Obviously we'll have to call off the wedding." Joseph was saying cruelly. He flicked a dismissive glance your way. You were fascinated to see a similarly hideous red creature beneath his skin. He glanced at Steve, and the disappointment on his face was so clear, you wanted to claw out his eyes.

Steve looked to you as he always did, beautiful, but the bleakness on his face had your heart galloping in fear. He was cradling his mother in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder. You thought you could see the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek and wondered if this was the source of the sadness that always seemed to haunt Steve's eyes.

Steve's eyes were on yours, liquid with love and sorrow. Underneath his skin was the loveliest golden glow, like his soul was as beautiful as his face. His mother was as golden, if not as bright, and together they created a little sun for you to focus on as you tried to catch your breath.

Your mother was holding you in her arms and murmuring words of reassurance and remorse. You couldn’t understand why she was apologizing as she rocked you, but her arms were tight around you and her voice was thick with unshed tears. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a glow emanating from your mother that matched that from Steve and Sarah, but hers was silver.

"Pity," your father was saying, his voice both bored and irritated. "An alliance between our houses would have been formidable."

"Once we get this cleaned up," Joseph replied with a roll of his eyes toward you and your mother, "we should discuss other options." The two men smiled at one another and the sight had chills of terror running down your spine. You were trying desperately to scramble to your feet and run, grabbing your mother, Steve, and Sarah on your way. You were weak as a kitten, though, and could barely lift your arm to reach toward Steve.

Only once your arm was outstretched, however, did you realize that the silver light that had been teasing the corner of your eye was coming not only from your mother, but from symbols etched all over your skin. You wondered if they were confined to your arms and shoulders or if you were covered in them. You didn't understand what they meant or where they came from, but unlike the golden glow of Steve and his mother, or the silver glow of your mother, everyone else seemed able to see them, too.

"I-- I don't understand," you said, your voice a near soundless whisper, as your throat was as raw as though you'd been screaming with all your might.

"Excellent," your father said with a sigh of relief. "She's untrained. That will make this much easier." With that, he walked across the library to grab you by the knot of hair at the back of your head. You tried to struggle as he dragged you to your feet and scooped you into his arms, but your muscles felt like water. "Come along, Lydia. It looks like I found a use for a daughter after all."

Your mother rose to her feet, every inch of her body taut with haughty disdain. You'd never seen her like this, like a cruel queen dismissing a disappointing servant. "Only because you hold something of far greater worth than you can imagine. Perhaps you should be more careful with her."

Rather than growing stronger the longer you were conscious, you seemed to be getting weaker. You reached out to Steve again, your mouth forming the words even though your voice couldn't carry them to him. "Help me." The last thing you saw as darkness descended was Steve turning away.

You awoke in tears.

You were already crying as you swam toward consciousness, but once you broke the surface, you were shocked to hear the wracking sobs tearing from your throat in harsh cries of betrayal, heartbreak, and terror. Almost immediately you stuffed your fist in your mouth to stifle the sound of your tears, but even as you gained control over your body, your heart continued to weep. You slowly became aware of your surroundings and as you did, you began to tremble.

You were in what you thought was the cellar of your father’s house in Brooklyn, but a part of it you'd never been in before, not that you’d spent much time here. Around you was a cage, and around your cage were more cages. In the one next to yours, a girl who looked a lot like your mother but closer to your age rocked back and forth and sang softly to herself. The wounds in varying states of healing all over her bare body made you sick to your stomach at the thought of what she must have endured. You hoped she'd found a more pleasant place in her mind.

You were still wearing the gown you'd worn to your fiancé's house, though it was stained with heaven knows what from the floor you'd been laying on. The pungent coppery smell told you the identity of at least one of the substances you were now covered in. You looked down at your arms and saw the symbols still glowed the slightest bit but would not be noticeable in light any brighter than that of a single candle. The only light in your dungeon was dim, golden light from a crack under the door leading into what you assumed was the wine cellar.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard the rattle of bottles as the rack in front of the door was moved aside. Your heart was pounding with the fear that your father had come for you. The door opened, and you relaxed a fraction when you saw the female shape of the silhouette, even as part of you grew more frantic at the flickering light at the shadow's back.

"Miss Y/N?" The voice whispered tentatively, as though afraid to make any more sound than absolutely necessary. Nonetheless, you recognized the voice as belonging to the personal maid your mother had brought from her own household, Maria.

"Maria," you whispered back, still unable to speak out loud, though that would seem to be an advantage in your current predicament.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "Let's get you out of here." She went to work on the lock of your cage, pulling what you thought must be lockpicks from a pocket in her petticoat.

As she worked, you noticed the smell of smoke wafting into the room through the open door. "Maria, where's my mother?"

"I'm sorry,” she answered briskly, but with sympathy nonetheless. “Your father killed her before he set fire to the house. He was more cunning than either she or I expected." Having made quick work of the lock on your cage, she turned to the cage next to yours with pity on her face. "I don't know if I can save you," she said to the girl in low and soothing tones as she worked at the lock, "but damned if I'm not going to try." She sounded almost put out by it.

As she worked at the other lock, you crawled out of the cage and got tentatively to your feet. For reasons that escaped you, rather than your earlier weakness, your muscles now felt stronger than they ever had before, and a burst of energy made you feel like you could fly if you had to.

You could tell the effort was likely futile, but Maria was right. You had to try. Once Maria had the lock open, you reached into the cage and pulled the young woman out. As soon as she was standing on wobbling legs, Maria was wrapping her in the cloak she'd pulled from her own shoulders. You and Maria moved to each side of the girl, bracing and supporting her.

Maria didn't move toward the open door, however, but toward the back of the dank little room. That's when you realized that wisps of smoke were streaming from the door through the room before disappearing into a little crack at the darkest back corner.

Maria pushed, and a slab of rock that looked as though it couldn’t have been moved by a giant swung easily aside to reveal a hidden passageway. The girl between you seemed to wake up a little at the smell of fresh air. To your surprise, she moved forward without a murmur of protest.

The passageway was tight, especially for three people, but though you expected your father to come out of the dark behind you to snatch you back, you made it nearly to the end, and escape, without incident.

A gust of cool air blew over the three of you, making you and Maria shiver, but seeming to wake your companion. She gave a quiet whimper, dropped the cloak and turned around, running naked back toward the house. You tried to turn and catch her, but Maria prevented you.

“I can’t let you risk yourself. The house was already engulfed in flames when I ran down to the cellar. We can’t save her now.” You wanted to yell at her for her callousness, but the sadness in her eyes stopped your voice. “Come. Your uncle will be waiting.”

You sat on a settee in your uncle's study with your face buried in his chest as you shook like a leaf in a hurricane, reaction from the events of the night finally setting in. Your aunt draped a blanket carefully around your shoulders and rubbed your upper arms through the fabric like she could take some of the pain away through her palms. Sadly, no one had that power. To lose your mother and Steve in the same night was devastating beyond belief. Though you hadn’t shed a tear since you’d awoken, inside you sobbed like your heart was breaking. Because it was.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. This was all my fault." Tony's voice was low and throbbing with remorse. The loss of his dear little sister wounded him to the deepest place in his heart. The loss of his most trusted lieutenant in the never-ending war left all his carefully laid plans in shambles. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of the twenty-year long plot to take his enemy down from the inside. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of his Lydia. He met Pepper's eyes over your head and took solace from the love and understanding there.

"If everything had gone to plan, you never would have been in danger." Tony's heart hurt, because he was almost certain he knew where his plan had gone awry. If his sister had been a better soldier than a mother, perhaps things would be different now, but he would never have wished it so. "One of two things must have happened, and one is far more likely than the other." Your uncle and the last of the family you could trust pulled you away so that he could look into your eyes. His will almost broke when your pale, grieving face came into his view, but he pressed on. "Did you allow Steve the rights of a husband before your wedding?"

He knew your answer by the way your face blanched and your eyes dropped to your lap. "I did. We were to be married in a few short days. I didn't see the harm." Your voice was a rasp, still damaged from whatever had happened when Joseph Rogers had kissed you. Pepper continued to rub your arms and the sympathy in the way she squeezed your shoulders made you feel better.

Tony stood and moved to the desk where a decanter of brandy sat. He poured one for each of you as he spoke. "If you were a normal girl and Steve a normal boy, there probably would have been no harm."

Maria came up behind you and placed a cloak around your shoulders. You were standing at the rail of a steamship taking a last look at New York. You were believed dead, so it was best that you get gone before someone saw you. The bodies of two women had been found in the still smoldering remains of your burned down house, your father was nowhere to be found, and your uncle was buying two headstones, one for his sister, the other for his niece.

You were going to England to be trained.

Steve… well, you weren't sure. Your Uncle Tony had told you that he'd chosen the other side in this war, that he'd joined his father, the Demon King of Brooklyn, to become a creature like that you had seen lurking beneath the surface of Joseph’s skin. You could hardly imagine your Steve doing such a thing.

He told you Steve had helped kill his mother.

You didn't say it out loud, but that you didn't believe even a little.

Of course, you didn't think your uncle was lying, though you wouldn't put it past him if he thought it was what was best for you. Hadn't he, and your mother, and Maria, and Pepper and everyone else in your mother's family lied to you your whole damn life about who you were and your place in all this insanity? You may have understood, but you were also furious, and you'd vowed to never be used like that again.

If they’d only told you about the spell that hid you from demons, you would not have broken it by making love with Steve.

The fact was, even though he'd turned away from you at the end, you knew Steve. Steve would never have harmed a hair on his mother's head. He adored her, would die protecting her without hesitation. You could not believe that he could have had a hand in her death. If part of Tony's information was flawed, the rest was suspect. You wouldn't let your heart truly break until you'd seen Steve for yourself, heard the truth, or god forbid a lie, from his own lips.

Unfortunately, Tony had been adamant that your continued existence could not be known by anyone. He would not allow you to contact Steve in any way, was in fact shipping you off as quickly as possible to get you under the thumb of someone he trusted to control you. You were going along with it so that you could learn what you needed to obtain your revenge.

You may have chosen the angelic side, the "good" side, but you'd done it for all the wrong reasons and you knew it, not that you were concerned. You'd finally been told why your mother, a being from a powerful angelic bloodline, would have a child with a creature from the pit, a demon of a less powerful demonic bloodline. You were a weapon, but despite what the others thought, you would decide how your power was to be wielded.

As you raked the New York skyline with eyes burning with unshed tears, trying to sear the sight into your memory until you could come home again, you hardened your heart. New York meant Steve, but you had a mission now. Every day that ended with your father still breathing was an offense. You wouldn't rest until he'd breathed his last. For your mother. For a girl whose name you never learned but that now lay at rest under yours. For all your broken dreams.

Five years later you stood in front of the house in Brooklyn that had been built in place of that once owned by your father. The fire brigade had managed to save the houses around it, but your father’s house had burned to the ground. You didn’t know why, but apparently he had cut his losses and bolted. The last Tony had heard, he was in New Orleans trying to make alliances against the Demon King of New York. Your mentor's spies said the same and Fury's spies were almost never wrong.

Fury, a dark man who seemed humorless at first but, when he relaxed a little, was in actuality very funny if a little melodramatic, and the ever-faithful Maria had spent almost every hour of every day training you for the day of your return. You'd had physical training until you were agile as a cat and deadly with a blade. You currently had your favorite strapped to your thigh under the thick black skirts that could be removed with a pull of a string. Underneath you wore breeches and boots in case you suddenly needed to move unencumbered. Tony had sent him a soft, sweet little rich girl. Fury had sent back a warrior.

You hadn't been trained in only martial talents, however. The long history of your bloodline had finally been passed to you. You understood now what had happened the night your world came apart. Now that you'd been taught to use the power that had flowed through you that night, you were nigh unstoppable. Not that you had any intention of using that power today.

You'd given Maria the slip so that you could go back to your old neighborhood, thoigh you’d never spent much time at your father's house in Brooklyn. He had much preferred that you and your mother stay at the country estate. It made a lot more sense once you'd finally been told of his vicious and depraved appetites, seen the evidence of them first hand. You hoped those that lived there now never learned of the horrific things done on that unholy ground.

Almost against your will, your feet turned you towards Steve's house. To indulge his new wife, with whom he was delighted due to the size of her dowry, your father had bought his city home just a few doors down from the Rogers'. He hadn't known that he was buying it from his brother-in-law, nor had he known that it had been outfitted with an escape route in the wine cellar. But then, you wouldn't expect even a demon with your father’s pedigree to know that he'd married into an extremely powerful angelic bloodline. The Starks were nothing if not secretive.

You weren't worried about being recognized, hiding as you were in widow's weeds and a hat with a heavy veil. You slowed but remained carefully casual as you walked by. You wondered if he was in there now. What would happen if you walked up to the door and knocked? Would he welcome you with open arms? Or would he kill you on the spot?

You were so lost in thought, you didn't notice that you'd come to a stop, all your training forgotten as you stared at the house that held your heart, even now. You also didn't notice the green-eyed redhead behind you whose eyes had sharpened when she followed your gaze.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The redhead's voice was low and almost bored as she walked toward you. When you turned in her direction, your eyes widened but you saw her intent a split second too late. In a move almost too fast to see, she had your wrists in her hands and wrapped in black rope that seemed to smoke and seethe. "Looks like I caught an angel," she murmured with a smirk as she pulled you by the rope across the street. If you were an ordinary angel, the rope would have burned like ice, but as it was it only held a somewhat pleasant coolness.

You didn't try to escape. Some part of you had been hoping for something like this, some excuse to see Steve, to find out if your heart could be trusted at all. The traitorous thing wouldn't stop beating for him. Maybe if you saw him as the creature he'd become, you could finally talk your heart out of its stubborn loyalty. When the front door opened to the house you'd run tame in whenever you'd come to Brooklyn, your heart leapt at the knowledge that for better or worse, you were going to see Steve again. You couldn't help the small smile that curved your lips.

"Since you're so compliant," the redhead was saying as you looked around, wondering at the small changes you could see, "we can put you in the library until James and I figure out what to do with you." Your head snapped around at the name James, the first acknowledgement you'd given the woman's words. "I see you've heard of our ghost story," she replied with a smirk. "At least now I know I didn't capture a doll."

She showed you into the library, though you knew very well where it was. Your familiarity with the house wasn't lost on the woman, who wondered even as she determined to get James as soon as you were trapped in the hidden sigil meant to hold captive angels. Once you were seated, she breathed a sigh of relief. However, she couldn't help but notice your apparent lack of fear considering you were an angel among demons. You folded your hands loosely in your lap as you made yourself comfortable on the sofa across from the massive wooden desk that sat with its back to even more massive windows.

You had been dreading this room more than any other, afraid the sight of the place where your life as you knew it had ended would break you despite your training. You were relieved to see that it had been changed in nearly every way. Every scrap of furniture was different; the carpets, the wallpaper, even the books seemed to have been replaced. You wondered if Steve hated this room as much as you did.

"I hear our little spider caught something." You recognized the voice as soon as you heard it. Low and warm with humor, the good-natured man was someone you'd missed almost as much as Steve. It took everything you had to not leap to your feet and hug him as hard as you could. As it was, you remained still. Fury had taught you the value of staying quiet when in doubt.

"Something special," the little redhead replied. "I think Stark either sent something top-tier, or something unusual. I wouldn't have looked twice if she hadn't stopped in front of the house."

"Give her a break. Who could anticipate our Natasha?" James was chuckling, his voice a touch flirtatious. You'd heard it enough times to see the smile on his face in your head without turning to look. You knew better, but you just couldn't help yourself. Five years with Maria and Fury had also honed your tongue to a razor edge.

"Please tell me women are not still falling for that," you said clearly, your voice dry as a desert, with an almost cracking sandpaper rasp. Your throat had never recovered from the damage done the night your blood had responded to the demon holding you. Even so, the tone and timbre were still recognizable to anyone who knew you well. You kept your gaze on the gardens outside the windows behind the desk, but the sudden silence told you that you had their attention.

A small smile curved your lips in response until you heard James breathe, "Y/N? You're alive?" The sound of his genuine grief mixed with hope broke your resistance. This was why you hadn't been allowed to see these people. Your heart was too vulnerable. It didn't matter that they were on opposing sides in an eternal war, you loved them. With a sigh, you lifted your still bound hands to your hat to remove the pin holding it on and pulled the veil from your face.

You turned and looked at James as you replied, your eyes tired and sad. "If you can call it that," you smirked.

With a whoop, James was hopping over the back of the sofa to snatch you up into his arms and squeeze you until you squeaked. "He always said he'd know if you were really gone." As he was talking he was alternating pulling back to cup your face in his hands and yanking you back into his arms to hug you again. You were laughing, though your voice was thick with tears you would not let fall. You hadn't allowed yourself to cry since the night your mother died. "I can't believe Stark let us believe you were dead. I understand hiding you from your father, but Steve? Where is Steve?" The last wasn't directed at you, but at Natasha.

"He's getting ready for his meeting with the King of Long Island about his daughter's hand." Natasha was answering James, but her eyes were on you. You stiffened involuntarily and cursed yourself. Another break in your training and you'd only just gotten back. Some soldier, easily caught, hugging one of your jailers, and jealous that your enemy(?) had been courting another.

James felt your body tense and grinned. "Not anymore, I bet. I'm going to get him. Do not let her leave." With that he let you go to run through the door and from the sounds of his pounding footsteps, up the stairs.

"I guess he forgot about the sigil I'm standing on." You spoke to the suspicious Natasha for the first time, a small smile curving your lips.

"I take it you didn't. It's supposed to burn, you know."

Your smile widened when you saw that this one wouldn't underestimate you. Good. You were grateful Steve had had suspicious, dangerous people at his back. "Is it? How odd."

"So are the ropes."

"Maybe you need new ones." Your voice bored, you sank down onto the couch and turned your gaze back to the windows.

"Buck, I really don't have time to deal with whatever spies Stark is sending now. He's been spying on me for years; I don't know why Natasha even bothered to capture one."

Your breath caught, and your heart leapt when you heard his voice. Your eyes closed as you floated on the sound you'd missed more than anything from home. That beautiful sound was different somehow, though, the timbre lower and deeper and you hurt that you hadn't kept such a sacred memory with true fidelity.

On top of that, Steve sounded different. His voice carried the tone of command, the sound of a man sure in his position and confident he'll be obeyed. You grieved a little for the shy boy who'd won your heart practically before you could walk.

"Yeah, but this one's special, Stevie. Trust me." James was practically dancing he was so happy. Steve was amused, but less than enthused. His best friend was at his most dangerous when he was this excitable.

Now that the moment was here, you couldn't seem to make yourself move. You wanted to stand, to turn and see the face that had haunted you through most of every day and all of every night for years. Tears pricked at your eyes and were viciously blinked back. You would not look at Steve for the first time again through a sheen of tears.

Natasha piped up. "The ropes and the sigil don't burn her, Steven."

For the first time, Steve sounded interested, though he still didn't sound like your Steve. "I see. Did Stark send a nephalem to spy on us this time?"

This was the moment. You stood slowly, your hands still folded in their bonds, and though you weren't aware of it, your training had left its mark. As you stood, Natasha and Steve both braced, alert to the danger you posed by your smooth movement, the sign of a highly trained assassin. As you turned to face Steve, your heart galloped in both excitement and fear. "No one sent me." Your eyes were soft as you turned to face the man your heart insisted was your husband. You'd given him your heart, your body, and your soul without hesitation, taken vows for all they’d been for his ears alone. You wouldn't take it back now, no matter what he'd become.

Your eyes had expected Steve's face much lower than it was. As your eyes lifted to his, they traced over a massive chest, brawny shoulders, and huge arms. By the time you'd reached his face, your expression was one of fear and confusion. He looked like Steve, but not your Steve. His gorgeous blue eyes were cold when they met yours and your heart failed.

You hoped he'd at least let his face be the last thing you saw before you died.

Then something strange happened. You'd been holding back your other sight, terrified you'd see the hideous red creature you knew had to be beneath Steve's skin. You cursed yourself again, angry at how weak you were, how desperate you were to avoid facing what Steve had become. Tony had told you a thousand times in person and in letters to accept that Steve was lost forever, but you were still holding onto the memory of a love that could never be.

But when you looked into Steve's eyes, you caught a flicker of that golden glow you'd seen in him that last night. Your heart murmured insistently. The corner of your mouth lifted slightly with the hope that your Steve was still in there, in this body you didn't recognize. The smile fell completely when Steve took three angry strides forward and closed his hands hard around your upper arms.

Steve lifted you up, his face a mask of rage. “Who are you and what horrible magic has Stark done to give you her face?” The flames you’d once seen in his father’s eyes danced behind Steve’s, but you weren’t frightened. You didn’t struggle against his grip because under that anger you could see his heartbreak, his grief, as fresh as when you lost each other.

“Is that really more believable than I faked my own death?” You were a little surprised to feel the buzz of irritation under your skin, but you didn’t like being frightened by Steve. These days you responded to things you didn’t like with anger. Of all the reactions you’d imagined, skepticism wasn’t one of them.

Steve set you down, hard, and his grip on your shoulders remained almost painfully tight as he answered harshly. “Yes. Because I cannot imagine why Y/N would let me think she was dead.” He towered over you as he lifted you onto your toes to bring your face closer to his, the experience dizzying in its unfamiliarity. “For years.” Steve’s eyes were sizzling black and gold, his voice a menacing growl.

You closed your eyes as guilt assailed you. "You're a demon," you replied, your voice cracking as you held back the tears. Seeing Steve like this was almost more than you could bear, proof that at least some of what Tony had told you was true.

Steve released you with a curse, turning to glare at James. "They didn't even get the voice right," he said in a tone you'd never heard from him, scathing and cruel. He turned back to you, his jaw set in rage. "Did Stark really think I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?"

Standing in the room where it had all fallen apart, where every naïve dream you'd had ended up broken under your feet, as the love you'd never been able to escape turned its back on you, you wanted to weep. But you’d learned years ago that tears were worthless. Instead, as always, you channeled that feeling into anger of your own.

You lifted your bound hands as you stepped forward. The smoking ropes vanished in a sizzle of silver light and the sigil did nothing more than tickle as you crossed its boundaries. Natasha moved into an immediate defensive crouch, ready to leap. You stopped where you were and pulled the string at your waist, letting your skirts fall to your feet.

"The last time I was in this room, Steven," you began, your voice rasping even more harshly with your pain and rage, "you and I sat on a sofa against those windows. You had my hand in yours under the edge of my skirts and we were both thinking about..." Your trailed off as your skin ran with heat at the memory. Caught, Steve turned slowly to face you once more. "When your father kissed me," you went on, drowning in the bright blue eyes you’d never stopped dreaming of, "everything went crazy, blinding light, clanging bells, pain like I was burning from the inside out." Steve was walking slowly toward you, his eyes never leaving yours even as Natasha growled in protest. "I think I screamed, but I don't remember. My voice has never been the same."

Steve stopped directly in front of you, his hands coming up to once again close around your shoulders, but with infinite tenderness this time. His big warm hands were squeezing gently as his eyes seemed to devour your face like they were starved for the sight of you. He looked astonished, but belief was beginning to take hold. "Why?"

In that moment, with Steve’s hands smoothing up and down the outside of your arms and his eyes rich with the same love that had always lived there, you didn’t know how you’d ever doubted him. Whether or not Steve had given into his demonic heritage, he was still your beloved. You knew what he was asking; he deserved the truth.

“That last night, I reached for you and you turned away.” Tears were standing in your eyes again and the sight had Steve’s hands coming up to cup your face. “After that, I heard so many things and didn’t know what to believe. When Uncle Tony decided to ship me off to England, I didn’t argue.”

“I was grabbing a knife. Well, a letter opener.”

You gave a little hiccup of a laugh, one tear breaking rank and slipping down your face. Steve lips were there to kiss it away and the feel of his mouth on your skin made your heart ache. When he licked his lips, a flash of golden light winked in his eyes, but you were too busy looking at his mouth and wondering if he tasted the same to notice. “I should have known,” you murmured, unsurprised. “I think my heart did.” You looked up at Steve, a disorienting experience as you’d never had to do so, and the wave of love that hit you was so huge you felt you might drown in it. There was no guarantee you wouldn’t do so willingly. “I could never convince it to give up on you.”

The next thing you knew Steve’s mouth was on yours. Like coming home, he tasted exactly the same, honey and cinnamon and Steve. As odd as it felt to kiss him from this angle, you still sank in, the sob you wouldn't loose caught in your throat. When he pulled away, you saw his eyes boil black for a moment, and a shiver ran over your skin.

Even so, you didn't move away. Steve held you infinitely more securely than the rope that had bound your wrists. His hands cupped around your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks kept you in place when their sigil could not. His eyes, blue and green and beautiful, had caught you as surely as any diabolical snare demons had ever devised for angels. Or vice versa, to tell the truth and shame the devil.

"Should I send a message to the King of Long Island that you won't be joining him after all?" James couldn't have sounded happier if he tried. He loved you as a sister, almost as much as Steve did, and though he was furious that he'd been allowed to grieve you unnecessarily, he was too delighted to have you back to hold on to it.

"What?" Steve turned to glare at James as he barked the word. "Yes!" he shouted, his voice rich with disbelief that his friend even asked. "Go now. And close the door." Natasha made a tiny sound of protest and straightened out of her crouch as she stepped forward, making you wonder not for the first time who she was to Steve. James grinned and winked at you before taking Natasha's arm and guiding her from the room. Steve didn't see her turn to glare at you as she was led away, his eyes immediately returning to yours once he'd issued the command.

"She's my lieutenant, and my friend, nothing more." When you raised a questioning brow as your gaze returned to Steve's, he smiled. "I can still tell when you're jealous, my love. Your eyes go to smoke. I used to try to make you jealous just to see your eyes smolder."

"Did you?" You murmured the question, your lips curving in pleasure. Steve had always had a way of making you feel like the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Once again you were taken completely by surprise by Steve’s mouth on yours. You couldn’t understand why, despite all your training, you couldn’t see it coming. Then Steve’s startlingly brawny arms were wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against his broad chest and you couldn’t think at all, too focused on the press of his soft lips against yours. This, thank god, hadn’t changed.

The next thing you knew, you were being settled across firm thighs as Steve sank to the sofa you'd been sitting on and pulled you into his lap. "St--" The moment you were back in his arms, Steve's lips were once again on yours and all the questions you needed to ask went up in flames along with any thought you had of resisting the wildfire that had flared between you.

To your utter shock, Steve’s hands were already at the buttons of your bodice, unfastening them with deft but hurried fingers. You had no intention of trying to stop him, as eager for him as he for you, but this aggressive confidence in Steve’s touch was foreign to you, and thus of note, if not concern.

“It never occurred to me that breeches could be arousing, but it never occurred to me to imagine you in them, so…” Steve trailed off to bury his face between your breasts, his hands moving to unhook the modified corset you wore. The low rumble of Steve's voice sent a shiver of pure lust down your spine and you arched against him with a gasp. The delicious sound teased at your memory and you realized that you hadn't misremembered; Steve's voice really had changed.

"That's why you keep surprising me when you kiss me!"

Steve lifted his head from running his lips under the parting fabric over the curves of your breasts to smile at you. For the first time since you'd laid eyes on him again, you saw your Steve in his smile. You didn't know he was thinking something similar about you, that it was the first time since he'd heard your voice again that he'd heard his girl. It wasn't the cracked rasp, but the bored indifference that had made him question your identity. "What?" he asked with a laugh.

"Your breath doesn't catch when you're wound up anymore." You smiled softly, unable to hold your heart back from Steve, your Steve, as you lifted your hand to brush at the lock of blond hair that always fell over his forehead whenever he got disheveled. You'd always adored disheveled Steve; and absence truly had made the heart grow fonder.

Your face seemed to Steve like it was shining as you smiled down at him. His heart, whispering from wherever it hid from the demon he'd allowed to infest him, had insisted that you could not be lost to him forever, that it, that he would know if you were truly beyond his reach. Should his heart be right, and he'd never allowed himself to give that thought credence for longer than a sleepless night, he'd never dreamed you'd look at him like this ever again.

All he'd been able to hope for was that you still lived; he'd never allowed himself to hope you still loved. The sight of not only the same love as when he'd been only a man, but an even deeper, richer love, had his breath catching in his throat.

The sound had the two of you grinning at one another before you dived.

…The Other in Hell here

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