#one day ill draw out a single scene into like 2k and it will be

[drewtanakagf]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Suki/Yue (Avatar) Characters: Suki (Avatar), Yue (Avatar) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, First Kiss, Song Lyrics, Friends to Lovers, the moment when you fall in love with your bestie in the golden hour sunlight, Fluff Summary:

Yue is an ethereal being, looking so natural in the sunlight. Like the great celestial body was made for her to reflect, for her to thrive in.

 suki falls; hard yet soft.

[awhst-alt]

I HAD THE BEST BYLER DREAM LAST NIGHT AND I REALLY WANNA SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL

it's so long (literally 2k words) so im gonna put it under the cut haha <3

so basically this would take place after mike and will start dating or something, idk exactly the time frame (i picture them being like 18 or something and this is the summer before college) and will goes to this summer arts program for like 2/3 months (i dunno how long american summer is but something like that) and its all the way far from home so there is dorms and stuff and he's "not in hawkins anymore" (no pun intended)

mike and will decide after will finishes his school they'd go to college together (cuz they're gonna be comic book artists together bc thats boyfriend shit) so throughout these months he's practically just waiting for will (<333333)

so one specific scene i remember from my dream involved will and mike getting off the bus to the school and then they hug and then mike grabs wills hand and brings him behind the bus and then he gives will a biggg kiss bc he won't be able to kiss him for 3 months. then they say they love each other and will gives him another quick kiss and is like "two kisses". they agree they'd call each other every day.

so will goes inside and mike goes back on the bus and goes home.

and basically the whole day is a whirl, until the end of it, in which mike is sitting in the kitchen near the phone waiting for like 3 hours for will to call, and will doesn't end up calling.

AND THEN IT GETS SPICYYYYY

so meanwhile at the arts program will asks like the front desk or something if he can call mike and they say phone is offlimits and they don't let him call mike

so then will goes to sleep and he's paranoid that he thinks mike is gonna hate him or something like that

mk than the next day in class there is this girl (they didn't reveal her name in the dream, ill call her stella) so stella is basically looking at will the entire class but will doesn't know it

so when they exit the class stella's like "hi" and will says "hi"

then stella says "i like your painting."

will is like rlly weirded out so he goes "thanks?"

"i um- hope this doesn't sound weird but i have no friends, do you want to be mine?"

"sure"

and then end of scene (this does not sound like a normal conversation but it's my dream so it doesn't have to make sense"

so BACK AT HAWKINS mike is still sleeping even tho it's like 3 pm because yk depressed boyfriend shit but then the PHONE RINGS and mike gets out of bed frantically and goes to the phone and he picks it up and is like "will?" and then it answers "it's el, idiot"

i feel like this is important for context but el speaks english very well now and hoppers back and she lives with hopper and not the byers anymore. ANYWAYS

el says "how's will?"

mike says "idk he didn't call"

"he didn't?"

"no, he didn't"

"okay. well maybe he will call later"

"yeah mb"

"wanna come over"

"ok"

so mike hangs up and gets changed and goes to el's house bc they r a couple o' besties and when he gets there it's like a therapy sessions bc mike usally talks to will every single day and he can't for like 3 months (unless will calls, but he's not going to) so he accepts he's gonna be depressed for 3 months and he's just talking to el about how he's gonna miss him so much and no be able to see his face and that shit

so el's like "well do u wanna do something to take ur mind off of him"

and mike's like "no im not gonna replace will" (I SCREAMED IN MY DREAM SRSLY)

but than el says "okay. guess im gonna go to the mall by myself" (ig starcourt is rebuilt by now)

and than mike bolts up and is like "fine"

"we can by something for will"

"okay yay"

so then they go to starcourt yasss!!

anyways back at the art school will is having lunch and stella is with he friends (even tho she said she doesn't have any friends) and one of her friends is like "omg did you see _____ he's so hot"

and another friend says "YESS! but ____ is cuter"

"what abt u stella? who do u have ur eyes on"

she says "byers" BUT NOOOOOOO WILL IS MIKES MAN

and they say "ew that kid who came back to life"

she says "yea. but he's cute, and shy, and once i wrap them around my finger i can get them to do anything"

so then she goes to sit down next to will at lunch

"hi will"

"hi"

"hru"

"im good"

"okay. good." and she gets upset because will goes ask how she is but she keeps her urging rage inside. and than they have this weird conversation and will is uncomfortable the whole time bc shes all like flirting with him and will is seeing someone obvi

but then she puts a hand on will's shoulder and he's shaking and then says something (idk what it is it wasn't explaining in my dream) then will stands up and runs to the bathroom. so he's just sitting in the stalls crying.

okay back at starcourt this part wasn't shown in my dream but im just gonna make up that mike and el go looking around starcourt for something for will (sort of like the mike/lucas/will montage where they were looking for stuff for el) and then i guess they find something for will and i don't have the slightest idea what they could have got for him BUT THEY GOT HIM SOMETHING GOOD

so mike's all happy but they'res still that depression inside of him lol

so fast forward a week, it really isn't explained but ill just make up that will still hasn't called mike, and he's super sad and all sleeping in but decides to look through his good ol binder full of will's drawings and in the arts school will and stella have a few more interactions im sure which are still very uncomfortable

okay so it's lunch again in the cafeteria and somehow will and stella are talking again but somehow it ends in stella kissing will and will like pulls away immediatley and is like "what is wrong with you!?"

and she says "what?"

"i'm seeing someone!"

"oh i uh- i didn't know."

the whole cafeteria is staring at them

so will's freaking out almost on the verge of a panic attack "idk what to do, he's gonna hate me and-"

"he?"

will has the look on his face like shit shit shit oh fuck no

"you're gay?"

"i-"

and will runs off once again. and everyone in the whole cafeteria knows that he's day and ofc with everybody being homophobic will knows it's not good at all bc everyone's gonna bully him

so then the next day he goes to class and the teacher is like "does anyone care to tell me where ___ is?" (it would be like a math question like 'where x is' but in art idkkk) and then the teacher calls on "will? can you tell me where ___ is?" and they'res a pause and then the teacher says "or perhaps you'd want to find your boyfriend instead?" (giving me anne with an e vibes prolly cuz i did a rewatch last weekend but i won't explain more in case some people haven't watched it but) anyways will stands up from his seat, everyone is looking at him, and he's shaking and so concerned but then he goes "fuck. you" badass will yeaaaa thats my boy

so then he runs out of the classroom and out of the school in a really cool montage way but then he realizes he's like 2 hours away from home but he runs and runs and he goes to a random bustop (it's not even garanteed if it takes him to hawkins but whatever) he gets on and tries to go back to hawkins.

and soon enough, he gets there, and immediatley goes to the wheelers because he needs to see mike and apologize for everything. so he's at the wheelers, and rings the doorbell, realizing he's still in his uniform lol but karen answers and mike is upstairs in his room sulking (i picture it would be 8 pm by now) so will asks for mike and karen calls mike. mike groans obviously because he doesn't know it's his boy, but he comes down, karen gets out of the way and as soon as he sees will they have a really big hug and it's super sweet and my heart UFHEIOSKA

mike says his usual "are you okay?" and mike is still confused as shit but will says "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry" and mike says "you don't have to be sorry for anyrhing" but will says "ill explain"

so then they go to will's room, side-by-side on his bed and will starts explaining everything

(this is mostly improvised by me but it's still pretty similar to the dream)

"i hated it."

"the school?"

"yeah. there was no you, (mike blushes lmao), everything was terrible, i felt so lonely, they didn't let me call you-"

"what?"

"they said the phone was off limits. i wanted to talk to you so bad and i thought you'd hate me"

"i could never hate you, will, even if i tried." will smiles

"and then there was this girl, and she hit on me and i didn't know what to do bc i'd be the face of the school if i told her i was dating you and was gay and today she kissed me"

"WHAT"

"im sorry im sorry i didn't kiss back and i was so scared bc i never was in a relationship before and i was so scared it was considered cheating-"

and mike LAUGHSS

"what? mike? what's wrong?"

"if you don't do anything back, it's not considerd 'cheating'"

"oh. good. are you mad at me?"

"what? no! no never!" so mike opens his arms and says "come here" so will and mike hug or something like that and then mike says "do you need me to beat her up?"

and will says "you can't even beat eggs. besides, your noodle arms wouldn't be able to do harm to even a fly"

so mike laughs and says "i'm glad your home"

so will blurts "i cursed out a teacher"

"you? cursing?"

"yes."

"might have to start calling you a bad boy now"

will just smiles and says "i love you"

and mike says "i love you too"

AND THEN END AND IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF BC I LOVE THIS DREAM LIKE I CAN'T BELIEVE MY BRAIN THOUGHT OF THIS BUT IM OBSESSED

ALSO ONCE I FINISH WYBMFFAE ILL PROBABLY WRITE THIS INTO A FULL BLOWN FIC BUT AHIHFUSAH

edit: i have no idea what mike did with the present him and el bought for will but i guess they ended up giving it to him lol

[need-a-fugue]

Little Bird

Summary: A nice leisurely morning in your husband’s arms is exactly what you need right now. But feeling warm and safe can cause secrets and doubts to spill so easily…

Author’s note: For the Flex Your Muscles Writing Challenge from @captain-rogers-beard​ (6/18). This prompt sparked a little something-something… I’ve been struggling on piecing together a story I’ve been working on for a bit, and this scene just tumbled right out thanks to one lovely, little word… Leisurely.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: all pretty tame, just some sweetness and angst

Word count: 2K

Mornings had been rough lately, streams of light from the rising sun peeking through the window long before your tired body is ready to greet the day, the brilliant orange hues setting your stomach to clench and roil in bitter anticipation. Most days, you roll out of bed with a slow groan, hoping to make it to the bathroom before the full force of nausea hits, only to end up racing in a flourish the moment you leave the small air conditioned bedroom, the Wakandan heat prickling your senses to make this sickness that much more unbearable.

A typical morning meant violently emptying your stomach into the toilet down the hall, your husband at your back – only half awake himself – holding your hair and trailing a gentle, cooling touch down the back of your neck with his blissfully cold vibranium fingertips.

But today, for the first time in weeks, the swiftly rising sun seemed to herald little more than a slow and languid wakening, you and Bucky both stirring and stretching and shifting, leisurely curling round one another, just as you had before this new phase of life began.

For an hour or more, you’d been – gratefully, blessedly – slipping in and out of that splendid sort of sleep that only early mornings can bestow… the kind that had been eluding you for so damn long now. Bucky feels it too, the serene pull of respite that you both know is about to become increasingly rare, a new disruption to your life lingering on the horizon.

But today, there’s no disruption at all. No rush to rise – I’ll take care of the goats later, he whispers into your ear before sliding his way down the sheets – and no sickness churning within.

Today is… easy.

The smallest, softest sigh slips past your lips as you shift your hips beneath him. “You’re spending an awful lot of time down there,” you mutter, voice slow and deep with near sleep.

Bucky tugs you closer, right hand splayed over your hip, thumb tracing delicately along the tender flesh of your abdomen, and he looks up, propping his chin on your middle as he aims those dazzling blue eyes your way. “Never heard you complain about me hanging out down here before,” he intones lightly, wiggling his eyebrows before lowering his lips to your stomach.

“Stop it,” you laugh, squirming beneath him, sliding far enough down the bed that the back of your head flops off of the pillow entirely. “Tickles,” comes out in a barely there murmur as your fingers move down to thread idly through his thick, wavy hair.

He turns his head, laying his cheek once again atop your still-flat abdomen, staring up at you in a way that could only be described as utterly adoring. “I love you,” he announces, exhaling the words just as easily as if they were air.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, a single brow following it in an incredulous raise. “Are you sure it’s me that you love? Because I don’t feel like you’re really paying much attention to me at all.”

His face twists, forehead crinkling. “She is you,” he says plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a small groan, hips twisting a bit again before his hands settle you back into the sheets, holding you in place.

“Stop distracting me,” he tells you, tone chiding, but eyes gleaming as he presses himself closer, head angling a bit at your center. “I’m trying to listen to my baby girl.”

“Yeah, sure,” you sigh out dramatically. “I’ll bet she’s talking up a storm. She’s the size of a freakin’ kumquat.”

“I don't even know what that is,” he murmurs, completely unfazed.

You give him a playful shove, the heat from his body starting to get to you, sheets sticking to your naked thighs. “It’s a fruit. And much like your baby girl,” you mutter with a harrumph, “it doesn’t speak.”

He rolls his eyes and lets out an almost irritated sigh. “I’m listening to her move,” he tells you, an air of absolute duh coating the statement.

You give his hair a short tug. “You are not.”

“Am too,” he argues, raising a brow – but never moving his ear from your center. “Super hearing, remember?”

Now you’re the one to roll your eyes, shifting again, eager to move, annoyance at being held prisoner in your own bed beginning to swell. “It’s probably just her heartbeat.”

He raises his head and gives you a disappointed look. “I know what her heartbeat sounds like,” he says blandly before lowering himself back down. “Thrums like crazy. Like you when you try to run.”

Another light shove. “What do you mean try to run? Is that a crack about my perfectly acceptable human speed? Because I will have you know – ”

“You used to run cross-country,” he interrupts blithely. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

A slight frown tugs at your lips, your stare focusing on the ceiling above for a long, silent moment before you pull yourself up onto your elbows. Looking down at him – so content and relaxed as he rests with his head against your middle – you almost scowl at his ease, your brows tugging tightly together. “You can really hear her move?”

The widest, brightest smile flashes – along with a light laugh as he takes note of the concern belying your crumpled countenance. “Yeah. Does that freak you out?”

“Kinda,” slips out, almost a whisper, as you nervously pull your bottom lip in between your teeth. He issues another short chuckle, and you flop back to the bed. “Reminds me of Alien,” you say, throwing your forearm dramatically over your eyes. “Like I don’t have enough nightmares already.”

Bucky pulls away from your belly and slowly sidles up alongside you, his right hand raking up beneath your loose T-shirt and along your ribs as he goes. “Oh?” he murmurs into your neck, both arms wrapping around your torso as he snuggles in close. A chaste but lingering kiss is pressed to your warm skin, the slightest hint of vanilla – a taste, a smell – hitting his senses, enduring on his lips as he pulls away. “Why you having nightmares, baby?”

“I’m… stressed,” you tell him weakly, still hiding beneath your arm.

He pulls back a bit and lets out a languid sigh, reaches out and tenderly runs the pad of his flesh thumb over your dramatically pouting bottom lip. “Don’t want that,” he says with a frown of his own.

You shake your head and huff out a breath, finally pull your arm away and turn onto your side to gaze somberly at him. Your left hand falls to his cheek, heavily stubbled, the beard coming and going seemingly on a whim. Though you know the truth, his ongoing scheme to alternately annoy you with whiskered kisses and then delight you with long-awaited clean-shaven snuggles an ill-kept secret at best. You stroke your thumb down the length of his face, bringing it to rest in the divot of his chin. Your eyes fall down to stare briefly at the oh-so-familiar dimple, a soft sigh of a declaration tumbling out of you. “I hope she gets this.”

He shifts beside you, drawing your eyes back up to his, to see them narrow with concern. “Why are you stressed, baby?” he asks simply. As though there might actually be a simple response.

You shrug, gaze falling into the small space between you. Outside, the sun has fully risen, the sounds of chirping birds and naying goats filtering in through the half-open window. One of the cats jumps onto the bed, begins rubbing around your ankles, purring thickly.

Bucky gives you a tiny jostle with his vibranium hand, cupped low around your hip. “What have you been dreaming about?” he tries instead.

Another shrug, though this time you swallow thickly and tick your eyes up to meet his. “They’re just… they’ve been… I don’t know… weird. Not nightmares, really. Just… I don’t know.”

“Okay,” he issues out with a curious lilt. “What happens in them?”

You lick your lips, eyes darting away briefly, crease deepening in your forehead as you think. Think of what to say. Of how to explain. “Sometimes… I see her,” you murmur finally, the words sounding uncertain, almost iniquitous, even to your own ears. “As a baby. As a little girl.” You shift uncomfortably, letting out a small, agitated groan. And he tightens his hold on you, brings his flesh hand up to stroke soothing lines down your back.

“You see her?” he asks, a bit hesitant. “Our baby?”

You nod into him, ducking your face and burying it in the crook of his neck. “It’s never anything… bad. Never really anything at all. I’m rocking her at night. Or… I’m watching her color at a table. Or…” Your voice fades off into nothing, other words… other dreams sitting low in your throat, clamoring to rise as you effortfully swallow them back down.

“Sounds nice,” he offers simply, the heat from his breath – from his body, so close – setting your nerve endings aflame.

You shake your head, still choking on the truth. A deep tremble builds within your chest, spills out to quake Bucky’s gripping arms. “It doesn’t feel nice.” Your tired eyes blink shut, a barrage of simple, serene images playing on the backs of your lids. Simple, yet… “It’s like… there’s nothing wrong… nothing I can see. But…” You pull back just a bit, open hooded eyes to stare helplessly up at him. “It all feels… wrong.”

He’s silent for a long moment as he watches you closely, thinks on what to say. A single thumb begins to stroke along your shoulder blade, his hand beneath your shirt feeling sticky and hot, and… unwelcome. You twitch awkwardly, his thumb stilling as a soft sigh spills from his chest. “Just nerves,” he mutters then, no intonation of a question, but a lack of surety all the same. Another sigh falls as he tucks you in close, peeling his sweaty hand from your skin and instead draping his arm heavily over your hip. “I’m scared too,” he breathes into your hair, laying a lingering kiss to your crown. “Scared I’ll screw something up. Scared I might… hurt her.”

You shift in his grasp, head shaking fluidly back and forth. “You wouldn’t. You won’t.”

He rests his chin in your hair, reaches up to begin again the slow, soft stroke up and down your spine. “It’ll be okay, baby,” he whispers, the oft-repeated words laying out promises even he knows are brittle and frail. “It’ll all be okay.”

The anxious worry – the tattered fear – that sloughs off of him, sounding in his voice, pulsating through his fingertips, is enough to make you wish you hadn’t said a word. You shake your head again, an attempt to rid your mind of the building thoughts… the budding what ifs that these odd and portending dreams had been causing to ripple through your subconscious mind for so many days… nights.

But now it’s morning, so different from the night, when all your doubts come out to play. Sleep. Lazy, languid, sunrise sleep feeling like a warm and welcoming breeze blowing across your still-trembling body. The promise of sleep – light and airy and dreamless – seems but a breath away as you lay here… you and your baby both laying here in Bucky’s arms. Safe, if only for today.

“What does she sound like?” you ask, voice light, an almost forced optimism rushing through it.

A crooked smile blooms across his face as he presses another soft kiss into your hair. “Sounds like… a little flutter.”

“Hm,” you breathe out, eyes drifting shut, nothing but a tranquil, faded image of the partially open window playing on your lids. “Like a little bird?”

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers, tugging you close as your breathing begins to deepen, body growing heavy in his grip. “Just like a little bird.”

[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

Tagging the usual suspects:

@hellzzzbelle @suz-123 @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @rishlo @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @getbuckylucky @california-grown

[lonelypond]

Casual Lunacy, Chapter 14

Love Live, NicoMaki, 2K, 14/?

Every Day My Confusion Grows

Cold air had cleared Maki’s head. Now there was not so much a cacophony of smells, crowd, noise closing around her, with everything Nico permeating the room. Now there was fresh air, free swinging arm movement, distant traffic noises, the crunch of snow, boot heels cracking through frosty crust, moonlight glinting off everything white and polished. And everywhere, in every sense, Nico. Who was humming happily, although Maki didn’t recognize the tune. But the pull was familiar, Nico’s voice wrapping around her senses, frissons of thrill connecting, the feel of Nico’s caresses etched by passion across her skin still vivid. The moon seemed so distant compared to this joy. Maki ran a couple of steps forward, bumping Nico. Nico laughed, merry bells and chimes of wonder, and Maki threw up her head in an ecstatic howl. Nico twirled, “Going to push Nico into the snow again, Princess?” Nico’s eyes twinkled.

“Change my name in your phone.” Maki demanded, feeling silly and bold, resisting the urge to bump Nico with her head. There was a new body language to learn, new moves to try. Maki pulled Nico close, tilting down to kiss the red lips that opened as a spark hissed between them, Nico’s tongue flicking Maki’s lips, Maki murmuring Nico’s name, need driving her to uncharted actions, so she pressed forward, lips tasting Nico’s cheek, ears, neck. Nico’s voice lowered, her mouth so hot near Maki’s ear, her voice another thrill as Maki heard her name whispered and moaned with vibrations that made her want to push Nico down in the snow right there, her hands ripping through Nico’s parka. Then Nico shivered. And Maki pulled her in, wrapping both arms around her, the silky smooth of Nico’s hair tickling her chin, and that was a new pleasure, Nico nuzzling into her, both of her arms pulling Maki closer, Nico breathing in everything Maki and then Nico’s scratchy mittens sliding under Maki’s shirt as she started kissing her way across Maki’s shoulder. They were both going to freeze, Maki thought, pulling back before Nico’s lips grazed her neck. She bent down and lifted Nico, bounding back to Nico’s house.

Nico unlocked the door and they fell into the foyer, Maki practically tearing off Nico’s parka, Nico nearly duplicating Nozomi’s favorite strategy, as she struggled with Maki’s shirt. Maki was completely undone, all instinct and action, Nico’s hands everywhere, Nico’s eyes gleaming in the dark, Maki’s fangs leaving little marks along Nico’s arms and neck as the singer traced her fingers back and forth across Maki’s neck, through the now wild hair, lips driving the werewolf into a whimpering frenzy. And then Maki’s ringtone went off again and she froze. Nico was suddenly holding a coil of confused, half dressed panic. The glorious lavender eyes were frantic, Maki’s gaze skittering everywhere in an effort to avoid Nico’s.

“Maki.” Nico forced her voice to be as soothing, as calming as she could, but Maki was already back at the door, tearing it open, howling as she leapt, what clothes that didn’t fall to the floor, Maki shredded with her claws as she became a red blur racing into the moonlight.

Nico stared, at the clothes, at the open door, at the space in front of her where girl had become wolf in a nearly instantaneous origami of weird angles and impossible melding. Clothes. Scattered. Shredded. Not being worn. Maki had been naked all that time. On the couch. Up against…Nico had been…

So that was what the world going dark felt like, Nico thought as her knees recovered some stability after a dangerous moment. Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. But after a few minutes standing, silent, in the dark, pragmatic Nico returned, picking up Maki’s clothes, making sure to grab Maki’s phone. She’d have to call Maki’s mother to check the redhead got home safely. Nico groaned. So complicated. But Maki obviously had zero experience with…anything, and she had been so agitated and out of control when she bolted. Frantic. Nico hurried up the stairs and hit “Return Call.”

“Hello?”

“This is Nico. Is she there yet?” Nico was surprised by how concerned she sounded. What had it been, two weeks and here she was, breathless with worry over a skittish, gorgeous redhead, nudity and tail optional. And then Nico recognized a familiar snuffling sound coming through the phone. Princess, no Maki must have heard her voice. Nico smiled, just a little, picturing Maki eagerly nudging the phone.

“Get some sleep, pretty girl. Nico will drop off your phone tomorrow morning.”

Maki howled a response; Nico thought she sounded worried. What to say to be reassuring? And was her mom listening?

“Nico has plans tomorrow, but come over for brunch Sunday. Nico will cook.” There was a whine and suddenly Nico could see the scene in her head, Prin…Maki tilting up her head at her mother, the nod and then a short, determined howl.

“Good night, Maki. See you in the morning.”

A whine in response. Nico ended the call, restless, tired and with too much to think about.

Maki had refused to transform. Her mother had not been happy, but the absolutely last thing Maki wanted to do was talk. She had sprinted home, run up the treehouse, howled her heart out at the moon, informing the listening world of the change in her status, her voice a melody dedicated to the thrills of being caught by the lure of lips and sable and sensation.

After Nico’s call and an annoyed dismissal from her tired mother, Maki retreated to her bedroom, transforming, robe half tied, scenes from the night replaying in her head as her heart raced and she longed to hear Nico’s voice or have her there, near again, eager again, reaching again.

There was sleep, maybe, but Maki’s dreams were lost to memory, agitation and new awareness searching for avenues of expression, fear sneaking in as somewhere, Maki realized she had no idea what happened next, what was on the other side of the leap.

Last night, Eli had texted that she’d gotten Nozomi to sleep and described Nozomi’s faint. As she packed up some muffins to take to her friend, Nico wondered if Nozomi was overworked, ill or if there really was something weird going on at the theatre. Nico was a pragmatist; she knew all about theatre ghost rumors and made sure to avoid obvious jinxes, but in her heart of hearts, she believed in practical things like hard work, family, and friendship.

Now, the hot, very kissable girlfriend with bonus cute, furry ears and a tail was not really a practical thing, but Maki, while a little skittish, mostly just seemed shy, not dangerous or magical. And yet…Nico frowned. Maybe there were more things in this world than she had previously dreamt of…But surely Nozomi was merely a clever charlatan whose nosiness gave her an aura of awareness. Nico had been certain of that..yesterday morning.

Nozomi had been a bit too glad to see to see Nico, too free with the air kisses and “Nico-chi”s while a worried Eli watched from the bed. Tea was being served on the small table Nozomi had acquired. Singles in the Mid-Quads were large enough to move in, unlike the ones at the Plex. Nico had tried asking questions, expressing concern, but Nozomi had just dodged, finally just shoving her deck at Nico.

“If you won’t tell me how your date went, Nico-chi, the cards will. Shuffle.” Nozomi’s voice had an edge; Eli moved to the foot of the bed, watching Nozomi closely. Nozomi poured tea for herself, ignoring both of her guests as Nico shuffled.

“Three. Line them up. You know how it goes.” Nozomi ordered, her voice stripped of any warmth, curiosity or mischief. Nico raised an eyebrow at Eli, who shook her head and mimed dealing out the cards. So Nico did. Nozomi’s chortle when Nico turned them over was nearly a cackle.

Nico looked at the cards in front of her closely. First, that card with the dog, again. She would have suspected Nozomi of subterfuge but Nico had shuffled and drawn herself. Next to it was a flipped card with a two people holding cups, then another flipped card, two raggedy people trudging through snow in front of a church window…didn’t look cheerful, Nico thought. She should have stuck with drawing a single card. The first, with the dog, at least it looked warm and fun.

“Well.” Nico stared at her friend, who had her arms crossed and was only half looking at the cards.

Nozomi shrugged, her voice dismissive, “The Fool is a new phase, the 2 of Cups and the 5 of Pentacles, inverted, mean you have to beware of difficulties.” Nozomi’s voice got a little of its snap back and she leaned toward Nico, “Your ego is in the way, Nico-chi, of course, but you can move forward if you don’t let pride hold you back. So be nice to the redhead and remember she has feelings.”

And fangs, Nico thought, but her reply was a simple, “Nico knows.”

Nozomi took the cards back, reluctantly it seemed and shuffled the cards, much more anxious than Nico had ever seen, muttering. Nozomi turned to Eli, who nodded and moved to sit next to her. Nozomi flipped one card, a shining, naked, blonde woman pouring water into a pool. Nico shifted her glance to Eli and smirked, “So is that card a flashback or tonight’s plan?”

Nozomi recoiled, tears in her eyes, hands trembling, the deck dropping. Nico was almost sure the other woman hadn’t heard her at all. Eli just stared.

Nozomi stood, then threw herself on the bed.

“What the hell?” Nico pushed back from the table, demanding an answer from Eli.

Eli sighed, and moved to wrap an afghan around Nozomi, “The Star, reversed. Nozomi’s only been able to draw that or The Tower for a week. They’re not optimistic cards. She’s been having piercing headaches, at rehearsals and then at the party. She’s scared.”

Nozomi was still huddled, sobbing.

“Nozomi?” Nico asked quietly.

Eli sat next to Nozomi and wrapped an arm around her, Nozomi shifting to put her head in Eli’s lap, still ignoring Nico, “She’s been having problems since the first blackout at the theatre. The headaches getting worse every time she goes in and staying when she leaves.”

Nico kept hoping Nozomi would make eye contact or speak to her, but her friend just burrowed closer to Eli, “Why doesn’t she talk to a doctor? Or quit?”

Eli shrugged, “She’s been looking forward to this project and it’s a big chunk of what she’s promised her advisor.”

“Nozomi…” Nico sat on the other side of Nozomi and hugged her. Maybe Maki could find out if there was anything strange going on. Nico would have to smuggle in a…wolf, somehow, but if it was only Nico and the stage crew, that might work. Tsubasa seemed to like her.

Rin was off training so Hanayo didn’t have to explain much about her job yet. That could come later. She’d been called in to the tech sub basement this morning and wanted to be at least five minutes early. Walking through the noisy corridor, trying to remember unfamiliar steps, Hanayo saw the door was propped open, heard voices and slowed, not wanting to interrupt a conversation.

An unfamiliar voice was speaking, excited, “I can’t seem to find any time to chat up Yazawa, but since you’re making progress with Kashima, I’m going to focus on proving the werewolf is…”

Hanayo stumbled through the door, scared and surprised. Anju was sitting on the edge of the desk, another woman with shorter hair and green eyes not as bright as Rin’s leaning next to her.

“Sorry.” Hanayo squeaked as she fell into the room.

Anju smiled, “Five minutes early, as expected. Tsubasa, this is the assistant I hired, Hanayo Koizumi. She’s a freshman biochem major who can code. Hanayo, this is Tsubasa Kira, who started the whole project.”

Tsubasa winked at Anju as she extended a hand to Hanayo, “You give me too much credit, Anj. Welcome, Ms. Koizumi.”

“H…Hanayo’s fine.” Hanayo tried for a firm grip and decided since she’d walked in on a conversation, a question wouldn’t be unexpected. She let her nervousness shake her voice, “Did you say werewolves? Are they real? There’s a full moon soon…but surely they don’t…”

Anju giggled and took Hanayo by both shoulders, nodding to Tsubasa, “I told you she was adorable.”

Tsubasa stretched her arms in front of her, “Don’t worry about it, Hanayo. You won’t have to go stalking werewolves with me. We have a backlog of data for you from our primary location that needs to be sifted through, strictly stay in the office stuff. Erena and I handle the hunting, Anju’s the people person and you’re our computer cruncher.”

The excitement in Tsubasa’s voice when she mentioned hunting made Hanayo angry. Rin and Maki were both in danger. She needed more information. And an ally.

A/N: Howdy. In my country, the current administration and GOP continue to sink to new levels of cowardice, bigotry and cruelty, but I hope this brings a bit of brightness to your part of the world, even if it is here.This is on the shorter side and I did try to get them to the car, but impulse won out. As it sometimes does. Drop me an ask or a reblog with fun tags, if you feel so inclined, please and thank you, cheer is welcome. And stay safe, whatever your weather.