#divinityinmotion

Romance was something Steve liked to think he was good at. But he also thought it was good that he was good at other things too—sadly cooking other than breakfast wasn’t one of them. If he tried to cook Diana dinner, the new kitchen in her new house would stink like flaming popcorn, and that was not about to happen.

Fancy he could do, but it wasn’t really him. Besides if she wanted champagne and caviar all the time, she’d be paying more attention to Bruce Wayne and his ilk not normal Joe, Steve Trevor. Well soft of normal, if Joe was an adrenaline junkie out to save the world a piece at a time alongside a goddess in red, gold, and blue.

“Angel,” he called out as he let himself into the house, which wasn’t easy with a pair of extra-large pizzas, a bouquet of red roses, and a bottle of their favorite wine tucked under his arm. “I brought dinner and a show.” Steve set the pizza on the coffee table and then filled a pair of glasses with some of the wine. The flowers were tucked into a vase, and then he crouched in front of the Blu-ray player and slipped in the disc for Casablanca.

The plane was crowded, and the tall agent kept brushing against other passengers and the seats. Along the way to his seat, Steve stopped to help a purple-haired old lady to get her overstuffed tote bag into the bin above her seat, saving the flight attendant the bother. When he finally slid into the seat next to Diana, after stowing his own carryon into the overhead bin, he was done with people. He unbuttoned the jacket of his charcoal grey Armani and smoothed his tie before hooking on his seatbelt.

“Morning, Diana,” he said with a smile and a sigh. “I hate flying coach. Next time it’s first glass or the cockpit.” He and the other agent were tucked into the three-seat right side of the plane, with Steve stuck in the middle while Diana got the window, four rows behind the nearest exit, where the roar of the engines would be mind-numbing. “At least you’ve got the window.”

He hid a frown as a large muscle-bound man took the aisle seat and shifted closer to his partner to give the big buy more space. Being friendly when trapped on a plane was an important skill especially on a long flight. A long flight where they couldn’t talk about the mission or anything else to do with their jobs. At least he had a few books to read on his tablet. “Have you ever been to Morocco? I haven’t.”  

For each “⭐️” I get, I’ll write a headcanon about our muses.

Diana is the only woman in the world who’s ever made Steve feel like settling down. He wants to learn how to cook for her--you can’t live on pancakes alone.

Lips. There were lips tickling his ear, and Steve smiled, his eyes cracking open to a curtain of silky dark hair. The lips traveled downward, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses and kittenish love bites along his throat and down to his bare chest. His hands traveled along her back, feeling the pronounced ribs and knobs of her spine. Her flesh dry, as the desert air he struggled to draw his breath from. With a jolt, he bucked, but he was pinned down on the thin bedroll and a grinning skull, wrapped in the tattered bandages of a mummy moved closer and closer…

“Fuck!” he cried out in his sleep, jerking away from Diana and out of the tangled blankets they’d been wrapped in to fight the chill of the desert night. If he’d been in a real bed, he’d have landed face first on the floor instead of the bottom of a tent that did next to nothing to keep the sand out of…well everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he told her as he reached for his canteen. Steve’s heart was still pounding as he took a long swallow of tepid water. They’d need to get more at the next oasis if they were going to reach the City of the Dead. He could never remember what the official name of the place was, and the English version was just fine—just like Paradise Island for Themyscira.

“Had another nightmare. Didn’t mean to wake you, Angel.” Another drink of water, while he weighed the value of going out into the night to pee, or if he’d just hold it until dawn went by quickly. He was not afraid of the dark. How could he live something like that down? Being spooked too much by a nightmare to piss in the desert. “I’ll be right back. Nature calls.”

He looked at his reflection in the dressing room mirror. So far the entire shopping experience had been a nightmare, and he was grateful that Sara had offered to help him out. For the first time, he understood exactly how Diana had felt a century ago in London when Etta had taken her to get proper clothes.

“Well at least the clothes aren’t all that different,” he said as he stepped out wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. The last bit Sara had insisted on picking out for him was a leather bomber jacket. It was the only part of the outfit that felt normal. “You think she’s nearby?”

“According to Gideon she’s in Paris.” The blonde stuck a ticket into his hand. He was still reeling at how expensive his clothes were, and when he saw the amount for the plane ticket he gasped. “One-way ticket for you. You’ll find her, Steve.”

The plane was incredible. Nothing like he used to fly, and he spent the hours reading on the tablet Ray gave him on the Waverider after the Atom showed him how to make the device work. He was thankful for it too, since it was the best way he had to catch up on some of the century he'd missed.

***

Paris looked a hell of a lot less different than he expected it to. He took a cab from the airport to the Louvre, and after paying for his ride, he stood in front of the glass pyramid with a confused look on his face. He had no idea who thought the thing belonged in the midst of centuries of beautiful architecture. “Well that’s hideous.”  

My Tumblr Crushes:

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My Tumblr Crushes:

ofxwonder

divinityinmotion

i-am-diana-of-themyscira

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the-amazing-amazon

terribletoxins

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