#(Steve actually could taste a /big/ difference what with his enhanced sense but he just likes trolling Clint.)

[hawkbucks]

Upon noticing a second mug filled to the brim with the elixir of the gods coffee sitting next to Natasha, Clint reaches for it. They’re friends, they’ve known each other for a while, so it makes sense that Natasha would’ve made a fresh cup for him, right?

But she slaps his hand away. He recoils, cradling his hand because fuck, Nat hits hard. “No,” she says firmly with a shake of her head.

“Why,” he whines. Part of him wonders if he can have Natasha tried under the Geneva Convention because this has to be some sort of grievous crime against humanity.

“It is for Tony.”

His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline in surprise. “Tony?”

Natasha’s ever observant eyes narrow, focusing on him like camera lenses. “You were not expecting that answer.”

“Not… not really, no.” But it’s not big deal. At least he can rest easy knowing that the coffee is going to someone who’ll appreciate it as much as him and not… Steve or whatever.

[angstsfordays]

Beautiful Pain (4)

Chapter Four- Now or Never

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Your supposed ally leads you to an unlawful nation where danger lurks at every corner. Bucky starts to see you in a different light.

Warnings: Sexual objectification. Very bad undercover work. Calling Sam daddy. Sexual innuendos.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: I am very humbled that people have been enjoying the story and liking it so far! This means to me a lot as a novice writer! ☺️

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, felt like I got more to expand for the Madripoor episode. I love to know what y’all think of it so far! 😘

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join with a message or comment in the chapters!

Previous: Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Five

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As Zemo made arrangements on his end, you did not know what to expect. You, Sam and Bucky were brought to the tarmac of a small private airport, your attention was brought to the private plane that Zemo was leading you towards.

Sam made a comment on Zemo’s wealth and the latter explained that he was practically royalty before the Avengers destroyed his country. Touché.

You took the seat right across from Zemo and you couldn’t help but put your guard up around the man. He could sense the tension all over your face and offered champagne to which you declined. You wanted to make sure you were fully sober around this guy.

As you looked on at the exchange he had with his steward, he almost looked decent for a moment. You wouldn’t have thought of this guy to be a manipulative and scheming man that caused that chain of events many years ago.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be locked in a cell.” Zemo started off after having a sip of his champagne. He then paused in his actions as he looked over all of you and corrected him.

“Oh that’s right, you all do. My apologies.” Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms as you leaned into the comfort of the plush aeroplane seat.

Sam tried to get Zemo to start talking but the baron brushed it off for a moment as he looked at a book in fascination. As Zemo brought up a familiar notebook, he asked who Nakajima was.

Your eyes perked up at the familiar name and you immediately turned to look at Bucky who instantly pounced on Zemo and grabbed him into a chokehold. Bucky warned him not to touch his notebook or he would actually kill Zemo, probably with his bare hands.

As Bucky settled down in his seat once more, you gave him a knowing look but he averted his eyes to avoid eye contact. The conversation then took a more light-hearted turn as Sam tried to describe how Steve noted down his suggestion of the Trouble Man soundtrack in the notebook that now was passed onto Bucky.

Sam asked if Bucky liked it too and the super-soldier replied that he liked 40’s music to which Sam look almost offended that Bucky didn’t share his taste in music. Bucky looked like he didn’t even want to bother but he clarified that he indeed liked it just to get Sam to back off.

Zemo decided to join in the conversation and put his two cents. Sam was surprised at how Zemo managed to eloquently describe the music style. Afterwhich, Sam went on to say how everyone loved Marvin Gaye while Bucky agreed that he did too.

Sam added that Steve adored the singer too. Hearing this, Zemo commented that Bucky must have looked up to Steve very much.

Yes, we all did. You wanted to add that in too.

Zemo, however, then took the liberty of giving his view on Steve. He talked about how dangerous it could be to idolize super soldiers like Steve and start to disregard their flaws, thus allowing him to not be held accountable for the repercussions that stem from his actions. Even if that meant the formation of movements, the fighting of wars, the loss of innocent lives.

Sam gave him a warning to better stop talking but Zemo continued on. When Zemo noticed how you started shaking your head in dissatisfaction, he gave a light chuckle before speaking directly to you.

“Miss Y/N. Contrary to my own personal views on enhanced individuals, I do find you fascinating, The files I read on you only make me more curious. Can I ask some questions?” You could feel the attention being put on you in the room and you grew slightly uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” Hoping to act nonchalant to mask your nervousness, you crossed your legs and leaned back into your seat.

“You have no family history. You grew up in an orphanage, am I right?” Nodding at the facts he laid out, Zemo carried on.

“You couldn’t have possibly been experimented on. You have gotten into any accidents?” You shook your head in response.

“Chemical exposure, radioactive bites, cosmic ray exposures….those are the possibilities that an ordinary person could obtain superhuman abilities according to the theories online.” Unimpressed, you continued to shake your head at him.

“Tell me. I’m curious.” You couldn’t entertain the likes of him but seeing how he was leaning in to wait for your answer, you gave an indifferent expression before speaking.

“It appeared out of nowhere. Someone committed arson in the local convenience shop where I was at the time. I was trapped with the elderly shopkeeper and I thought we were both going to die. A burning beam was falling onto us and I thought that was the end. I suddenly emitted a burst of energy that managed to put own the fire and incinerate the beam into ashes.” As you retold your story, memories of your fear from that time came back.

“The shopkeeper lost consciousness but I saw everything. I wasn’t sure if it was me but I ran away. I couldn’t’ return to the orphanage because I was afraid the police would find me. I lived on the streets for a week before my powers manifested again.” Your eyes fall to your fidgety hands, cracking your knuckles as it gave you some sort of relief.

“A kid was crossing the street without his mum knowing and a car was speeding on the road. I tried to reach out and pull him back in but the car was just inches away from us both. I caused a scene that couldn’t be ignored. S.H.I.E.L.D managed to find me and took me in.” Zemo’s eyes were tracking your every movement and expression in a way that Bucky didn’t like. As if you were something up for display and Bucky put his foot down.

He was getting protective of you and did not want Zemo to harbour any hidden intentions. Who knew what Zemo was thinking of?

Zemo spoke up before Bucky had the chance.

“Fascinating just fascinating. It’s like your powers had been dormant inside you all along. Are you even human?”

“Last time I checked, my blood is still red.” Your sarcastic response earned a laugh from Zemo and he stroked his chin as he continued to observe you quietly. Sensing he had more thoughts in his mind, you returned the questions back to him.

“You hate enhanced individuals so much, would you get rid of me if you had the chance?” Growing a smirk, Zemo wasn’t expecting you to ask him that and he was more than eager to give his reply.

“I am undecided, but you’re different. I can see you are more discreet than the others, just like Bucky over here.” Zemo made his final remark before he moved on to talking about the location that you were headed.

His words sunk in and you kept on thinking about how he hit the nail on the head.

Yes, you had to be more discreet. You could never proudly show off what you had, instead, you had to keep yourself hidden in order to protect yourself.

Recalling your S.H.I.E.L.D days, you remembered how you were told to keep your powers on a low profile by Director Fury himself.

Your lab results came back and it was discovered that you had a special gene in your DNA that could be identified. There weren’t any references or connections to existing research and findings so you were viewed almost as an abnormality.

It was then later discovered that your powers were connected to your life force and if you ever over-exerted yourself, you could possibly die. That almost happened back during the civil war between the Avengers. It was the first time you ever used your powers on a larger scale and you had even passed out at the end of the battle.

You remembered waking up in a hospital bed on the raft.

When you found refuge in Wakanda, you got to learn more about your powers with Shuri’s help. She believed as long as you trained your stamina and built up your strength, you could control your powers without ever worrying about being drained. That’s how you found yourself the privilege to receive special training with the Dora Milajae under King T’Challa’s request.

You definitely owed the Wakandans big time.

Seeing how you were uncharacteristically down, Bucky wanted to check in with you out of concern. However, he chose to restrain himself, thinking that you probably one to be left alone. He wished he could do more for you like you do for him.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Before you knew it, you landed in Madripoor. An island nation that was lawless and dangerous, yet home to the darkest of black markets and underground businesses. Zemo said that all of you could not go in as yourselves and had to basically go in undercover.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter when Sam changed and came out in a fancy printed suit. He was to act as a real life promiscuous and rich man who really could have been his doppelgänger when you saw a picture of the man.

However, you weren’t one to laugh when Zemo asked you to act as one of Conrad Mack aka Smiling Tiger’s fling for the night. When you first received your outfit, you threw it back in Zemo’s face.

You were not the most comfortable with sexy and revealing clothing personally so you couldn’t imagine yourself wearing it at all. Zemo tried to convince you that Smiling Tiger’s women were all of a certain type so you had to go through with it in order to fit in.

Letting out a groan, you snatched the little champagne dress with an open keyhole back. The front was designed to give a loose look that shyly reveals your cleavage. The dress held onto your shoulders with thin straps and it overall gave the impression of a silk slip dress.

When you put it on, you wiped your clammy hands on the silk material and grimaced at how it barely covered your ass. You were grateful that the shoes you received had thick block heels as you had forgotten how to even walk in high heels anymore.

Swiping on the red lipstick for the final touch, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves as you looked in the mirror. You got this.

Stepping out of the changing room, you were met with the full attention of all three men and you put a finger up to warn them of making any unneeded comments.

“Damn Y/N. I mean this in the nicest way possible but this is an entirely different look for you. In a good way, of course.” Sam tried to compliment you seeing that you weren’t fully into your outfit.

“Thanks, Sam.” You knew his intentions were always pure and good, so you didn’t mind it much. As he and Zemo went off to discuss something, you saw that Bucky was still looking at you intently. He must think you look weird, you thought.

In all the years that Bucky have known you, it was the first time he has seen you looking like this. You always had gone for casual and comfortable looks in your daily life. The only time he has seen something different was when you put on your tailored suits for formal events.

He had to do a double-take when he saw how the little dress number hugged your figure in the right places.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t continue looking but his eyes fleeting quick glances when you were looking elsewhere. He always felt that you were one of the most beautiful people he knew on the inside, the fact that you could look past what he did and accept him for he was. He never felt that he had to pretend to be fine when you’re around because you were there to accept him for better or worst.

Seeing you now stirred up a different feeling inside of him. Why did you suddenly seem so attractive this time? He did not want to be that guy who viewed women differently because of the way they dressed. In fact, he was never the kind to like someone because of the way they look but more of how they make him feel.

However, observing how bashful and shy you look in front of him, Bucky suddenly felt rather nervous himself. He saw you taking a step towards and he swore his breath hitched as his mind was registering this scene in slow-motion.

Your hands came up to put his dog tags inside his black shirt before going for the zipper of his jacket. Your eyes fleetingly met his for a moment before you started saying something.

Bucky wasn’t able to process it as he was entirely focused on how you were casually helping him as you normally did, but his mind can’t help but think of it as an intimate gesture.

You continued to buckle up the belts of Bucky’s harness and couldn’t help but to relish in the act of caring for him. This was probably the only time you could fulfil your feelings of wanting to be close to him without crossing the line.

“All done.” Once you have adjusted the straps on his shoulder to make sure they were comfortable, you glanced to see Bucky looking down at you in a daze.

“Hey Buck, you there?” Calling for his attention, Bucky snapped back to reality as he saw you staring at him with a curious doe-eyed look. Clearing his thought, Bucky scrambled to recall what you had said and just continued looking at you in question.

You went on to ask if the straps were comfortable to which he nodded curtly. You grinned in satisfaction for a short moment before it fell into a tight-lipped smile.

“Bucky, are you really ok to go into character? I know how hard you worked to get away from all of that.” Implying how he had to act like the Winter Soldier for this undercover mission, Bucky took a deep breath before answering you.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just for this mission.” You just silently nodded at his words before signalling that you two should get a move on.

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All of you were heading to Low Town as Zemo named to find his informant, Selby. Zemo reminded everyone to stay in character regardless of the situation, if not the mission would be compromised and your lives could be at risk.

Zemo gave you a personal warning to avoid using your powers if possible. If your powers were revealed publicly, there was a high chance you were at a bigger risk than the rest because people would want to take you for their own.

It was not every day an enhanced individual with superpowers walks into Madripoor and you would definitely become a prize to be coveted.

You were first greeted by the hustle and bustle of the nightlife crowd. The neon signs lit up the incredibly dark streets followed by the loud booming music that could be heard from some of the places that you passed. Your eyes were focused on Zemo’s back as he led all of you to the location, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else.

Entering the crowded bar, you could hear Zemo speaking Russian to Bucky. You weren’t familiar with the language but you could make out one world, Soldat.

Sneaking your arms around Sam who was caught off, you gave me a pointed look that told him that the undercover work starts now. He gave you a brief nod before rolling out his shoulders and you pressed yourself closer to him, putting your acting face on.

All of you stood by the bar where the bartender greeted all of you.

“Hello, gentlemen. Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender nodded to Sam. His eyes moved over to meet yours before greeting you, Miss. You gave your best smile in return.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo told the bartender. You could see the shift in his eyes and saw someone from out of the corner of your eye moving away. Shifting your stance, the bartender didn’t acknowledge Zemo’s words and glanced back to you again.

“New face?” His comment was directed towards Sam but seeing how Sam was hesitating, you realised that he hadn’t had much experience with undercover work at all. He was a military man not a spy or agent after all.

“Hopefully, the last.” You giggled shyly and looked up to Sam with an affectionate gaze before giving the bartender a wink.

The bartender nodded curtly before asking Sam (Smiling Tiger) if he wanted his usual. Sam nodded silently in an efforts to prevent himself from doing anything out of character.

You caught Bucky looking at you as he leaned sideways on the counter. Your silent exchange was a way for you two to check in with each other and a brief smile mirrored on both of your faces before you turn to see the bartender taking out a snake from a big jar.

Trying to control your expression at the disgust coming up your throat, you subtly swallowed heavily at the sight of how the bartender slit the snake open. Sam who had his back turned for a brief moment was shocked to see what was presented on the counter in front of him.

Zemo tried to continue to put on the act and acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Your global knowledge and several visits to Asia made you realised why this was the Smiling Tiger’s favourite. Snakes infused into wine was touted to be an aphrodisiac to help a man increase, ahem, stamina.

Bucky felt almost bad for Sam and looked away briefly. You could see Sam gulping down nervously when the bartender added the finishing touch to the drink and you gently rubbed his arm for emotional support.

“I love these.” Sam managed to say through gritted his teeth and clinked his glass with Zemo. Your own bile almost resurfaced and you quickly turned your head to hide your nervous gulp.

Putting up a thumbs up awkwardly, you wanted to facepalm when the bartender looked back at Sam with a dubious expression.

You knew you needed to do something so everyone’s covers won’t be blown. Putting on a sly smirk, you let a hand move up Sam’s chest slowly and sensually before resting it where his heart was.

“Looks like you and I will be in for a long night.” Adding a slight giggle, you pretended to act shy after you spoke your words. Sam was trying his hardest to not look bewildered at your act while Bucky was trying to suppress a sudden wave of annoyance that washed over him.

He knew that this was an act but he still didn’t like it for some reason. He had to admit that he was not expecting you to get into character so well, seeing that this image you were presenting was the furthest cry from who you actually were.

The bartender looked slightly less suspicious of all of you before he went away. You could feel Sam heaving a sigh of relief beside you and you did the same alongside him.

Another man came up to Zemo, telling him of how he was unwelcomed in the area. Zemo putting up a cool façade, explained he had no business with someone named the power broker. Zemo restated his business here once more before the guy left.

Zemo explained that the power broker runs Madripoor and it was best you all stayed under his radar. Moments passed before another guy came up behind Zemo and Zemo turned to Bucky talking in Russian once more.

The instant the man placed his hands on Zemo, Bucky went into winter soldier mode. Everyone’s attention was directed to the scene happening. The whirling sound of Bucky’s vibranium was heard clearly as he was nearly crushing the man’s hands and went ahead to knock him over.

More and more people started to gather fool’s courage to take on Bucky. You saw how he easily took down everyone with barely any sweat.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form,” Zemo commented to you and Sam, and in all honesty, you wanted to choke him like what Bucky was doing to another guy on the bar’s counter.

Hearing the continuous clicking of guns from everyone in the bar, your senses were now alert at the possibility of having to break character and use your powers.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered into your ear and grabbed onto your hand before you could even think of doing anything.

Zemo got Bucky to back down and the bartender told you all that Selby was ready for your visit. Sam checked in with Bucky to which he responded with a curt nod.

As you made your way along the back end of the bar, you could see the stacks of cash all over a table and the armed guards that filled up every corner of the room.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t come into my bar and make demands.” Selby turned out to look like what you would imagine her to be. She sat comfortably on her couch with a dominant presence and seemed like she was not someone easy to deal with.

Zemo tried to reassure her that he was making offers not demands to quell her mood. Selby asked how Zemo was able to escape from prison and Zemo replied smugly on how people like them always found a way.

As Zemo tried to shift focus onto the order of business, Selby wasn’t still into it. Making a comment about Sam’s taller than usual height, Sam not knowing what to respond just nodded in silence.

She even purred at him teasingly before her eyes landed on you.

“Who’s this pretty little thing you have here? Where are you from?” Selby’s eyes narrowed in as you sense everyone starting to look flustered by the unexpected question. You were just meant to play a background character but didn’t expect the sudden attention.

Biting your lips into a furtive grin, you snaked your hands around Sam’s biceps. “Daddy picked me up from the club that I was working at. He says I am his one and only now.”

The men all tried to stop their jaws from dropping to the floor at your sweetly coy act. Who were you?

“Hmm…” Selby hummed while she looked you up and down. “You can do better, sweetie,” Selby remarked smugly before giving a subtle gesture to herself.

Lips forming into an ‘o’, you feigned a surprised reaction at the flattery. You tried to send a flirtatious look back so that Selby would be in a better mood.

Your act was rewarded when Selby grinned wider and asked Zemo for his offer. In exchange for information on the super-soldier serum, Zemo was willing to trade Bucky in pretence. He added how he would give Selby the codes word to control Bucky, treating him like an object.

A wave of anger started rushing through you as the scene unfolded and you glanced to see how Selby became more intrigued.

“Hmm, I have plenty of strong men already working for me. What else can he offer?” Zemo was taken aback by Selby’s words, thinking that she would already be interested in Bucky.

As the men were grappling to come up with a good response, you went on your first instinct and spoke up.

“Well he is rather handsome, isn’t he?” Everyone’s focus turned onto you and you took a breath to continue as Selby gave you an expecting look.

“Not as handsome as my daddy here but-” Walking around Sam, you headed towards Bucky who was trying to look unbothered but dying of curiosity on what you were about to do.

“He seems like fun to play with.” You purred as you gazed at Bucky’s profile. You gestured for Bucky to face you and could see how he was still staying in character. Running your fingers down his five o'clock shadow, your eyes glinted as you batted your lashes flirtatiously before looking over your shoulder back at Shelby.

“You can’t help but imagine having a good time with him. Super soldier serum should have some perks, no?” Your hidden innuendo was loud and clear to everyone in the room. If this didn’t appeal to Selby, you didn’t know what will.

Sam was trying his hardest to maintain his expression as he couldn’t believe his ears. Never in a million years would he think the sweet and innocent Y/N he knew actually dared to speak like that.

Bucky did his best to tighten his jaw and continue his stoic facade to hide the shock from what you had just said.

Never did he thought you would take the situation to such a turn. Your improv was unexpected and he couldn’t believe the woman in front of him was actually you.

Your sudden bold and cheeky persona was doing something to him. Your innuendo about him started to make him feel hot in his ears. Bucky had to clench his fist tightly to get himself to hold it together as he felt his heart racing out of nowhere.

He didn’t know what was happening to him but he knew you were having some sort of effect on him.

“Of course, that’s my silly opinion.” Turning to face Selby with a mischievous smile to keep up your character, you noted her looking at you thoughtfully as she rubbed her chin.

“Not just pretty but you’re witty, aren’t you?” Selby noted as she grinned like a Cheshire cat. Satisfied with your input, Selby then revealed what she knew about the super-soldier serums.

Apparently, there was a doctor, Dr William Nagel who has been helping the power broker to create the serums here in Madripoor. When Zemo tried to probe further about Nagel’s location, Selby decided that Zemo was overstepping.

In the very next moment, you could hear a vibration of a phone and saw Sam reaching out to his jacket.

Great, all of your covers might be blown. Selby demands that Sam answered it on speaker. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. To carry on the act, Sam reluctantly proceeded to answer the phone.

A woman’s voice came up and in the next sentences spoken, you realised that she was his sister, Sarah. Oh boy, this wouldn’t end well. You closed your eyes in prayer as you hoped it can go over smoothly.

Taking a sharp intake of breath, you looked to see Bucky glancing down in shared unease. Sam was doing his best to make sure his cover won’t get blown. You thought all was going well but when you heard Sam’s name from Sarah, you knew you were all toast.

Selby immediately called for all of you to be killed and in that moment, all hell broke loose. Selby got shot in a blink of an eye and her guards were up in action. Bucky pushed you behind him protectively as he fought off Selby’s men.

Once all her guards are dealt with, Zemo called for weapons to drop and you took the back exit.

Making a swift escape, all of you tried to play it cool while taking long quick strides. The sound of the first gunshot made you jumped and sprang into a run. You saw Zemo took off in another direction but you didn’t have time for him.

You, Bucky and Sam decided to sprint ahead. “I can’t run in these heels.” Sam cried out and you retorted in annoyance.

“How do you think I feel? Mine’s twice as taller than yours!”

Bucky reached over to grab your hand and interlocked your fingers together. His super-speed was practically lifting you off the ground, dragging you like a rag dog.

"Hey! What the hell man? What about me?" Bucky ignored Sam's whining and focused on not letting your hand go.

Not knowing where you are headed, a sense of dread started pouring on you and you grew anxious by the second. People on motorbikes were starting to drive up behind you three.

You were wondering if it’s time to not give care and actually use your powers for real this time. All of a sudden, the two people on the bikes behind you have been shot by someone from above and you stopped in your tracks to locate that individual, fearing you were next.

Zemo reappeared from the shadows and claimed that you all might have a guardian angel.

“Drop it, Zemo.” The familiar voice brought relief as you matched it to the face that emerged into your sight.

Your smile at the thought of a friendly face faltered when she continued pointing a gun towards all of you. Sharon didn’t seem as pleased as you were. Turns out she had to fall off the grid and found herself in Madripoor after the turn of events many years ago.

"Y/N, is that you?" She took a double-take on you, probably not used to seeing you dress up like this.

"Hey." You awkwardly replied. The moment didn't last as Sharon trained her eyes on the men and continued to be hostile.

Your heart dropped as you hear her telling of how she was unable to be in contact with her family anymore. She had become a fugitive and still is. An immense amount of guilt washed all over you when she retorted about how she wasn’t backed by the Avengers.

You weren’t batch mates with Sharon back in S.H.I.E.L.D academy but you became friends when you crossed paths during work. You could not believe you haven’t reached out to her all this time.

Bucky pleaded with Sharon for her help and Sharon gave a thoughtful look at all of you. When she saw you with your uncomfortable expression, she gave a sighed and stated that she wasn’t done discussing the topic.

Offering refuge in her place at High Town, all of you accept it.

You sat beside her in the front and the two of you exchanged silent looks before she started the engine. What were the odds of seeing her again in Madripoor?

You hoped to be able to get a chance to talk to her later.

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Tag list: @tanyaherondale @spookycereal-s @cataves @conflicted-noxsirius

[tlcwrites]

Two Hearts Make a Whole

Prompt: “Kiss me again, like you mean it.” Photo prompt below.

Summary: NYC Pride is for celebration, and occasionally, long-overdue revelations.

Word Count: 2,001

Tags/Content warnings: Marvel. Stucky. If you have a problem with it, there's the door. SFW. Slight TFATWS spoilers so read at your own risk. Platonic Reader. Two idiots in love. Technically canon-divergent because I'm still in my everyone-is-alive-and-in-this-timeline happy place that I will never ever leave fuck you very much Russo brothers but not AU. Found family. All the feels. Complete and total LGBTQ+ support. Lots of bad language words because #me. Un-beta'd.

Author’s Note: Okay so yes this is technically 4 weeks late for @autumnleaves1991-blog's Writer Wednesday weekly challenge. BUT, it was incredibly important to me to finish this one before Pride month is over. Made it by the skin of my teeth.

Happy Pride, y’all. If you’re out, you’re amazing. If you’re closeted, you’re amazing. However you identify is valid and important. Trans folx are LGBTQ+. Bisexuals are LGBTQ+. Ace folx are LGBTQ+. Anyone who identifies or thinks they may be as queer is LGBTQ+. All are welcome in the family. You have the right to choose your pronouns and we have the responsibility to use them. Live whatever your truth looks like to you and love each other. Love is love is love is love. If your family doesn’t accept you for you, I’m your mom now and I’ve got mom hugs available on demand. Homophobes and TERFS can fuck off and roll in poison ivy. Always punch Nazis. Pride shouldn't be limited to the month of June. And don’t you dare forget that Black and Brown trans women were the ones who rioted at Stonewall, and we owe everything to their bravery. Don’t forget that much of popular ‘gay’ culture was appropriated from Black women. And for more facts about Pride that you should absolutely know, Rawiyah Tariq (@ mammyisdead on Instagram) has a phenomenally good overview.

“Oh my god.” You gasp loudly. "Oh my GOD. Is that-"

“What?!” Instantly in First Avenger Protective Mode™️, Steve surveys the crowd, wishing he had an actual shield instead of the screen printed one on his shirt. “What is it?”

You gasp again, smacking Sam’s arm repeatedly. “OHMYGOD IT IS HOLY FUCK.”

“First; ow.” Now-Cap rubs his bicep. “Second; clue in the class before Steve has an aneurysm, please.”

Vibrating with excitement doesn’t begin to describe your current state. “HER ROYAL HIGHNESS MISS LEMON MERINGUE IS STANDING RIGHT FUCKING THERE.”

With the finesse of a shampoo commercial, Bucky's dark locks fly as he whips around. “What?!”

“RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE.” You abandon a relieved Sam and latch on to Bucky’s vibranium arm. “Oh my GOD I love her so fucking much.”

“She was robbed, absolutely fucking robbed,” he agrees, craning his neck to get a better view. “Divine Tension’s lip sync was shameful.”

Sam glances at Steve, who is slowly coming out of protector mode. “What the ever-loving hell are they talking about?”

“RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Nat flicks more confetti at both Cap-the-former and Cap-the-current. “They watch it every week.”

“Really, Steven, for a guy with enhanced super senses, you miss a lot.” Tony hefts a bedazzled Morgan higher on his back. The toddler, accompanied by Scott playing air-piano on the ground, sings along with the ABBA song being blasted at full volume through the street. Tony continues as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Why do you think both of your People disappear every Friday evening?”

Ears pink, Steve mumbles something.

“What?!” The only other one with hearing enhanced enough to hear a murmur over the cacophony of several thousand people belting out the chorus of ‘Dancing Queen’ at the top of their lungs, Bucky turns to stare at his friend. “You thought we were datin’?”

Steve’s blush extends down his neck.

You and Bucky stare at each other for a moment before you both collapse on each other, exploding into stomach clenching, thigh slapping laughter.

“I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no’?” Clint confirms with Nat.

“Oh, a big ‘no’.” She watches affectionately as you and Bucky calm down enough to look at each other, breathe for a second, and both promptly dissolve into hysterics once more. “Like, the biggest ‘no’.”

Sam crossed his arms across his chest, his stoic stance so reminiscent of Steve it’s amusing (as well as a beautiful disparity to the sequined crop top he’s sporting. Oof, those abs.). “How do I not know about this?”

“Because you’re not a former super spy?” The usually-Black-but-today-Rainbow Widow tosses the last of her confetti at Tony, who spins a jubilant Morgan into it. “Or because you and that leggy barista from the lobby coffee shop are too busy playing hide-the-“

“-Baby Shark!” Morgan suddenly shrieks, flailing towards a guy on roller blades wearing a fin and tail (and not much else).

“Yeah,” Nat finishes with a smirk, “Hide-the-Baby Shark.”

Sam flips her a gesture that makes Clint laugh and Bruce sigh.

You and Bucky have finally managed to pull yourselves together. “Oh my god, Steven Grant,” you gasp, wiping tears from your eyes. “That’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve ever fucking heard.”

“Language!”

Steve glares at Tony. “One. Time. It was one. Time.”

Bucky slings his flesh arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Oh, punk. You may have perfect vision now, but sometimes you’re still as blind as you were before.”

Visiortn himself nods sagely. “Humans can be quite unperceptive when it comes to matters of the heart.” Vision casts a fond smile at Wanda, who is using her powers to make Pietro’s tinsel wig fly on and off. “Sometimes you have to look harder to see what’s right in front of your nose.”

A confused frown on that handsome face, Captain Clueless looks at Bucky. “Why do I feel like everyone else knows something that I don’t?”

His bestie sighs deeply. “Because, Stevie, almost everyone else on this planet knows that my tastes tend towards tall, blonde, blue-eyed knuckleheads who have zero sense of self-preservation.”

“And an ass you could bounce a quarter off of,” Scott helpfully supplies.

“And that,” Bucky agrees.

Steve frowns.

You press your palms to your eyes in vexation. “You, Steve. He’s talking about you.” (Seriously, how has this idiot survived for over a century while being so dumb?)

Whatever he was expecting, it was certainly not that. “He-“ The Man With A Plan gapes as he turns to his oldest friend. “You-“

“Me,” Bucky says gently.

Even though you’re slightly surprised that Bucky is going to do this in such a public forum, you can’t help but be so proud of your friend. It has taken a long time for Bucky to believe he deserves to be happy. There are days he still sinks into that dark place, where his inner demons whisper that he should have fought harder against his Hydra captors, and that his past actions were still somehow his fault. Those are the days no amount of baking or Modern Marvels will bring him out of his funk. You, Steve, Sam, and Nat have all held those strong shoulders as they shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the shame and horror at what his hands had done without his consent.

But he’s here. He’s free. And he’s smiling nervously at his best friend.

“I-” Steve is short-circuiting. “Me?!”

“Stevie.” With the kind of tender patience that can only be born of a lifetime of keeping (or attempting to keep) an idiot such as one Steven Grant Rogers from flinging himself headlong into every fight he comes across, Bucky moves his flesh hand to the back of Steve’s neck. His face is full of such soft affection that you almost want to look away for fear of intruding on this suddenly intimate moment. “What do you think ‘til the end of the line’ means, you idiot? You’ve been it for me since I was thirteen-years-old.”

Blue eyes are locked with blue eyes as Steve processes this revelation. “I-” He shakes his head as if to declutter his thoughts. “This whole time?”

“Since the first time I saw that asshole knock you down, and your scrawny ass climbed right back up.” A wry chuckle escapes as Bucky reminices. “You were ninety pounds soaking wet, and you stood there, against a guy who was three times your size, and never waivered for a second. It was magnificent.”

“I don’t like bullies,” is Steve’s quiet response.

Bucky’s grin is adoring. “I know, sweetheart.” He gently strokes the back of Steve’s neck with his thumb. “You’ve always had a heart way bigger than your brain.”

Steve is still back on the first part of Bucky’s admission. “If you’ve felt- if you-” He’s practically pleading. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Bucky shrugs, attempting and failing nonchalance. “It was a different time, you know?” He’s uncharacteristically unsure of himself, the subtle waiver in his voice revealing the anxiety born of a lifetime of being forced to hide his truth. “I mean, you remember how it was; you didn’t talk about, no one talked about- about being- about people like...” He swallows thickly.�� “And I was so scared you didn’t, that you weren’t-” His voice breaks.

Even though you’ve all been emotionally invested in this love story for years, the entire team respectfully pretends not to listen as the former Winter Soldier quietly admits his deepest secret to his closest friend. It’s enraging as Bucky confesses yet another way he's been a victim of his circumstances, and denied his right to live freely without derision. Once more, you’re awed by his resilience.

“-it was a risk I couldn’t take,” Bucky finally gets out, that stubborn fire back in his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you, Steve. I couldn’t chance it. I could live with just being your friend and only your friend so long it meant you were in my life.”

Stunned silence meets the end of his confession. Steve’s face is impassive, those cerulean eyes uncharacteristically inscrutable.

You can all tell Bucky is heading steadily towards dread and heartbreak the longer Steve takes to respond. You and Sam exchange a look, both ready to intervene if Steve demonstrates any of the abhorrent attitudes that were so prevalent in the society of his youth. It would be completely out of character for him, but...

Finally, Steve speaks. “You’re telling me,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, “that you made me wait ninety-three years to tell me you’ve felt the same way about me as I have about you since the day you picked me up out of that alley?!”

The whole found family breaths a collective sigh of relief as Steve pulls Bucky even closer, broad chest to broad chest.

“Okay, to be fair, you were an ice cube for most of that time and I wasn’t exactly available for a relationship.” Bucky’s grin stands in contradiction to his mullish defense. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it.” There’s the Bucky you all know and love, biting his lip with those perfect white teeth. “Now, punk, I’d really like to kiss you now, but first I need you to say you want me to.”

“You-” Steve’s throat works as he attempts- and fails- to rein in his emotions. “You jerk.”

And then the Star Spangled Man seizes the president of the Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club by his ridiculously perfect face and crashes their mouths together.

At any Pride event, seeing two men kissing is, obviously, to be expected. But seeing The First Avenger and The White Wolf attempting to swallow each other’s tongues is not at all routine. As people realize what is happening, the crowd is whipped into a frenzy the likes of which is usually reserved for the aftermath of sporting events and elections that defeat fascists.

Watching the two men embrace, Scott sniffles loudly. “I’m gonna cry, I’m so happy.”

He’s certainly not the only one. Wanda has a watery smile as she wraps her arms around Vision and Pietro; Pepper, Tony, and Bruce are watching with fond parental energy; you and Sam sandwich Peter between the two of you, grins practically splitting your faces. Even Nat’s eyes look suspiciously shiny and she and Clint sling their arms around each other with platonic affection. And that’s not counting the several thousand people who are cheering for love being love being love being love.

When they finally break their embrace, the Centennial twins are startled to see they’ve collected quite an audience.

“Uh, so…” Suddenly bashful, Steve glances back to his- partner? Boyfriend? Soulmate? Is there a word that can accurately describe two people who have found each other time and again in a world that seems hell-bent on keeping them apart?- his ears practically maroon with embarrassment. For a guy with one of the most-recognized faces in the world, Steve is still incredibly and endearingly uncomfortable with attention. “Buck?”

Bucky seems just as stunned as Steve.

Thankfully, the masses demonstrate the usual support that’s the hallmark of Pride. “LOVE IS LOVE!” someone screams in the crowd. It’s quickly echoed, and chants fill the park.

The attention momentarily off them, the former Winter Soldier and his giant himbo of a soulmate look back at each other. You pretend not to watch through the happiest tears as they embrace again, bringing their foreheads together. The relief they share is palpable, as they’re finally able to show the world- and each other- the love they’ve each hidden for so long.

Bucky’s voice is so soft you have to strain to hear it. “You have no idea how much m’in love with you, Stevie.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Steve answers, bringing a hand up to carefully wipe the tears from Bucky’s face. “‘cause it’s as much as I love you, Buck.”

Bucky's answering grin can only be described as saucy. “Then kiss me again, like you mean it.”

And Steve, for once in his long life, does exactly as ordered.

---

A/N: “The Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club” is from Starry_Emerald173’s BRILLIANT The Avengers Wrangler over on AO3. If you haven’t read it yet, drop what you’re doing and do so immediately. Make sure you're not drinking any liquids, or your keyboard/phone may be in peril.

[marvelousstevetony]

Hi! Maybe this one, from thst sleeping prompt list if you’re feeling inspired?: laying on their lover’s chest, listening to their heartbeat, drawing circles on their chest. the stevetony vibes are strong 🥺💖 Ty!

Hi, friend! I truly love every single prompt on that list, but this one is just extra cute for Steve and Tony! I’ve been so busy these last few weeks, and I have a few prompts in my inbox that I should’ve been writing, but I saw this and couldn’t help myself. 

I hope you enjoy this short fic of Steve being miserable when Tony’s out of town, and then really, really happy when he comes back unexpectedly. I love these two so much, I really do💖💖

-----------

It’s not that Steve can’t sleep without Tony next to him. He’s perfectly capable of being by himself at night, of lying alone in their ridiculously large bed, closing his eyes and slip off into a peaceful unconsciousness. Perfectly capable.

The thing is, though, that Steve would rather just… not be alone. He can sleep without Tony, of course he can, but that doesn’t mean he wants to.

And now Tony has been gone for almost an entire week for some stupid conference that Steve highly doubts is necessary, and Steve has been pouting about it ever since his plane took off.

Steve gets it, okay? He knows Tony has work to do, because Tony loves his work and he wouldn’t be the same person without it. Steve would never discourage Tony from working, and Tony’s passion and ambition are some of his most attractive traits, Steve thinks.

But if work could just stay in New York, Steve would be very thankful.

Yes, because with work being in New York that would mean that Tony wouldn’t have to travel around the world all the time, which would subsequently mean that Steve wouldn’t have to crawl under the cold covers at night all by himself.

Which is exactly what is happening tonight.

Steve shivers as he pulls the blankets closer around him. Usually, he would curl up around Tony, basking in the warmth and affection Tony radiates, gliding his hand under the Tony’s t-shirt and letting it rest on his stomach as he kisses Tony’s shoulder.

Tony would chuckle and guide Steve’s head to rest on his chest, placing a peck in the dirty blonde locks and sighing contently before murmuring a quiet goodnight, sweetheart and closing his eyes.

God. Steve sighs into his pillow. What he wouldn’t do to have Tony next to him right now. He tosses and turns, hugs the pillow close to his chest as if it were a certain genius, but it’s too soft and too cold, and after a couple minutes of lying restlessly, Steve groans and hurl the pillow through the air like a projectile. It hit the floor with a soft thud and Steve frowns at it like he had hurt it.

Getting to his feet, he grips the pillow and smooths it over, sighing to himself once again. It’s not the pillow’s fault he can’t sleep. No, the problem is…

Okay, so maybe Steve has a small problem sleeping without Tony. But how can he not? He has gotten so used to having Tony beside him that anything else just feels wrong.

The feel of Tony, his scent, his breathing pattern, the way his fingers usually draw circles on Steve’s back, Steve misses all of it.

He had been alright the first few nights. The smell of Tony’s shampoo had still been lingering on his pillow, but it has faded since, and even Steve’s enhanced senses can’t pick up on the light peppermint notes. Just the thought of the scent sends a pang through Steve’s chest, and he has to swallow hard to choke back an involuntary sob. Maybe if he takes a shower and uses Tony shampoo he will feel a little better.

So that’s what he does.

He turns on the shower spray and adjusts the temperature before getting undressed. By the time he’s stepped in, the room has already gone misty and humid, and Steve can now just barely make out his blurry features in the mirror.

The water is scalding hot, just like Steve wants it in this instant. It prickles his skin and makes it tingle in an almost numbing way that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. After a few moments, he has gotten used to the burn and raises the temperature again, letting another wave of senselessness wash over him.

He pours the shampoo into his palm and starts massaging his scalp. He tries to do it how Tony does it, but it’s not the same. His fingers feel too big and he can’t apply the correct amount of pressure. At least he has the scent, and when he closes his eyes, he tries to imagine Tony being beside him, but all it does is leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows Tony isn’t there.

Despite the room being filled with steam from the shower, Steve still feels cold when he steps out onto the bathroom floor. The tiles feel icy under his feet, and he gives a quick shiver as he wraps a towel around his hips.

With his hand he clears the condensation from a small part of the mirror to look at himself. His hair is floppy and his cheeks are flushed from the shower which is how he usually looks after a shower. But then there’s this small crease between his eyebrows that has grown deeper as the week went on, and he runs the tip of his index finger over it to smooth it out. He hadn’t even really noticed how the tension had settled right there, not until now at least, and he forces his face to relax a little.

His eyes seem different, too. They look hollow in the same way Steve feels, like he hadn’t slept for days on end, which, to be completely honest, isn’t too far off. A little watery from exhaustion and with a purplish circle around them, making them look dull.

Okay, so maybe Steve really doesn’t do too well when Tony’s not there.

Sighing, Steve once again wishes that Tony could be there, in the Tower in New York with Steve, if not forever then just now. Just tonight when the time apart has become too much for Steve, when the loneliness starts nagging at him and keeping him from sleeping, when everything begins to feel so cold.

Steve shivers again, then quickly dries off and goes back into the bedroom to put his pajamas back on. His sits down onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He stay still like that for a little while. There are thoughts running through his head, so many thoughts, but they’re unclear and too fast for his mind to keep up with them, and it’s all just noise that becomes louder and louder until Steve wants to scream.

He almost does scream, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is just a pitiful sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a sob. He can feel the warmth prickling behind his eyes, and he presses the heels of his hands into both eyes to keep them shut until the tears will back down.

And then comes the sound of the door opening.

Steve’s head snaps up with such force it feels like a whiplash, but Steve doesn’t care, because there’s Tony. Tony is right there in front of him where he shouldn’t actually be right now. Well, no, he should be there, Steve thinks and ignores the voice that tells him that he’s selfish and greedy for wanting Tony to let go of everything in his hands to be there with Steve.

“T-Tony,” Steve croaks, voice almost a whisper.

Tony smiles and puts down his briefcase. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says and joins Steve on the bed.

“You’re back.” Steve is still working on believing that Tony really is there, so he reaches out to touch Tony’s cheek and feels his breath catch slightly when his cold fingers greet Tony’s warm skin.

Tony lays his hand on top of the one Steve has on his cheeks, then kisses the inside of his palm. “I’m back,” he confirms. “Everything went smoothly so they told us we could get off a couple days early.”

And now Steve really can’t help the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep somewhat composed, but his body slumps against Tony’s and he looks at Tony with tired, blue eyes that are more telling of how Steve is feeling than any sentence could be.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Tony murmurs. It’s not a question, it’s a statement, because Tony’s knows Steve.

Steve doesn’t try to deny it either, there is really no point in doing so. Instead he leans in to brush his lips over Tony’s, the touch light but electrifying. “Missed you,” he mumbles against Tony’s mouth.

“I missed you, too, darling. Get in bed, I’ll be back in two minutes, okay? Just going to change and then I’ll come to bed.”

Steve nods and gives the brunette another quick kiss before getting settled under the covers. The two minutes he’s waiting feel like an eternity, but then Tony steps out from the ensuite, wearing nothing but his pajama pants, and pads towards the bed, and Steve just feels grateful. So grateful.

Crawling under the covers, Tony scoots closer to Steve, pressing his body against him. Steve is quick to position his head on top of Tony bare chest, cheek resting right under his collarbone, and he sighs contently when Tony nuzzles his face into his freshly washed hair.

“You’ve been using my shampoo, have you?” Tony asks with a fond smile playing on his lips.

“I, uh… I couldn’t sleep so I just… I thought maybe it would help me feel like you were here,” Steve says, a little embarrassed.

“I’m here now.”

He is, Steve thinks as he lets his eyes slip shut. Right where he’s supposed to be.

As they lie there, Steve draws small circles on Tony’s chest, around the place the arc reactor once was. It had been there when they’d first started sleeping together, and Steve loved resting his hand on top of it, feeling the weak warmth it emitted against his palm. Now, though, he traces the scar with his fingers.

It used to make this soft whirring sound, too, that Steve listened to at night. A slight hum that assured Steve that Tony was there next to him, that everything was alright. Now there’s another sound that Steve loves even more, because it’s purely Tony, proof that’s he’s alive. Tony’s heartbeat might be Steve’s favorite sound, he realizes. It’s soft and reassuringly steady, a rhythm Steve could listen to all day.

That’s another thing Steve misses whenever Tony’s away. When he’s alone, it’s all so quiet. The silence becomes deafening, it becomes insufferable, the noises in Steve’s head filling every void. But with Tony, whether it’s the arc reactor whirring or his heart beating, Steve can focus on the calming sounds and let every inch of worry evaporate.

And now, with his head resting on Tony’s chest, listening to the slow thumping, Steve feels his body relax and his eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. It doesn’t take long before his breath evens out and the line between his brows has disappeared completely.

Casting one last glance down at the sleeping soldier, Tony smiles fondly and kisses Steve’s forehead before closing his own eyes and drifting off.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

[allegra-writes]

Fireproof

Peter Parker x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut; Sex pollen.

The request:

This is for @idiosadeoro who wanted Virgin!Peter, hypersensitive cause of his spider sense, and the bunch of anons who wanted Sex pollen/Fuck or die. Hope this caters to your tastes. Preparing for Halloween, this is the most fucked up thing I wrote so far 😘

Also, Infinity war? Endgame?? NOT IN THIS HOUSE.

MY MASTERLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST

You were so fired.

So fucking fired.

That was the only thought going through your mind, on repeat as you made your way to the med bay. You tried to focus on that, because if you were to think even for one second about what you were about to do, you'd never be able to go through with it.

With shaky fingers and your heart pounding inside your chest hard enough to break your ribs, you punched the code in the security panel and watched the light go green. This was it, your moment of truth. You squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Peter knew it was you even before you spoke, there was a shift in the atmosphere, the stale air inside the bay was suddenly electrified, every one of his senses coming alive. He wished he could blame the god damned pollen, but he had long before memorized the cadence of your footsteps, the smell of your perfume. He could recognize your heartbeat in a room full of people. The truth was he had had the most desperate, hopeless crush on you from the very moment Tony had showed up in the lab with you in tow, and announced the two of you would be working together.

On a normal day, he had enough trouble controlling himself around you enough not to blurt out his feelings, but now, with the freaky alien sex pollen stuff in his system?..

“Peter?”

He feigned sleep where he was on the gurney, refusing to open his eyes. If he so much as saw your pretty face, his control would snap, he just knew it. You stepped closer.

“Y/n, it’s not a good idea for you to be here right now” he tried to warn you, but you kept on coming closer, he could feel the heat coming out of your body even feet away, every pore of his skin opening to soak up your warmth. You were saying something, and he should probably listen but you were way too close now, a whiff of your scent, flowery and sweet and female reaching his nose.

Before you could blink, he had you pinned against the wall, every inch of his firm, lithe but muscular body pressed against yours, hard planes against soft curves.

“I mean it, y/n, it’s extremely dangerous for you to be in the same room as me until Mr. Stark comes up with an antidote” His nose was practically touching yours, his breath hot against your face.

And you could actually see it, the danger he was talking about. It was there, in his eyes, the raw hunger, the barely contained desire. It made shivers run down your spine, cause you knew if he was to loose control, you would be powerless against his super strength.

For the first time ever, you were afraid of Spider-man.

But this was what you had come here for in the first place, wasn’t it? There was no antidote, at least none that would work with his enhanced metabolism. The same metabolism that was processing the alien substance twice as fast. Time was running out, and Steve and Tony were still up in the lab, debating the moral implications of getting Peter an escort.

So you swallowed your fear, and crushed your lips to his.

He returned the kiss right away, tongue parting your lips, forcing his way into your mouth. The sound that left his throat at the first taste of you was not unlike that of a wounded animal. You swallowed it, head spinning, grateful for being trapped between the wall and his body, your knees suddenly to weak to support your own weight.

Your fingers buried themselves in the curls at the back of his head by their own accord, tearing another moan out of him. He released your lips only to latch his to your neck, kissing, sucking, nibbling with no finesse or technique whatsoever.

“I can’t stop” He was murmuring between kisses, burying his apologies into your skin, “I can’t stop, I’m sorry”

It was the truth. He had tried to downplay the effects so as not to worry Tony even more, but ever since he had gotten covered in that weird pink dust, it had been hard to breath, his lungs, loins, skin, everything felt on fire.

The first taste of your lips, of your tongue, of your spit, had felt like a mouthful of fresh water, cooling down his insides. The first relief he had had in hours.

But it still wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed you.

He parted your knees with one of his own, thigh rocking against your center.

It made you moan. The very first sound he had coaxed out of you, and it made his blood boil inside his veins. A new scent filled his nose, almost cloyingly sweet. He reclaimed your lips with a growl when he realized he was smelling your arousal.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he ravaged your mouth, the other one popped open the button of your jeans and slid inside to where the heath between your legs was beckoning him. His hands were hot, leaving scorching trails in their wake. One finger found your entrance, diving in, pumping steadily in an out until you were shamelessly moving your hips, riding his hand, chasing your release.

It was embarrassing, you had never come so fast in your life but there was no mistaking the feeling coiling up inside you, tighter and tighter until it had no choice but to explode, making you cry out into Peter’s mouth.

He could have stayed like that until his death, fingers still lazily thrusting inside you, devouring those delicious little sounds from your mouth... But he noticed your hands, a second ago tugging so good at his hair, now on his chest, trying to push him away. It teared him in half, every cell in his body screaming in pain, but he complied, taking a step back. You stumbled a little on your feet.

“Please” He breathed out, voice breaking. He needed you, he would literally die… He could have sob in relief when you got rid of your lab coat and he understood you only wanted to get undressed, but he still had enough presence of mind to stop you.

“No” You met his eyes, confusion clear in your face, “Not here” Not where there were cameras, not where he didn’t even had a proper bed to lie you down. If he was finally going to make you his, he was going to do it right, pollen or not.

A voice in the back of his head reminded him that you weren’t his, you were only doing this to save his life, but he pushed it aside, as he picked you up as if you were weightless -for him, you probably were- and took you to the little on-call room right outside the bay at breakneck speed.

He placed you softly on the bed and got rid of his clothes so quickly it had to be a record, before moving to help you out of yours. He covered your body with his perfect one, your skin was so soft, so pliant under his hands, so cool against his own feverish skin, soothing him like a balm, he wanted nothing but to bury himself into you. But he admitted, voice small and shy and so Peter it almost broke your heart.

“I- I have no idea what I’m doing…”

He felt you froze underneath him and leaned back to look at your stunned face.

“You’ve never..?”

He shook his head no.

“But, you and MJ, wasn’t she your girlfriend until like, college?

“She’s ace. I respected that.” He replied simply.

“But, back in the bay, if you've never done… anything, what was that?”

He half shrugged,

“A shot in the dark?”

He was freaking natural, then. And you? You were going to hell.

You just knew it, cause never before you had had an Innocence kink, but Peter “Perfect bubble butt” Parker was a virgin, and you were all for it, licking your lips and planning a thousand different ways to corrupt him before the night was over.

You pushed at his shoulders and he let you manhandle him until he was the one on his back on the mattress, and you were straddling his thick, gorgeous thighs.

He watched you, mesmerized, as you raked your fingernails down his torso, leaving red trails, catching on his nipples, making him hiss. His muscles rippled under your hands as you moved them over his abs, lower and lower, until you wrapped your fingers around his hard, long, angry cock. His groan went straight to your cunt, and somewhere in the back of your mind you realized this was so wrong, you weren’t like this, you shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, something really weird was going on. But this had stopped being about saving Peter’s life a long time ago.

You pumped your hand once, twice, three times, watching his head trash from side to side. You spat on your other hand and covered the head of his cock with it, caressing it with soft, circular movements that had him sobbing and cursing. It made you feel powerful, hot.

“If my hands feel this good, just imagine how it will feel when you finally get inside me…” You leaned over him to whisper dirtily in his ear, before sucking the lobe into your mouth

“Fuck!.. Yes, please, y/n… please!”

“You want it, don’t you? Want to feel me from the inside… penetrate me, break me in half with your cock…” Where was all this coming from? This was wrong, he wasn’t in his right mind, you weren’t supposed to like it.

“Yes! Please! Yes, I want it, all of it!”

You guided him to your entrance, lowering your self slowly, slowly. He was huge, and you were dripping, yes, but you needed to be careful anyway, you had never taken someone so big.

His hand went to your waist, crying out as his cock disappeared inside you, eyes fixed on the place you and him were joined. You grabbed a hold of one of his wrists, guiding his hand to one of your breasts as you started moving up and down, riding him.

“Oh God!..”

“Tell me,” you demanded, already breathing hard, he was filling you up so good, touching all the right places deep inside you, “Tell me how does it feel to be inside me”

“Hot… so wet… so tight… you feel like...” He stopped, looking up at you through half lidded eyes.

“Like what?” You urged him on, “Tell me, Peter”

“You feel like you’re mine”

Your walls contracted around him at his words, a wave of pleasure washing over you. His other hand returned to your waist and he started moving you faster up and down his cock.

“Yes, like that, show me how you like it” You were delirious, your own hand tugging at your hair, “make me yours, Peter!”

He started to buck his hips up, trying to get even deeper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit just right every time he bottomed out and your second orgasm of the night started to build.

“Gonna come inside this pretty pussy” He let out under his breath, and you didn’t know if he was talking to you or to himself, “Then, I’m going to turned you around on your hands and knees, enter your pussy from behind, not even gonna stop. Gonna make you come on my cock over and over and over…” he punctuated every word with a hard thrust, until your walls were squeezing him again, and you were screaming your release. A couple thrusts later, and you felt him coming as well, coating your insides with his hot seed.

True to his word, he flipped you over, burying his cock in your oversensitized cunt again, fucking you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until you were a moaning, trembling mess. And he wasn’t even slowing down.

“I wanted you… since the first moment I saw you” he confessed, leaning over your back to kiss your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly sweet for the way he was taking you, so raw and animalistic. “You were wearing that pink skirt… and I wanted… wanted to bend you over the lab table and have my way with you…”

Dizzily, you reached behind you to grab a handful of his hair, and turned your head to kiss him, open mouthed and sloppy. He loved it.

“This is close enough” He sighed when you broke the kiss, resting his forehead on your shoulder, hips slapping against your ass loudly.

You interrupted the steady stream of “Uh… uh…uh” leaving your throat to try and say,

“I don’t know… we could… still do it in the lab… later…”

“Fuck, you’re perfect!” He moaned against your back, before grabbing hold of your hips again, pounding into you faster than any normal boy could ever do.

…

You passed out somewhere between round five and six, not before giving him express permission to use your body as much as he needed to burn the fucking -ha- pollen out of his system.

He was running his fingers softly up and down your naked back, a barely there caress, watching you sleep, sated, relaxed and completely spent, when he heard the buzzing coming from your jeans, long forgotten on the floor near the bed. He took it out and saw Tony’s name lighting up the scream.

He slid to pick up.

“Fucking finally! Y/n, where the hell are you?!”

“Mister Stark, it’s me” He whispered his reply, as not to wake you up.

“Peter! Thank God! How are you, please tell me you didn’t-“

“Sorry, Mister Stark,” Peter interrupted him, “We kinda did…”

“Shit! Please, Peter, please tell me you kids used protection!”

“Uh…”

Tony left out another loud curse at the other side of the line.

“Where are you? Y/n did something to Friday and now it won’t tell me where you are in the tower. You still in the tower right? I need the both of you to come to the lab right now” Tony was talking a mile a minute and Peter knew something very bad, not of the good was going on.

“Why?”

“Because,” Tony’s voice was frantic as he tried to explain the gravity of the situation, “That pollen thing? That’s not an aphrodisiac like we thought, it’s a fertility treatment. It doesn’t only messes your hormones up, it messes with hers too with every fluid exchange!”

Peter turned to look at you, peacefully asleep, curling up to his side, blissfully unaware of anything and everything going on outside that bed.

And maybe it was the alien substance still fucking up his brain, but the mental image of you, round with his child, sleeping like that next to him every night? It wasn’t half as terrifying as Tony seemed to think it was.

After all, the girl of his dreams was finally his, and a baby would guarantee she would remain his, forever.

“You know what, Mister Stark? I have to go now. Talk to you tomorrow…”

“What? No, kid, don’t hang up on me! Peter Parker I swear-…”

Tony Stark heard the line go dead.

To be continued...

Buy me a coffee

[anactorya]

What Doesn’t Kill You (2200 words, PG-13, hospitalization, grief/mourning, mild horror)

Written for the @sambuckylibrary Halloween bingo. Prompt: witching hour. Also on AO3.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Sam’s heard it a hundred times, even believed it a few of them.

Right now, clutching the edges of his hospital chair tight enough to leave fingernail imprints in the scratchy plastic, watching Bucky waxen and still and breathing through a tube, he’s pretty sure it’s a bunch of bullshit. Because he’s fine, got a few scrapes and bruises and a knock on the head that didn’t even give him a concussion, nowhere near death’s door, and he feels weaker and more useless than he ever has. Worn out like an old dishtowel. You could hold him up to the light and see right through him.

He keeps thinking back to Steve. All the hours Sam spent sitting at his bedside after they found him half-drowned on the bank of the Potomac, waiting for him to wake up. He held it together pretty good back then, but this is different. The doctors keep saying shit like minimal brain activity and invasive life support and limits of enhanced healing, and Sam knows what that stuff means. Bucky isn’t going to wake up.

In a way, it’s more like the day Riley died, except the whole thing’s happening in slow motion and Sam gets a front row seat to every excruciating inch of that spiral towards the ground. Another person Sam loved, gone before he ever plucked up the courage to say how he felt, because he can fall backwards out of planes and leap off buildings and go toe-to-toe with alien megalomaniacs, but when it comes to letting someone else in on his heart, he’s a fucking coward.

So, yeah. Sam’s lost people before. Riley, his parents, Nat. Steve, who never even said a real goodbye. Karli, who could’ve been good if he’d gotten through to her a little earlier. But this might be the one that finally breaks him.

A hand finds his shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. It’s Rhodes, his face set in a carefully neutral expression that makes Sam want to say something shitty just to wipe it off.

He doesn’t. Rhodes has always been good to him, better than he has to be, and the guy knows what it’s like. He lost a best friend too.

Except, no, he doesn’t know, not really. Nobody does. Sam’s never told them.

“Sam,” Rhodes says, heavily, “you’ve been here for three days, and I hate to say it, but you’re starting to smell like it.”

Sam shakes his head, breathes into his hands.

“At least take a shower, sleep in an actual bed. The doctors–”

“The doctor told me to contact his family, make arrangements,” he hears himself say. His voice is very distant, very flat. “I’m his family.”

“Pepper has people,” Rhodes offers. “If you don’t wanna deal with that stuff, you don’t have to.”

A flash of anger burns in his chest–at the way everyone’s talking about this like a done deal, like it���s already over, and at the same time, at the thought that if he has to organise a, a fucking funeral for Bucky he might want to be hands-off about it, not make sure himself that everything gets done right. It’s a tangled, inchoate mess of feeling, none of which makes it out his mouth. His hands are shaking.

Rhodes squeezes his shoulder. “Go home, Sam. Be with your family.”

He leaves, and the only sound left in the room is Bucky’s mechanical breathing. The bruises on his face have faded away, healing where the damage inside of him couldn’t and leaving him looking unfairly normal. Like a still photograph of himself, except for all the damn equipment keeping him alive.

Sam got wake up you asshole and you’re not allowed to leave me here alone out of his system days ago, and now all he does is reach for Bucky’s hand and squeeze it. Bucky doesn’t squeeze back, doesn’t react at all, not even a flutter of an eyelid, and after a moment Sam lets his hand fall back to his side.

#

Louisiana means you grow up knowing magic’s real. Sam knew it long before he ever met Wanda or Strange, or saw an alien god opening portals to another world on the TV news. It isn’t some big mystery, and it’s probably the same anyplace you can head out on the water–or up a mountain or into the deeps of a forest–and not see a living soul for hours on end. It just is. You know there are things out there, strange and old and probably best left alone, so you avoid them unless you’re desperate.

Sam’s been desperate before, or thought he was. He got halfway out here after Riley died, before he remembered he preferred physics to folklore and turned the hell around.

Tonight, he isn’t so sure.

There’s a post sticking up from the bank at the edge of the water, probably the remnant of an old dock that’s long since crumbled into the water. Some people claim it’s the signpost of a drowned crossroad, though that doesn’t make a lick of sense geographically.

Either way, what the rumours say is it’s a place to get help when all human means have failed. Come out here in the hour after midnight–the witching hour, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. Take a photograph and a drop of your blood, bury them beside the post, and something will come out of the water and help you. For a price.

Now, Sam scrapes away damp earth with his bare hands, Carlos’s borrowed boat bobbing in the water behind him. Hurried out here so fast he forgot to bring tools. Lucky Carlos left his penknife in there.

The photograph is from Torres’s Polaroid phase. Ankara, he thinks, after a mission. Bucky’s usual scowl has slipped as he crouches to pet one of the ubiquitous street cats (It doesn’t matter if he’s got fleas, Sam, they can’t bite vibranium!) and Sam’s in the foreground, smiling way brighter than he’d realised at the time.

Sam bisects it carefully with the penknife, making sure no part of Bucky is visible on the section he presses into the ground, and slips the other half into his back pocket. Then he grits his teeth and draws the blade across his palm, watches the blood spatter his sunlit face.

After that, he waits.

It’s almost peaceful out here for a while, just the insect noises of the night and the plashing of the water and the sound of his own breathing. The minutes tick down toward the end of the witching hour, and he almost convinces himself this isn’t gonna work.

And then.

It’s like the air and the silence thicken, a veil drawn between him and the rest of the world. Each breath feels a little harder, the night heat heavy on his skin and a chill somewhere beneath it. A sound reaches his ears from the edge of the water. A quiet splash, and a drag of wet fabric, and a shape resolves itself out of the darkness.

She’s like the swamp made flesh. Water-weed green and dripping from head to toe, fingers slender and reaching as cypress roots, eyes feu-follet balls of light in the mossy mass of her face.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her voice is a wet rattle like a dying breath, the sympathy in it startlingly out-of-place. “I could feel your pain miles away.”

Sam grits his teeth and draws himself to his feet. He forces himself to look her in the eyes, but there’s a wrongness about the light that burns there that makes it an effort, keeps making him want to lower his gaze. “Can you help him?” he demands. “Bring him back?”

“Help him?” says that voice. “Or help you?” Her hand comes to rest over his heart, skinny fingers splayed, and he tries not to flinch. “He isn’t the one suffering.”

His throat feels tight. “Does it matter?”

A sludgy croak of a sound. It takes Sam a moment to realise it’s her laugh. “Maybe not.” She regards him steadily. “But you’ve survived worse than this. You’d survive it again.”

It’s the kind of statement that ought to be encouraging, but the way she says it, it’s perfectly neutral, like she’s observing that there’s rain on the way, or it’s Tuesday.

The thing is, she’s right. Sam knows she is. He pulled himself back together, piece by painful piece, after Riley died. He learned to fly solo. He rebuilt his life after the Blip and talked himself around to trusting his own judgement after Steve waltzed off to the past. Now, he’s gotten used to having Bucky at his side, in his life, watching his six in the field and teasing him over dinner, but he could learn to live without it. Fly a little more carefully, trust Torres to have his back, spend more time with Sarah and the boys and the neighbours to fill the silence. He’d be almost whole again, eventually.

But godfuckingdammit, he is sick of being strong.

“Didn’t come out here for daily affirmations,” he says. “Can you help me or not?”

She inclines her head. “You can’t claim I talked you into this.”

“So you’ll do it?” He takes a deep breath. “What’s your price?”

She shrugs, trailing a hand down his arm and crouching to dig into the ground where he buried his photograph. It’s damp and dirt-stained when she unearths it, but she smiles anyway. “You’ll owe me. That’s all.”

“Owe you what?” But even as he asks, he knows the answer doesn’t matter. He’ll promise anything if it means a do-over, a chance to get it right this time, say all the things he should’ve said to Riley way back when, the things he should’ve said to Bucky months ago.

“I’ll know when I need it.” She tucks Sam’s photograph away somewhere in the folds of her garment. “Seal it with a kiss.”

Her mouth tastes like swamp water, brackish and bitter. Sam swallows down bile. And at the same time, he feels a creeping sensation like the water itself wrapping around him, twining roots around his heart, pulling him under like a gator’s death roll. He fights for breath, lungs filling up with it, tears springing to his eyes, darkness crowding his vision.

As abruptly as it crept up on him, it’s gone. He sucks in a huge breath, bending over, hands on his thighs, and when he comes back to himself, she’s gone.

#

By the time he gets back to town, he has three missed calls. One from the hospital, one from Rhodes, and one from–

His heart leaps in his chest. He’s on a plane to DC within the hour.

At the specialist treatment facility, nobody stops him to ask for ID or what he’s doing here. He finds Bucky sitting up in bed, drinking orange juice through a straw and looking bitchy about it. His face lights up like Christmas when Sam walks in, that wide unashamed smile, and Sam aches with realising how much he’s missed it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says.

Bucky shakes his head. “Rhodes told me the docs thought I was a goner,” he says. “Sent you home to plan my funeral. Don’t know that I could’ve stood being here, either.”

Sam exhales dizzily. “Yeah, well. Shoulda known better with your stubborn old ass. What’d you do, annoy the shit out of the Grim Reaper until he got sick of you?”

“Something like that. Guess I gotta thank that shitty knock-off serum for something, huh.” There’s an edge to his voice, like always when this stuff comes up, and Sam gets it, he does. Owing your life to something you hate is complicated.

He tries not to think about how much more complicated it would be if Bucky knew the truth.

“Hey,” he says instead, “don’t think you get to make a habit of this.” He tries to sound stern, but the tears pricking at his eyes make it hard. “Three days sitting on the crappy plastic chairs they got in here, I thought my ass was gonna fall off.”

Bucky smiles up at him, crooked, a little looser. “Now that’d be a real tragedy.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat, heartbeat skittering. But shit, if he’s in the hole to some creepy-ass swamp goddess for who knows what kind of favour, or maybe his immortal soul, he’s damn well gonna make it count.

So he ignores the plastic chair and perches on the edge of the mattress, close enough to smell antiseptic and orange juice and feel Bucky’s warmth through his hospital gown.

(Roots wrapped around his heart, foul water on the back of his tongue, shapes moving in the depths.)

San leans in, telegraphing his intent, Bucky’s eyes fastened on his mouth. Presses their lips together, soft.

“About damn time.” Bucky sighs into the kiss, resting his forehead against Sam’s; and after a moment, Sam tastes only oranges.

[jamesbbhoney]

The Brightest Light

summary: Your abilities have never struck you as something with value beyond aesthetic, but to Bucky, your light counts in more ways than one. [Bucky x enhanced!reader]

warnings: mentions of drunkenness, implication of PTSD

note: hi! this is not my first fic but it’s the first one I’m ever sharing so woohoo :) enjoy and please feel free to share feedback with me!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You opened your eyes to a dark room, only a thin stream of light coming in through your window from the crescent moon hung in the sky. With sleep still tugging at your eyes, you became aware of the smell of fresh coffee swirling in the air. You reached around for your phone to no avail.

“FRIDAY, what time is it?” you questioned into the darkness.

“The time is 3:41 a.m. Eastern Time, Ms. Y/l/n.”

You groaned gently, closing your eyes and leaning into your pillow. You knew very well who was up in the dark of the morning making coffee - Bucky. There was no one else on your floor of Stark Tower, and for that matter in the entirety of the Tower, who would be up and drinking coffee at this hour. Knowing that this meant you could steal some extra time alone with Bucky, you slowly propped yourself up, rubbing your eyes as they searched to make sense of the dark. You held your palm open in front of you, emitting a few marble-sized balls of light and releasing them like little fireflies into your room (first golden and warm, before you decided on a cool lavender color instead, watching the light dance and melt from gold into purple). You smiled softly at the way the light moved, perfectly tailored to your control yet almost alive on its own. 

Your ability had never been one you felt was particularly meaningful or valuable. Being able to create and manipulate energy from your fingertips, emitting light in beams, rays, balls, shapes, any form you could imagine, really, was never going to save anyone’s life. You could never shake the feeling that you just didn’t belong with the elite, talented, gifted people you lived and worked with. Yet as part of a wave of Enhanced offered the chance to live and train at Stark Tower two years ago, you had somehow managed to land yourself in the circles of people like Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. Moreover, if often put you in the kitchen at 3 a.m. stealing moments among the quiet with Bucky Barnes. 

That was largely the nature of your relationship with Bucky: stolen moments in the early morning or the dead of night, where the bustle of life seemed to still. When distraction waned and a certain super soldier found himself (more nights than not) unable to sleep. You couldn’t help but find yourself drawn to him whenever you were alerted to his presence, whether it was the smell of coffee in the darkness of the morning, or the fact that everyone else would go to bed and he would still be up, looking out the windows in quiet contemplation, eager to stay awake as long as he could muster.

- - - 

One year earlier - July 4, 2:15 a.m.

“I’m fine, really, Y/n. It was just a tough night. You should go to bed.”

Decently drunk from the 4th of July celebrations and more defiant than ever, you crossed your arms and pouted. “What, you don’t want me around?” you said, giving him your biggest puppy dog eyes, knowing damn well that wasn’t what he meant.

He chuckled, looking up from where he stood at the edge of the balcony, looking out over the railing at the skyline to meet those eyes of yours. “Trust me, doll, that’s not the case.”

You inched closer to him as the cold of the night hit you. “Was it the fireworks?” you asked, studying his eyes as they held yours.

He looked down at his hands gripping the railing. He nodded solemnly. “Yeah… I should have known I wouldn’t be able to handle it all - the party, the blaring music, the fireworks…” he trailed off. He looked back up at you, forcing a smile. “But really, I’m fine, you don’t have to stay up with me.” 

You rolled your eyes. A year you’d known him at that point, countless missions together, many late-night talks and hot chocolates, and you’d never let him stay up alone thus far, not when his eyes begged you to stay as he weakly encouraged you to go to bed. Why he thought his arguing would make any difference this time was a mystery. 

“I know I don’t have to, Bucky. I want to,” you said, closing the space between you, unable to resist the way his presence pulled you in.

Still woozy from all the drinks and commotion of the night, you reached out to his forearm to steady yourself, instantly floored at how strong and stable he felt. He looked down at where your hand met his arm, looking slightly confused. He looked up at you again, his eyes sparkling.

You smiled back, relaxing at how grounded you felt, one hand on the railing of the balcony, one on your best friend who you had had a hopeless crush on since the moment you met him a year prior. 

“I used to love fireworks, actually,” he said, almost breathlessly as he turned slightly to be facing you. “Just, the noise…” he trailed off again in a whisper. 

You inched closer to him, drawn to his warmth as the night grew colder. You removed your right hand from the railing, holding it gingerly between you and Bucky. You willed a ball of soft red light into your hand, and gently pushed it upwards until it floated between you and Bucky. You concentrated as hard as you could, which was difficult given the drunken state you were in, trying to imagine the ball splitting into little stars and sparks. As you focused, the light followed your vision, creating a beautiful dance of twirling light and mock-fireworks in the space between you and Bucky. You smiled at yourself, enjoying the display you brought to life without the bangs and pops of real fireworks. 

You looked up to see Bucky staring in awe at you through the light as it encircled you both. You met his eyes and the light transformed into a myriad of colors, brighter and warmer than you had any conscious intention of. Although you had lost focus on your control of the light completely, it seemed to mirror the butterflies in your stomach as Bucky looked at you with such wonder on his face. 

The tension between you was palpable. The space between you was inching closed as his left hand found your waist, cool metal against the gap of skin between your jeans and white top. Your right hand found his back and it felt like eons passed as you simply stared at each other surrounded by your homemade fireworks. 

He crashed his lips against yours, passionate but sweet. He tasted like bourbon and you breathed him in, desperate for this moment to last forever. You kissed him back with such intention, letting every moment of pining over the past year escape through your lips. Your heart swelled in your chest as you both pressed against each other, his soft touches turning into desperate arms pulling you against him. 

He eventually pulled away, the pair of you completely breathless, and the lights surrounding you twirling and exploding with vigor. As your breathing evened out, the lights calmed down to the softest golden glow, swimming slowly across the entire balcony.

“Y/n, I can’t begin to tell you how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said softly into you.

“Me, too,” you laughed. Although you had been jolted by your kiss, you still swayed from the drinks in your system. Bucky clung onto you as his eyebrows knit together slightly.

“But you really should go to bed,” he said lightly with a chuckle as you leaned into him for support. “Come on, doll, I’ll walk you to your room.”

From that night on, you stole more moments when no one could see; when sleep graced everyone but Bucky, you graced him with your light.

- - -

You pulled on a white hoodie and your fluffy slippers, trudging into the hallway of the floor you shared with Bucky and a shapeshifter named Cal, brought in around the same time as you were. The lavender light followed you out and you held your palm out again, willing the light to come into your palm as a mini lantern to guide you down the hall. You stared into the orb, wispy and pulsing, before stepping into the open space of the kitchen, letting your hand fall and the light dissipate.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said softly. Bucky, leaning over the counter clutching his mug of black coffee, lifted his head to meet your eyes. He smiled sweetly at you, although his eyes were tired and swollen from a lack of sleep.

“Hey there,” he said, his body clearly relaxing as you made your way towards him.

You passed behind him to get your own mug, letting your hand brush along his back as you did. 

You put the kettle on for tea, picking out an earl grey bag for your mug, and came up next to him, allowing your shoulders to touch comfortably. You looked up at him in wonderment, barely able to make out his features but even in the dim light of only a crescent moon streaming in through the big windows looking out over the skyline and balcony, you could see the light in his eyes, the jagged lines that carved out his face. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you steadily into him. You reached your arms up around his tense neck, gently massaging into his hair as he leaned into your touch.

“Nightmares, again?” you asked, watching him carefully.

He shut his eyes with a sigh and nodded as you continued rubbing circles at the nape of his neck.

“Mhm. Worse than usual,” he mumbled into the space between you.

“I’m sorry, baby” you whispered. “I wish you’d let me stay in there with you.”

Bucky refused to let you sleep in his room after he accidentally gave you a black eye from struggling in his sleep a couple months prior. Not wanting to reveal the full nature of your relationship to the team, you told them it was from sparring, and Bucky could hardly look at you for weeks given his guilty feelings.

“You know that’s not a good idea,” he said, his voice heavy, eyes still shut as he gripped at your sweatshirt.

You didn’t have it in you to argue with him; not tonight, at least. 

The tea kettle started to boil and you slid gently out of his embrace to get your tea ready. He leaned back towards the counter. 

With warm tea in one hand, you slid the other into Bucky’s right hand, pulling him with you towards the big windows in the living room, sitting on the floor in the corner, your usual spot. Bucky leaned against the wall, spreading his sweatpant-adorned legs open to make space for you to sit against him.

You nestled back against him, head resting in the crook of his neck as he set his coffee down and big arms wrapped around you from behind. 

“How’s the training going?” he asked after a while of just sitting together looking at the moon through the window.

You sighed. You had been working with Wanda to try and channel your abilities into something with a bit more power. With all the field training and martial arts they had taught you, you were as good as any other specialized SHIELD agent, but as part of a crew of Enhanced individuals, you felt vastly inferior. All you could do was play with light, albeit often beautiful and mesmerizing, and you were really beginning to question your place there.

“Not great,” you said dejectedly. “I’m really trying, but it’s just not destructive, there’s something missing. It doesn’t work that way no matter how hard I try. Other than aesthetics, I’m as useless as ever.”

“Doll, you aren’t useless by any means,” he said, gripping you tighter. “You are incredibly gifted, and if there’s something else that’s meant to come from your gift, you’ll find it eventually. If not,” he shrugged slightly. “You’re still pretty damn amazing.”

You smiled, setting your tea down next to Bucky’s coffee and turning to face him. He inched away from the wall so that you could straddle him, and he held your back so easily, propping you up to stay face to face.

“I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck again, noses brushing.

“I love you, too, doll,” he returned. 

You sat together for a while, drinking your tea and coffee, trading gossip from the team, venturing onto the balcony, gazing at the moon. You showed Bucky a new party trick you’d been working on, where you conjured light that took on the shape of a dancing couple, laughing and spinning together. You didn’t say it, but Bucky didn’t need to hear it to know it was the two of you you were thinking of.

Lying in comfortable silence on the balcony under a shared blanket, Bucky pulled you into him.

“It hurts, Y/n/n,” he said so quietly you barely heard him say it. “I hardly sleep because the pain in my dreams is so… real. It hurts, baby. I’m afraid to sleep.”

Your heart nearly broke in two. You rolled over so you were fully on top of him, elbows framing his head as your hands carded through his hair, the blanket cascading down, locking you into a safe little cove on the aid open balcony.

“I know, honey,” you said soothingly, leaning your forehead against his. “I wish I could do something to take your pain away.” A halo of white light began to form around your hands. 

Bucky glanced up at your hands, his eyebrows knitting together. He looked to your face to see you as confused as he was. 

You couldn’t explain it, but your hands felt like magnets drawn to Bucky’s head, fingers pressing ever so gently against his temples. As you did, you could physically feel the tension melt away, it was a sensation you’d never felt before - beyond feeling his muscles relax under your touch, this was feeling… his mind relax.

He exhaled deeply at your touch, eyes closing gently as he put his hands over yours so slowly and gently. You realized it wasn’t just your touch, it was your light, your power, that affected him this way. You had been right that your ability wasn’t destructive, but it wasn’t just passive entertainment. People had always been mesmerized by it in a way, in taking it in with their eyes, but you had never thought to try to use it to heal, to sooth strain. Now, you could feel the soft glow emitting from your palms draw out the strain, draw out the mental pain the man you loved shouldered every day and night.

“Baby,” he said, clinging to your fingers against his temples. “What are you doing?” he asked curiously, softly.

You let out a shy, breathy laugh. “I don’t really know. It just happened. I- I didn’t know I could do this.”

He opened his eyes to look up at you with the most adoration you’d ever been on the receiving end of. The connection between you only intensified with this newfound discovery. You could truly feel him, feel the tension he held, or rather didn’t feel at that point. 

The glow slowly faded from your hands as Bucky gently pried your fingers off of his temples.

“Amazing,” he said between kisses pressed to your knuckles. “You’re just… amazing, Y/n.” He brought his hands to the small of your back, pulling you into him as you continued straddling him. “There’s nothing you can’t do.” 

You leaned into him, pressing your lips to his, pulling back so slightly, not wanting to leave any more space than absolutely necessary between you. “It’s for you, baby. It’s all for you,” you breathed into him. “You bring out the best in me, the brightest of my light.” You kissed him again. “It’s yours, all for you.”

- - - - - - 

there ya have it! my first published fic on here. loosely inspired by Video Games by Lana Del Rey (mostly just the last part of dialogue heh) feel free to leave feedback for me in my inbox or wherever! hope you enjoyed :)

[ussgallifrey]

Truth Hurts

✦ Summary: Why are men great till they gotta be great? Steve Rogers was great, until he decided to do a solo trip to return the time stones. ✦ Pairings: Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader ✦ Warnings: Endgame Steve bashing, little bit of angst, language ✦ Word Count: 1.3k ✦ Author’s Note: Written for @captain-kelli​'s 500 follower challenge with the prompt - "Truth Hurts" by Lizzo. Version 2.0 here

Bucky cautiously approaches the bench as the sun glitters off the lakeshore, a hesitancy to his posture and words. Hands stuffed into his coat pockets as he breathes out slowly, feeling the weight of the afternoon settling. You can feel the concern literally rolling off him.

"You okay?"

Okay?

Was that even a possibility in this moment?

That feeling must have disappeared sometime between thinking the love of your life was lost in the quantum realm and seeing the aged man with a wedding ring only moments later. Okay died there, buried in the wrinkles and graying hair of an apparent stranger.

Because whoever this man was, claiming to be Steven Rogers, he was heartless. Absolutely devastatingly heartless. As he smiled and handed the title over to Sam and barely spared you or Bucky a second glance. You watched the future that never was walk away from view.

There's a sharp cut in your throat as you force the tears down, turning to your companion with a smile, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm great."

Dating Captain America was a fantasy. An unbelievable how is this actually happening to me fantasy. Lost in the warmth of blue eyes and a shy smile, golden hair and a sarcastic wit that slid through the cracks of the statuesque all-American icon. He was too good to be true and he wanted you. That was the craziest part about it. He. Wanted. You.

Oblivious to the heated glances and the sudden presence of super-soldier whenever you entered a public place in the tower. He found a reason to brush past in the kitchen, to station himself near you in the gym, and so on.

It took one failing mission for it all to come blazing to a tumultuous head. Pressed against each other in the walk-in freezer of a swanky hotel to evade the wannabe supervillain's henchmen. Happening in slow motion and lightspeed all at once as lips connected with something similar to Thor's lightning.

From there, it was just the rolling thunder that led to the storm. The supposed shy and timid man from a different time had no control when it came to you. And he was damn near intoxicating - a personal drug fully at your disposal.

It was good. So damn good.

And then the Accords hit. And then he was on the run. And then Wakanda. And then waking up in a jungle with Bucky and Sam and having no idea what had transpired since the battle.

It was good.

Was.

And then he left without a real goodbye because he was supposed to be right back. But he didn't come back, not really.

Boys hadn't been a strong point in your history, so the fact that Mr. Golden Boy was hanging onto your every word, unfortunately, let your guard finally slip. The purposefully placed blocks that made up the wall around your heart were slowly and deliberately broken down over the years as your relationship blossomed.

And it came to bite you right in the ass, didn't it?

Stupid stupid girl should've known better. Who could compare with his original sweetheart and the man had a damn time machine at his disposal? Did you really think he'd stay with you?

It's been two weeks and you still can't wrap your head around it.

Bucky wordlessly passes his container of Lo Mein your way with a barely suppressed frown on his face.

Steve used to destroy the punching bags in the gym until he had the chance to take his aggression out on a literal God, a suit of armor, and his serum-enhanced best friend. The punching bag doesn't fly off the hook with each jab you deliver, but you still like to pretend it's his dumb puppy dog face anyway. 

You're honestly the best, you know that?

The tape around your fingers strains and tears as you focus on the middle of the bag.

God, I love you.

Liar liar liar. Stupid stupid girl, falling for such a liar.

This is it for me, sweetheart. You're all I need.

Noble bastard with the heart of gold and winning smile and dumb dumb hair. 

Collapsing on the mat, angry tears fall as you quickly unwrap your knuckles. Angry at yourself for the breakdown, angrier at him for… well… everything else.

Bucky cleans up the cuts and bruises, holds an ice pack down with a soft apology on his lips. You're not sure if it's for the ice or what his idiot best friend did to your heart. You don't ask.

You wake to the fading sensation of his arms around your waist, only to be faced with the reality of an empty bed. 

A part of you still held out hope - disgusting hope - that he would return. That it was just a fluke of time travel. But the days passed and no one ever appeared outside your door to kiss away the aches and pains of a broken heart.

You ignore the unread messages on your phone, finding solace under the covers of a too-big bed.

It's only after a restless night, when you're faced with your reflection in the mirror, that a little bell goes off in your head.

I need a change.

Was it a universal desire to chop off all your hair after a broken heart? Or was it just a cliche that fell in line with crying at romcoms and eating actual tubs of ice cream?

Either way, you clean up and make an appointment with your salon.

It feels amazing.

Having someone else shampoo your head is at the top of the list for best touches ever - especially after becoming a touch-starved hermit for longer than you'd like to admit. And you felt like a big change, so you go for a totally out of the box color while you're at it.

One that the girlfriend of image-heavy Captain America would never have.

And then a pedicure. And manicure. And champagne and when was the last time you did even the smallest bit of self-care? That shit needs to change. Now.

It's more therapeutic than any session could ever hope to be.

You laugh when Bucky does a double-take in the kitchen. Having walked right past you, only to slowly back up and ogle your new hair.

"It looks good."

There's a hint of relief that floods your senses to know it doesn't look like a crazy mess.

"Suits you," he offers, seemingly transfixed on the new hues framing your face.

The triumph of taking down the Winter Soldier, even if he may have been going a little easy on you, is a blast of adrenaline. Bouncing up on the mat with an exuberant whoop! You feel invincible.

Bucky just chuckles as he sits up.

"Not bad, sweetheart."

There's a hint of a familiar phrase that has you doing a slow turn. He's already moving back over to his bag to swig some water. But it doesn't sting, doesn't pull a sour taste in your mouth at the thought of the other guy who used to call you all the pet names. Maybe it was just a slip of the hundred-year-old tongue. 

You were never great at catching onto obvious flirtations anyway.

"Think you're up for another round?" a hint of nerves threading around your voice.

Bucky watches carefully for one long moment, setting his water bottle down and wiping his mouth with his arm.

"Sure, darlin'."

He stalks back to the mat, keeping a good distance between you as he watches you sizing him up.

"Think you can handle this, Barnes?"

You watch the lazy smirk tugging at his lips while feeling a burst of confidence radiating from your body. It felt good, like things were actually turning in your favor - the storm cloud was dissipating. Maybe it was finally time to focus on you.

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[jbbuckybarnes]

The life of Liberty in Memories

Request: Can I request a Steve one-shot (or mini-series) where he is in love with the Reader (who is Bucky's older twin sister) and vice versa? During WW2 she was chosen as a female candidate for the super-soldier program (dubbed Liberty Prime), but unlike Steve, she ended up in Hydra's hands alongside Bucky, where they were made into lethal weapons + R was given additional powers. Besides being an enhanced super-soldier, R is a genius (like Shuri and Tony) and the most dangerous assassin ever. - @witch-of-letters Warnings: mentions of addiction & withdrawal, mentions of physical and mental pain

M A S T E R L I S T

// Falling into snow-white mountains was all you remembered. Then screams. Your own screams and the one of your brother. Your brother that was just trying to help you. “James?” “Y/N Elizabeth Barnes. You’re finally awake. We’ve been waiting for you.” “Where am I?” “Liberty Prime sounded like something Hydra could use in the upcoming decades. Don’t you think?” “NO!” //

With a gasp, you woke up in your cell, a pretty one compared to the ones you’ve been in years ago. Since you had agreed to be The Liberty Soldier to get free of the giant amounts of benzodiazepine being pumped into you. You had slowly left the withdrawal phase, didn’t get psychosis symptoms anymore and your mental issues were only connected to simply being with Hydra at this point. The only times you still got reset without drugs involved, was before big missions.

You hadn’t seen your brother in years. He could only remember you half of the time anyway. But normally you’d seen him every few weeks somewhere in the facility or in the cryo room you both were frozen in. You didn’t dare think about the worst and at this point, it really wouldn’t make a difference. He’d be better of dead than with Hydra and you knew that. Project Insight, something you had worked on for a long time, was the last time he walked past you into the next mission. Maybe he went down with the ships. There was a file given to you later that day. Mission: Killing the rouge Winter Soldier. There was no change in your behavior. Your brother was alive, he was well. You would either gladly die by his hand and be free from the brainwashing, or hopefully come to your senses early enough to make a quick way out and vanish with his help.

“42, 19, Snow, Liberty, 18, Howling, Prime, Afraid, Bloodred, Genius.”

Everything went black and white. ___________________ Steve had a cut in his forehead, Bucky a knife in his left shoulder. “Steve?” “Yeah?” “That’s my sister.” “Are you sure.” “Yes. 100%” “Knock her out. NOW!”

___________________ With a gasp you woke up in a white room, a bag of dextrose in saline solution hanging over you. You were still hazy from the trigger words. This wasn’t Hydra headquarters. Had you failed the mission? Were you being pumped full of BZD again? “She’s awake.” you heard through the wall and shortly after the door opened. “Y/N.” your brother. “J- Are you here to-” you were afraid to be punished. “Hey, no. It’s safe here. I promise. They won’t do anything to you again.” he slowly came closer. His demeanor very soft and the only thing about him reminding you of Hydra being the long hair. “Do you...remember me?” he asked concerned. “You’re the biggest pain in the ass, of course!” you dared to smile. “You’re in Wakanda. They will keep you safe and get the trigger words out of your brain, okay?” he touched your arm gently. “Am I allowed to...hug?” you whispered. “Of course, you’re free here,” he said pulling you closer, letting the floodgates open. “I’m so sorry, that I didn’t get you earlier. I didn’t know where they had brought you,” he said with his warm hand going over your back. “I missed you. But I did so many of these things without the trigger words. I just, I couldn’t bare the drugs anymore and-” “You didn’t want to do it. That’s all that matters. It’s okay. You’re safe.” The door opened again, a big blonde man coming in. “Y/N?” “Steve.” Soft smiles were interchanged, “We’re gonna get you back up. Promise.” ____________________ “A female super-soldier. That’s new.” Shuri smiled at you after you both were introduced to each other. “How...are you gonna get the words out of my brain?” “I just need to find the specific passage in your brain that sends you into the PTSD-like shock,” she explained. “Tried figuring out ways to do this while I was imprisoned.” you smiled and got a surprised smile back. “She’s always been a bit of a genius. The serum just enhanced that.” Steve grinned watching this conversation unfold. “Well, let’s get started.” ____________________ The compound was the first thing you saw after getting out of Wakanda and get free from all the charges against you and Hydra. “You like it?” Steve grinned down at you, his hand on your shoulder. “I could get used to it. I like the robot talking, who made this?” “Me.” Tony Stark came around the corner with a StarkPad in his hand. “Tony, Y/N. Y/N, Tony.” You shook hands, “It’s nice to finally meet you, you’ve been a big inspiration for the things I learned secretly when I was under Hydra’s influence.” “Glad to hear. Welcome to the compound, get comfortable, dodge Pepper when she’s mad.” he grinned before continuing his route. “He’s nicer than you told me he’d be.” you grinned up at Steve. “You haven’t heard him rant about politics.” he rolled his eyes. “Finally show me where I’ll sleep, blondie.” you giggled. ____________________ Steve had always been crushing on you back in the day. But back then he was small, back then Bucky would’ve hated him for admitting it, back then he was kind of a coward. The smart strategic thinking he had didn’t only come from his size but also from you. Later, when you both had been through the projects making you super-soldiers, you had been in the Howling Commandos together. Steve slowly falling for Peggy, while you kept your emotional side hidden around the men. Now that he looked at you he realized that the serum hadn’t changed you too much. You just looked like a more toned version of your past self. What got enhanced was your genius mind and your abilities as a hand-to-hand fighter and overall assassin. He understood again why he was so whipped for you back then and he had the feeling of crushing on you bubbling somewhere in his chest again. “Cap? You’re staring.” you smiled at him, looking up from your book. “Sorry. Was in thought.” he tried to hide his blushing and continued what he was doing before.

____________________ “Are you ready to get back in the field?” Tony was talking to you. “Yes, but ease me into it a bit.” “Are you sure Y/N?” Steve frowned at you and you sent him a little smile and a nod. “Great, get ready to snipe, Barnes,” Tony said and you were in your room in seconds. You weren’t on a mission -with your mind completely clear- in decades, of course, you weren't sure about it. But somehow you would have to get into it. “Get ready for overseeing a hostage situation. We have a deal with them. Money against a man.” “Noted!” ___________________ “Have eyes on the target,” you mumbled into the communication device on top of the pillar you had positioned yourself on with your marksman rifle. You listened in on the conversation you were overseeing, Steve, two heavily armed men, a hostage, and a woman talking to Steve. The comms went out and the woman stepped aside. “Dammit.” you muttered just in time to see Steve fighting one of the armed men and the hostage being brought back to the car by the other man. In a split second you aimed for the man with the hostage, a perfect headshot had him down one breath later. You aimed back at Steve, thinking he’d have the situation under control but he was damn near to being choked into unconsciousness. Aimed, locked, shot, another bullet straight through the forehead. The woman still with the hostage tried to run but you had different plans, taking your knife, jumping down from the pillar and bolting at her. “Guess you’re the hostage now,” you growled with a knife held to her throat from behind.

___________________ With the woman being interrogated by Natasha and the man being cared for by Clint, you had time to go to your room and throw your equipment into a corner. 4 knocks, “Yeah?” “It’s me.” “Come in, Steve,” you said putting off your bulletproof vest. “Thank you for watching my back.” he gave you a shy smile. “Thought you’d be better at not getting choked.” you grinned, getting off your thigh holster. “Your brother’s worse.” he chuckled watching you take off your shirt, turning red. “It’s the 21st century, Stevie. People wear what I wear right now on the street.” you laughed squishing his face on your way to the closet. “I don’t have that with Nat.” his hands went up. Internally he had an entire awakening about absolutely still having the hots for you. Fuck. “So just with me, huh?” you smirked after you had the cozy hoodie on. “Guess so. Maybe it’s just habit with you.” he sent a tiny smile. “Maybe it is.” you were standing right in front of him, reading him like an open book. He was so bad at this. Always had been. Although you needed to admit that he got a little better at the flirting part. You knew he had a crush on you in the 40s, you just didn’t have a crush back. Then the war came, Peggy came, you “died” and he “died”. And now you had a hot blushing mess in front of you that you were actually kinda into. He shook himself out of the stare he was holding with a, “Still need to get rid of my suit and write a mission report.” “How about I help you with the suit?” you whispered, tracing over his chest. He swallowed, not really sure what to do. This was a possibility he hadn’t calculated in. The chance of you actually being different about this now. “Uh, I mean, if you don’t mi-” his head was yanked down and lips were on his in a split second. Cherry lip balm, the taste of blood and the smell of your fresh clothing were all he registered. “You’re bad at hiding your crushes. Always have been.” you grinned still close to him. “You knew?” “Of course, you are the worst at pretending.” you chuckled, hands now snaking around your lower back. “Did Bucky know?” he grinned. “No, he was totally oblivious to that and I’m kinda glad about that. You have the best friendship. Now shut up and kiss me, idiot.” you said and sighed when he finally took initiative. Your back was pressed against the wall in a heartbeat, a tongue between your lips. Your hands went to the zippers and buttons of his suit, getting it off painfully slow. His hands wandered under your hoodie and you stopped him, “I just said I’ll help you with the suit.” “Y/N.” he gave you a serious stare before you chuckled with a head shake. “You got better with girls, I see.” you couldn’t continue what you were about to say since he picked you up and had you land on your bed. _____________________ Sneaking behind the team’s backs was hard but manageable for the first few weeks. But there had to be the moment where everything didn’t go as planned. “You’re back,” you whispered, looking up at him. Both of you in front of your room, the hallway empty. “We were done early.” he smiled and pushed your hair behind your ear. “Missed you.” you pouted and had a hand caressing your face shortly after. “I missed you too, darling.” he leaned down for a short kiss. “Cuddles and Sushi?” you grinned, still holding him by his jacket. “Sounds like a dream to me.” he gave you heart eyes before you went on your tiptoes for another kiss. Someone cleared their throat a few meters away and you drove apart. Your brother. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he looked at both of you with a stern look. “We thought you might be mad,” you said and Steve nodded. “I would never be mad at my two favorite people in the world being happy with each other...unless my best friend breaks my sister's heart.” his smile vanished with the last sentence and was replaced with a serious look at Steve. “In my defense. She was the one kissing me first,” he said holding his hands up, making you giggle. “And you were pretty oblivious to his crush on me all those years.” you grinned at your brother suddenly having a surprised face. “C’mon Buck, how many times did you talk to me and I didn’t listen when she was in the room.” “Now that you say it. Quite a lot of times.” he grinned. _______________________ “Y/N Elizabeth Barnes-Rogers! You are NOT pregnant, WHAT!?” an offended and happy smile was sent at you by your brother that had just heard the news from Steve and you. “You’re gonna be an uncle, James,” you said before squealing and being hugged tight. “Oh my god, Liz.” he couldn’t stop hugging you and swayed side to side with you. “We’re officially a family instead of a group of crackheads now.” you giggled. “I hope she gets your brain and none of his recklessness. Cause I’m not babysitting another Steve Rogers,” he said looking at both of you. “All we can do is try.” you grinned. He looked down on you and shook his head still in shock, “You don’t know what’s coming at you, little bean.”

M A S T E R L I S T

[fiidelis]

— ✧ TOM HARDY ?? that looks like ADRIAN STEPHANOS TREVOR !! they’re the THIRTY SIX year old son of DIANA PRINCE & STEVE TREVOR. they are also an INDEPENDENT JOURNALIST and STARBUCKS BARISTA at paragon. i hear that they're RIGHT-MINDED & MUNIFICENT, but tends to be IDIOSYNCRATIC & SELF DESTRUCTIVE. his file says that his powers are an ENHANCED CONDITION & OMNILINGUISM. you can check out his stats HERE & his pinterest board HERE.

      be CAREFUL with that one, love,                   he will do what it takes to survive.

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warning for talk of gang activities ( including gbh ), prisons, the army ( including bombs, trauma sustained while serving, consequences - mentally & physically OF serving ), more gang talk... a lot of 

ah , here he is . this motherfucker. what a tool.

meet adrian stephanos trevor. he’s thirty six years old, a twin, an older brother, a disappointment son. these days, he works as a starbucks barista and writes just enough articles in a year to be able to continue calling himself an “”independent journalist”” - but once upon a midnight dreary, ya boy was an army brat, and a little more recently, he was a member of one of london’s east end gangs. 

diana prince and steve trevor were good parents. they WERE. when steve came back to life, he was done with fighting, and diana never could be. they found a middle ground, in their happiness, with steve staying in london where he ultimately raised the kids they had together, and diana continuing her hero work - the official term “co parenting”, though at times, her absence was felt. but not enough to be an excuse. adrian never doubted for one moment of his life that he was loved, and that his parents were ALWAYS going to be there for him. the path that adrian ultimately went down is thanks to nothing more than the environment that he grew up in, and the inherited need to do right by the people he cared about.

it wasn’t hard for him to fall in with the wrong crowd of people, when he was younger. the east end has always been home to a whole variety of types, but if you were the sort of teen that adrian was - hot headed, quicker to throw a punch than he was talk it out, pretty bright, but never willing to apply himself - you were destined to draw the wrong sort of attention. he was rebelling, for no particular reason, and in afterschool detention, he met the people that would shape his early life. they weren’t the gang. they liked to THINK of themselves as such, but they were just kids playing pretend - they walked the walk and they talked big but they weren’t quite there, but there enough that adrian got himself in to quite a bit of trouble. 

he thought the world of them. this small squad of kids all around his age became like family, and he was willing to do anything, or go anywhere, if it meant keeping them in his eyes on them and maybe, keeping them out of trouble. to this day, he’ll say that’s how it started - he just wanted to keep his FRIENDS out of trouble. they were already in so much of it. how that led to destruction of property, petty vandalism, the grevious bodily harm that got them all arrested, no one really knows. likewise, to this day, no one from that gang of schoolkids has ever broken their silence on who exactly did the damage to that guy that pressed charges after being beaten half to death. it had to be one of them, but the police thought it was all of ‘em. when no one would reveal the truth, adrian and his “friends” all faced the same punishment. two years, in her majesty’s prison woodhill - a young offenders institution willing to accept kids younger than eighteen, where adrian was to spend the latter half of his fifteenth year, his full sixteenth, and three months of his seventeenth. 

loyalty to his troubled friends, all the better off for being locked behind bars, had gotten adrian stuck in the same situation. but loyalty, he learned in his time at woodhill, was currency. it was the difference between life or death. 

it made sense, then - at least in his eyes - to join the british army. before his fall from grace, he had been seriously discussing the army cadets with steve. he’d kept in shape, had learnt some control over himself, and felt like that was where he belonged, upon release. before he knew it, he was EIGHTEEN years old and shipping out - and maybe it’s not right to say, but the army was probably the best place for him. for the next eight years, he did tours on and off, spending minimal time back home. sometimes, the only reason he even came back was for theora. and it was good for him. it kept him off the streets. it kept him away from his old friends, and kept him from making new, worse ones. he had the routine that the young offenders institution had taught him. he had a place. a role. a reason, to keep getting up. by the time he was twenty seven, he was on the fast track to being someone better - 

his career came to a sudden end when the jeep that he and his team were driving in ran over a mine. he was one of an unlucky few - without his inherited enhanced condition, he would have joined the rest in the AFTERLIFE. he survived, but muscle and nerve damage meant that he lost the full use of his right leg, and maybe they would have given him a chance to try and improve, but no doctor was going to clear him for service again, thanks to the additional traumatic brain injury sustained. he was in a coma for five days. when he woke up... his general cognitive function was sure never to return to where it once was. he improved. he worked on it, in vain, hoping that he could still go back. but his memory was always going to be impaired. his brain was always going to be shot. 

he was honorably discharged and he returned to the east end, a self professed failure. 

and in the coming months, he would fall farther from grace. 

he wasn’t getting out of the house. he wasn’t taking visitors. steve and diana could only do so much - and when he started to go down to the local, again, they thought that it was good, that he was starting to come back to himself a bit. the truth was, he was back in contact with old friends. members of that kid gang he had left behind before, who had graduated to the legit gang.

to anyone else, his thinking would have been ludicrous. but to adrian, at the time, it made perfect sense. he couldn’t do his part in the army anymore. he had never gone to college, so he didn’t have anything to stand on now, and nothing he could give in any sort of legitimate way. but he could do good through the gang - somehow - he was sure of it. he could keep the community safe. provide a level head, and voice. keep people in check. it was the same sort of thinking that had gotten him into a mess, previously, and he hadn’t learnt from his mistakes. the east end gang welcomed him with open arms. 

it was another slippery slope, from there. and no one could help him. adrian got himself into that mess - and he was damned well set on not dragging anyone else into it, too. no matter how bad things got - no matter what he did, with them, or what was done to him - he never really opened up. the family had to know. he didn’t get up off his ass one day and begin working as a bartender in the local because he’d decided to start making a living, honestly. it was a front for the gang. he got deeper and deeper involved with them as the months went by and turned into years, and during that time, he did things that he WASN’T proud of. a lot of them, actually. 

he wanted to try and do good. he thought he could do that, in the unlikeliest of places. he didn’t realize until it was too late that he was just another pawn, with them - and there was nothing that could be done, by then. he was in too deep. they had too much on him. and in a way, he had too much on them, too.

he couldn’t leave. he never did, not officially - but a light at the end of the tunnel appeared, when the news came of the baby. his. the product of a brief liaison with a sharp tongued lady that had swept him off HIS feet - he was an afterthought, the text from a forgotten number that told him about their son told him that much. but he would have done more, if he’d known. he told himself that, over and over, as he tried to work out what to do - and after a lot of uhmng and ahing, he decided that the right thing to do, the only thing, was to leave for america hot on her heels. he was to become a us contact. someone in touch with their american brothers and sisters. it wasn’t ideal. but being in a new country, trying to put himself onto some sort of straight and narrow so that he could be a dad... it gave him hope that at the end of the day, maybe he could dig himself out of the mess that he had made. 

he got a job. he’d already started working as an independent journalist in england, another way to pay the bills, but he got another - and he got CLEAN. no more drugs, even if he was still as much of an alcoholic as ever. he tried to be better, for his kid, the accident that he loved, before he even met him - and because if he could do it, if he could make himself better, then maybe he could still get out. maybe he could create a safety net to fall into, if he finally cut ties. 

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

how to tell that underneath all his bad decisions he’s still actually a good guy? his love of dogs. that’s it. he’s had a cool dozen over his entire life, but right now, he has THREE. paddy, his nine year old staffie x, dingle, his five year old irish wolfhound, and nessie, his six month old aussiedoodle. they’re all rescues, and they’re all.. so loved. he’s lowkey using them as therapy dogs without any sort of official therapy dog training cos why the fuck not.

he can't concentrate as well as he used to be able to. he struggles to see how some actions he makes will have consequences. he speaks too low. he doesn't always understand what's being said to him, or what he's saying. he doesn't perceive things the same anymore, like certain tastes. he doesn't catch the gist of certain patterns and things and struggles to interpret certain data correctly, sometimes. he doesn't have great depth perception. he's more susceptible to bouts of severe depression and irritability, he suffers from a severe sleep disorder, he's not great with loud noises, he still walks with a incredibly pronounced limp, and he suffers chronic pain. he didn't leave the army unscathed.

i cant believe thats all i got but its all i got. 

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

friends from london.

friends he’s made since moving here.

someone please fucking hire him he’s a good gd bartender i dont even rmbr why i made him a barista but someone ,,pls,, get him out of that gd job

also SOMEONE please give his ass a platform... read his writing..he’s good.....hire him

ENEMIES ! from anywhere. for any reason. mayb they fought once. maybe he wrote the wrong name on their starbucks cup. go wild , the world is your oyster 

justice league kids ... literally any kids he could have grown up w like i dont think he was ALWAYS in england so ... give him those #connections

gang connections ! if ur character is in a us based gang its always a possibility that they have a sort of .. brotherhood.. whatever u call that with the east end one that adrian is stuck in , so , hmu

also , army ppl. they could have served together. maybe.

army ppl he def didnt serve with but who he.. is..jealous of 

or who he wants to help if theyve got it #rough cos yeah he’s been there

lit just.......plot..w.him

[parabcllums]

⧼    tom hardy, cis male, he & him   /   charlie boy by the lumineers   +   a tarnished wedding band near embedded in the depths of a faded leather wallet. well worn and oversized sweaters with too many threads pulled to count or warm denim jackets over wrinkled flannel shirts ; no inbetween, and no alternatives. a rueful smile and a distinct limp.    ⧽   ━━   let me tell you a thing or two about ADRIAN STEPHANOS TREVOR. the THIRTY SEVEN year old child of DIANA PRINCE & STEVE TREVOR is an INDEPENDENT JOURNALIST and STARBUCKS BARISTA in town, and has sometimes been referred to as THE MAUDLIN. they’ve always seemed very RIGHT MINDED & MUNIFICENT, though i’ve heard that they can be pretty IDIOSYNCRATIC & SELF DESTRUCTIVE, too. it’s common knowledge that they have the power of ENHANCED CONDITION ; guess we shouldn’t get on their bad side, huh? you can check out his stats HERE & his pinterest board HERE.

    wasn’t no HARM in him.             you’d give him a FLOWER, he’d keep it FOREVER.

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warning for talk of gang activities ( including gbh ), prisons, the army ( including bombs, trauma sustained while serving, consequences - mentally & physically OF serving )

ah , here he is . this motherfucker. what a tool.

meet ADRIAN STEPHANOS TREVOR. he’s thirty seven years old, a twin, an older brother, a disappointment son. these days, he works as a starbucks barista and writes just enough articles in a year to be able to continue calling himself an “”independent journalist”” - but once upon a midnight dreary, ya boy was an army brat, and a little more recently, he was a member of one of london’s east end gangs.

diana prince and steve trevor were GOOD PARENTS. they WERE. when steve came back to life, he was DONE with fighting, and diana never could be. they found a middle ground, in their happiness, with steve staying in london where he ultimately raised the kids they had together, and diana continuing her hero work - the official term “co parenting”, though at times, her absence was felt. but not enough to be an excuse. adrian never doubted for one moment of his life that he was LOVED, and that his parents were ALWAYS going to be there for him. the path that adrian ultimately went down is thanks to nothing more than the environment that he grew up in, and the inherited need to DO RIGHT by the people he cared about.

it wasn’t hard for him to fall in with the wrong crowd of people, when he was younger. the east end has always been home to a whole variety of types, but if you were the sort of teen that adrian was - hot headed, quicker to throw a punch than he was talk it out, pretty bright, but never willing to apply himself - you were destined to draw the WRONG sort of attention. he was rebelling, for no particular reason, and in afterschool detention, he met the people that would shape his early life. they weren’t the gang. they liked to THINK of themselves as such, but they were just kids playing pretend - they walked the walk and they talked big but they weren’t QUITE there, but there enough that adrian got himself in to quite a bit of trouble.

he thought the world of them. this small squad of kids all around his age became like FAMILY, and he was willing to do anything, or go anywhere, if it meant keeping them in his eyes on them and maybe, keeping them out of trouble. to this day, he’ll say that’s how it started - he just wanted to keep his FRIENDS out of trouble. they were already in so much of it. how that led to destruction of property, petty vandalism, THE GREVIOUS BODILY HARM THAT GOT THEM ALL ARRESTED, no one really knows. likewise, to this day, no one from that gang of schoolkids has ever broken their silence on who exactly did the DAMAGE to that guy that pressed charges after being beaten half to death. it had to be one of them, but the police thought it was all of ‘em. when no one would reveal the truth, adrian and his “friends” all faced the same punishment. TWO YEARS, in her majesty’s prison woodhill - a young offenders institution willing to accept kids younger than eighteen, where adrian was to spend the latter half of his fifteenth year, his full sixteenth, and three months of his seventeenth.

loyalty to his troubled friends, all the better off for being locked behind bars, had gotten adrian stuck in the same situation. but loyalty, he learned in his time at woodhill, was currency. it was the difference between life or death.

it made sense, then - at least in HIS EYES - to join the british army. before his fall from grace, he had been seriously discussing the army cadets with steve. he’d kept in shape, had learnt some control over himself, and felt like that was where he BELONGED, upon release. before he knew it, he was EIGHTEEN years old and shipping out - and maybe it’s not right to say, but the army was probably the best place for him. for the next eight years, he did tours on and off, spending minimal time back home. sometimes, the only reason he even came back was for theora. and it was GOOD for him. it kept him off the streets. it kept him away from his old friends, and kept him from making new, worse ones. he had the routine that the young offenders institution had taught him. he had a place. a role. a reason, to keep getting up. by the time he was twenty seven, he was on the fast track to being someone BETTER -

his career came to a sudden end when the jeep that he and his team were driving in ran over a mine. he was one of an unlucky few - without his enhanced condition, he would have joined the rest in the AFTERLIFE. HE SURVIVED, but muscle and nerve damage meant that he lost the full use of his right leg, and maybe they would have given him a chance to try and improve, but no doctor was going to clear him for service again, thanks to the additional traumatic brain injury sustained. he was in a coma for a week. when he woke up… his general cognitive function was sure never to return to where it once was. he IMPROVED. he worked on it, in vain, hoping that he could still go back. but his memory was always going to be impaired. his brain was always going to be shot.

he was honorably discharged and he returned to the east end, a self professed failure.it only got worse. he wasn’t getting out of the house. he wasn’t taking visitors. diana and steve, theora, they could only do so much - and when he started to go down to the local, again, they thought that it was GOOD, that he was starting to come back to himself a bit. the truth was, he was back in contact with old friends. he was rubbing shoulders with the WRONG sort of people. he was getting himself INTO TROUBLE, again - putting himself into a difficult position of starting down the same path that had landed him in the youth institute, years before.

and then he got MARRIED. he never even told his mother. he had never thought of this particular old friend in that way until he DID, and he needed SOMEONE - ANYONE, back then, to latch onto. looking back, it was unfair. she was in a position of having to care for him, and deal with his WORST moods, which no one should have been in. but they convinced themselves it was love. they convinced themselves, in spite of the arguing, that they BELONGED together - right up until they couldn’t DO it anymore.

he self medicated, after. he stopped trying to get BETTER. and he WALLOWED. the only person he truly had anymore, he felt, was his TWIN - but it was UNFAIR to rely on them, so much. adrian’s darkest impulses at this point in his life were almost impossible not to listen to, and in a way, he got LUCKY.

a light at the end of the tunnel appeared, when the news came of the BABY. HIS. the product of a brief liaison with a sharp tongued lady that had swept him off HIS feet - he was an AFTERTHOUGHT, the text from a forgotten number that told him about their SON told him that much. but he would have done more, if he’d known. he told himself that, over and over, as he tried to work out what to do - and after a lot of uhmng and ahing, he decided that the RIGHT thing to do, the ONLY thing, was to leave for america hot on her heels. it wasn’t IDEAL. but being in a new country, trying to put himself onto some sort of straight and narrow so that he could BE a dad… it gave him hope that at the end of the day, maybe he could dig himself out of the mess that he had made out of his life.

he got a job. he’d already started working as an independent journalist in england, another way to pay the bills, but he got another - and he got CLEAN. no more drugs, even if he was still as much of an alcoholic as ever. he tried to be better, for his kid, the ACCIDENT that he LOVED, before he even met him - and because if he could do it, if he could make himself better, then maybe he could still get out. maybe he could create a safety net to fall into, if he finally cut ties.

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

how to tell that underneath all his bad decisions he’s still actually a GOOD guy? his love of dogs. that’s it. he’s had a cool dozen over his entire life, but right now, he has THREE. paddy, his nine year old staffie x, dingle, his five year old irish wolfhound, and nessie, his six month old aussiedoodle. they’re all rescues, and they’re all.. so loved. he’s lowkey using them as therapy dogs without any sort of official therapy dog training cos why the fuck not.

he can’t concentrate as well as he used to be able to. he struggles to see how some actions he makes will have consequences. he speaks too low. he doesn’t always understand what’s being said to him, or what he’s saying. he doesn’t perceive things the same anymore, like certain tastes. he doesn’t catch the gist of certain patterns and things and struggles to interpret certain data correctly, sometimes. he doesn’t have great depth perception. he’s more susceptible to bouts of severe depression and irritability, he suffers from a severe sleep disorder, he’s not great with loud noises, he still walks with a incredibly pronounced limp, and he suffers chronic pain. he didn’t leave the army unscathed.

i cant believe thats all i got but its all i got.

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

his older sib ! his younger one ! the mother of his child ! all good connects !

friends from london.

friends he’s made since moving here.

someone please fucking hire him he’s a good gd bartender i dont even rmbr why i made him a barista but someone ,,pls,, get him out of that gd job

also SOMEONE please give his ass a platform… read his writing..he’s good…..hire him

ENEMIES ! from anywhere. for any reason. mayb they fought once. maybe he wrote the wrong name on their starbucks cup. go wild , the world is your oyster

justice league kids … literally any kids he could have grown up w like i dont think he was ALWAYS in england so … give him those #connections

also , army ppl. they could have served together. maybe.

army ppl he def didnt serve with but who he.. is..jealous of

or who he wants to help if theyve got it #rough cos yeah he’s been there

lit just…….plot..w.him

[itsworn]

Joe Rogan’s 1969 Nova Shows How a Third Generation Nova Could Have Looked

I’ll just say it: In stock guise, the Chevrolet Nova never did it for me. They were nice-looking in a box turtle sort of way, but in my opinion, there were plenty more stylish options on the market to choose from. Maybe it’s because as a kid growing up in Brooklyn in the 1970s, Novas were everywhere. Back then, they weren’t cool or overly muscular. Instead, they were basic transportation that you’d see dented and parked on the street with rusty rockers and holes in the quarter-panels. Sure, every now and then a side-piped and shackled fat-tire Nova SS would roll by, but for the most part, we never gave them a second look.

As time goes by, tastes change, as do industry trends and the visionaries who set them. This 1969 Chevrolet Nova belongs to MMA fighter, comedian, podcaster, and all-around automobile enthusiast Joe Rogan. It was penned by Pure Vision of Simi Valley, California, and is a perfect example of what happens when out-of-the-box thinking comes together with modern engineering and intelligent design.

According to Pure Vision founder Steve Strope, Joe had a list of six or seven muscle cars he wanted to build—a Nova being one of them. For Steve, the idea of building a Nova wasn’t new; in fact, back in 2007, Pure Vision unveiled a certain Z/28 Nova, a vehicle that asked the question, “What if Chevrolet offered the Z/28 option package on the Nova, as well as the Camaro?”

That car was Hugger Orange with white stripes, and when it debuted, it shook up the custom world and even rattled a few cages. Utilizing this car as a barometer, and after arranging for Joe to view it in person, the decision was made that a Nova would be the focus of the build, as well as the newest addition to Joe’s collection.

This time, however, the inspiration for the Nova would not come from a factory option package, but instead, from a custom 1980s Porsche that was known as the King Of The Mountain 911 RSR. Its sole purpose? To be the fastest thing on SoCal’s famed Mulholland Drive. Complete with a chopped roof, modified suspension, and a built engine, it was designed to be the fastest thing on tarmac, not the racetrack. With that car in mind, work began and Joe’s Nova started to take shape.

General Motors got involved with a new supercharged LT4 crate engine along with a six-speed manual transmission. The engine should make upward of 640 bhp, and with that new manual gearbox, the Nova will be a riot to drive when complete.

Joe was very specific on wanting an independent rear suspension, so for that, Steve turned to Art Morrison Enterprises of Eugene, Oregon. Front and rear subframes were sourced with the rear containing a multi-link IRS with a Strange S60 case and a 3.54 gearset. The package is good for more than 1,000 hp and uses stout mono-tube shocks with C6 Corvette ZR1 hubs at all four corners. After the original chassis and floorpans were modified, the subframes were welded in permanently, allowing for everything to be tucked neatly underneath and, thus, give the Nova an impressive 7.5 inches of ground clearance. A 2×4-inch rail was then inserted and welded at a distance of 2 inches inboard from the rocker panel, with its purpose being to aid in overall stiffness and additional side-impact protection.

Steve then turned his attention to the interior, and working with Eric Brockmeyer Designs, came up with an intriguing idea. During his research, he came across a dash insert that was used by famed hot rodder Don Yenko in his Corvair Stinger. It was based on the one found in the 1966 Corvair Corsa and served as a great starting point. After obtaining and massaging one accordingly (that means a lot of metal fabrication), he was able to fuse it with the first 6 inches of the original Nova dash extending from the base of the windshield. As the Corvair is narrower than the Nova, the dash also had to be widened 2 inches and required additional metalwork to accommodate a custom steering column from Flaming River. The SpeedHut gauges employ green backlighting, combined with a 1960s-era GM font.

Four custom HVAC vents mimic the look of original GM Astro vents and were fitted at the outer and inner portions of the dash. Above the vents lives the Vintage Air control panel that will be further modified (remember, this car isn’t done yet). The goal is to change the face and incorporate a black sheet with green ambient lighting, along with a clear piece of Lexan over its top to keep the look and feel based in the 1960s.

From the vent control, your eyes are drawn to a large rectangular door with the word Bellanova (“Beautiful Nova”) in billet script. A small tab allows one to slide that door down, revealing a double DIN-sized flat screen. Steve’s reasoning was that he didn’t want a modern piece of tech ruining the overall vibe, so he needed a way to keep it hidden. Door panels and modified Corbeau seats were added, per Steve and Eric’s design. The stock Nova window cranks and door handles were then gifted to the trash and replaced with those found on a 1964 Chevelle/Oldsmobile to further enhance the cabin.

With the basics in place, Steve had Joe visit his shop to plant his ass in a mildly secured seat. With the column still loose, his crew custom-fit every aspect of Joe’s driving position so he fit perfectly in the cabin. We’re talking about final seat and pedal fitment, shifter position, armrests, and so on—custom-tailored to the client. “How can you make someone spend a massive amount of money and the guy can’t even fit in his own car?” he asks with a growl.

We can’t help but agree.

For wheels, Joe wanted something tough yet simple, and these HRE CL305 beauties fit the bill perfectly. Done up with a polished hoop and brushed titanium centers in sizes 18×9.5 and 19×12.5, they give the Nova a canyon-carving, street-fighter look. Thanks to a mild mini-tub, they also allow for the running of massive 355-series Pirelli P-Zero tires out back. An oversized brake kit from Baer with six-piston calipers takes care of the stopping duties.

Believe it or not, the chassis and dash were actually conceived before the body. Now remember when I said that the original concept had been part custom 911 and part Z/28-inspired Nova? Well, that’s where it stopped. Steve began to have concerns about the widebody concept he had been visualizing. He thought that by the time the Nova was fully built, the fender-flare trend would be over. He went back to the drawing board and came up with new body lines that transform the car into something that look so much better than anything that ever left the factory.

If you have a hard time visualizing where those new contours come from, think 1969 Camaro and try to keep your head from exploding. At first, Steve was going to utilize a wheel arch similar to that of the Camaro, but he then looked at those glorious spears that run over the wheels and down the quarters, and thought, “Yep, that’s the way to go.”

The lines of a 1969 Camaro are a stunning piece of design that give the car a sense of motion while it’s standing still, and Steve wanted to capture that vibe. Once the design was mocked up in bare sheetmetal, Steve and his team realized it was cooler than they’d ever dreamed possible.

Steve also noted that balancing out how high the wheelwells were going to sit in regards to the fender spears took quite a bit of time because, in actuality, they created an entirely new body line. Another issue was that stock Camaro fenders come out to a peak at the wheelwell and then dive back in, whereas the Nova panels lay flat. The Camaro panels are so different, in fact, that the Nova gained an additional 3 inches in width without Steve and his team having to stretch or flare anything. The result turned out to be a beautifully reimagined Nova that now has a stunning Coke-bottle shape when viewed from the rear.

Two spoilers from a split-bumper Camaro were cut and widened to fit the rear haunches of the Nova. A modified cowl hood and the door handles from a 1969 Camaro were thrown into the mix as well. It’s insane to think about the amount of research, testing, and fabrication that have gone into this car to make it look like it came this way from the factory. As it stands, Steve reckons there are at least 1,000 hours of metalwork into the Nova as you see it here, and it was all done by hand by Joey Angelo, who shares shop space with Mick Jenkins, the guy who will eventually paint the car.

Knowing when to pull back in regards to design is also a must, according to Steve. “As modified as that car is, it’s also an example in restraint. There were a lot of people who would say, ‘Oh, you should also put Camaro bumpers on it.’”

Steve pauses for a moment, pondering the idea with a look of distaste.

“No! I wanted it to be a Nova, and those big bumpers are part of the Nova. If you put thin bumpers and expose a roll pan in the back, now it’s a Camaro Nova. And even though some may say that about the sides, it’s simply not. Instead, it’s just a better-looking Nova,” he explains.

Anyone who has ever spoken to Steve can attest he’s a passionate man. Although he can seem a bit eccentric and boisterous at times, he’s also one of the most committed builders I’ve ever had the privilege of spending time with. As this is written, Joe’s Nova isn’t set to debut in a finished state until mid-2019. When complete, it’ll be coated in Lexus Atomic Silver paint, still have a black interior (with some hidden surprises), and the underside will have a treatment that, according to Steve, “will look absolutely striking.”

To this, we have no doubt, except to say that now, after getting a little taste of what’s to come, Joe Rogan’s 1969 Chevrolet Nova will be one of our most anticipated builds of 2019.

Links: Eric Brockmeyer Designs http://www.brockmeyerdesign.com/ Pure Vision https://www.purevisiondesign.com/ Joe Rogan Website https://www.joerogan.com/ Art Morrison Enterprises http://metalworksclassics.com/art-morrison/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIp4mM-86L3wIVhdlkCh1hew98EAAYASAAEgLoyvD_BwE

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from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/joe-rogans-1969-nova-shows-how-a-third-generation-nova-could-have-looked/ via IFTTT

[parabcllums]

⌜  TOM HARDY, CIS MALE, HE / HIM   |   charlie boy by the lumineers, melancholic, the maudlin   ⌟    ⏤   blink and you’ll miss ADRIAN STEPHANOS TREVOR, the THIRTY SEVEN year old son of DIANA PRINCE & STEVE TREVOR ! they’re an INDEPENDENT JOURNALIST & STARBUCKS BARISTA in town, and i’ve always found them to be pretty RIGHT-MINDED & MUNIFICENT, though i’ve heard that they can also be really IDIOSYNCRATIC & SELF DESTRUCTIVE. i don’t think getting their way is a smart thing to do - everyone knows that their ability is ENHANCED CONDITION. you can check out his stats HERE & his pinterest board HERE.

     wasn’t no HARM in him.              you’d give him a FLOWER, he’d keep it FOREVER.

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warning for talk of gang activities ( including gbh ), prisons, the army ( including bombs, trauma sustained while serving, consequences - mentally & physically OF serving ), more gang talk… a lot of

ah , here he is . this motherfucker. what a tool.

meet ADRIAN STEPHANOS TREVOR. he’s thirty seven years old, a twin, an older brother, a disappointment son. these days, he works as a starbucks barista and writes just enough articles in a year to be able to continue calling himself an “”independent journalist”” - but once upon a midnight dreary, ya boy was an army brat, and a little more recently, he was a member of one of london’s east end gangs.

diana prince and steve trevor were GOOD PARENTS. they WERE. when steve came back to life, he was DONE with fighting, and diana never could be. they found a middle ground, in their happiness, with steve staying in london where he ultimately raised the kids they had together, and diana continuing her hero work - the official term “co parenting”, though at times, her absence was felt. but not enough to be an excuse. adrian never doubted for one moment of his life that he was LOVED, and that his parents were ALWAYS going to be there for him. the path that adrian ultimately went down is thanks to nothing more than the environment that he grew up in, and the inherited need to DO RIGHT by the people he cared about.

it wasn’t hard for him to fall in with the wrong crowd of people, when he was younger. the east end has always been home to a whole variety of types, but if you were the sort of teen that adrian was - hot headed, quicker to throw a punch than he was talk it out, pretty bright, but never willing to apply himself - you were destined to draw the WRONG sort of attention. he was rebelling, for no particular reason, and in afterschool detention, he met the people that would shape his early life. they weren’t the gang. they liked to THINK of themselves as such, but they were just kids playing pretend - they walked the walk and they talked big but they weren’t QUITE there, but there enough that adrian got himself in to quite a bit of trouble.

he thought the world of them. this small squad of kids all around his age became like FAMILY, and he was willing to do anything, or go anywhere, if it meant keeping them in his eyes on them and maybe, keeping them out of trouble. to this day, he’ll say that’s how it started - he just wanted to keep his FRIENDS out of trouble. they were already in so much of it. how that led to destruction of property, petty vandalism, THE GREVIOUS BODILY HARM THAT GOT THEM ALL ARRESTED, no one really knows. likewise, to this day, no one from that gang of schoolkids has ever broken their silence on who exactly did the DAMAGE to that guy that pressed charges after being beaten half to death. it had to be one of them, but the police thought it was all of ‘em. when no one would reveal the truth, adrian and his “friends” all faced the same punishment. TWO YEARS, in her majesty’s prison woodhill - a young offenders institution willing to accept kids younger than eighteen, where adrian was to spend the latter half of his fifteenth year, his full sixteenth, and three months of his seventeenth.

loyalty to his troubled friends, all the better off for being locked behind bars, had gotten adrian stuck in the same situation. but loyalty, he learned in his time at woodhill, was currency. it was the difference between life or death.

it made sense, then - at least in HIS EYES - to join the british army. before his fall from grace, he had been seriously discussing the army cadets with steve. he’d kept in shape, had learnt some control over himself, and felt like that was where he BELONGED, upon release. before he knew it, he was EIGHTEEN years old and shipping out - and maybe it’s not right to say, but the army was probably the best place for him. for the next eight years, he did tours on and off, spending minimal time back home. sometimes, the only reason he even came back was for theora. and it was GOOD for him. it kept him off the streets. it kept him away from his old friends, and kept him from making new, worse ones. he had the routine that the young offenders institution had taught him. he had a place. a role. a reason, to keep getting up. by the time he was twenty seven, he was on the fast track to being someone BETTER -

his career came to a sudden end when the jeep that he and his team were driving in ran over a mine. he was one of an unlucky few - without his enhanced condition, he would have joined the rest in the AFTERLIFE. HE SURVIVED, but muscle and nerve damage meant that he lost the full use of his right leg, and maybe they would have given him a chance to try and improve, but no doctor was going to clear him for service again, thanks to the additional traumatic brain injury sustained. he was in a coma for a week. when he woke up… his general cognitive function was sure never to return to where it once was. he IMPROVED. he worked on it, in vain, hoping that he could still go back. but his memory was always going to be impaired. his brain was always going to be shot.

he was honorably discharged and he returned to the east end, a self professed failure.it only got worse. he wasn’t getting out of the house. he wasn’t taking visitors. diana and steve, theora, they could only do so much - and when he started to go down to the local, again, they thought that it was GOOD, that he was starting to come back to himself a bit. the truth was, he was back in contact with old friends. he was rubbing shoulders with the WRONG sort of people. he was getting himself INTO TROUBLE, again - putting himself into a difficult position of starting down the same path that had landed him in the youth institute, years before.

and then he got MARRIED. he never even told his mother. he had never thought of this particular old friend in that way until he DID, and he needed SOMEONE - ANYONE, back then, to latch onto. looking back, it was unfair. she was in a position of having to care for him, and deal with his WORST moods, which no one should have been in. but they convinced themselves it was love. they convinced themselves, in spite of the arguing, that they BELONGED together - right up until they couldn’t DO it anymore.

he self medicated, after. he stopped trying to get BETTER. and he WALLOWED. the only person he truly had anymore, he felt, was his TWIN - but it was UNFAIR to rely on them, so much. adrian’s darkest impulses at this point in his life were almost impossible not to listen to, and in a way, he got LUCKY.

a light at the end of the tunnel appeared, when the news came of the BABY. HIS. the product of a brief liaison with a sharp tongued lady that had swept him off HIS feet - he was an AFTERTHOUGHT, the text from a forgotten number that told him about their SON told him that much. but he would have done more, if he’d known. he told himself that, over and over, as he tried to work out what to do - and after a lot of uhmng and ahing, he decided that the RIGHT thing to do, the ONLY thing, was to leave for america hot on her heels. it wasn’t IDEAL. but being in a new country, trying to put himself onto some sort of straight and narrow so that he could BE a dad… it gave him hope that at the end of the day, maybe he could dig himself out of the mess that he had made out of his life.

he got a job. he’d already started working as an independent journalist in england, another way to pay the bills, but he got another - and he got CLEAN. no more drugs, even if he was still as much of an alcoholic as ever. he tried to be better, for his kid, the ACCIDENT that he LOVED, before he even met him - and because if he could do it, if he could make himself better, then maybe he could still get out. maybe he could create a safety net to fall into, if he finally cut ties.

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

how to tell that underneath all his bad decisions he’s still actually a GOOD guy? his love of dogs. that’s it. he’s had a cool dozen over his entire life, but right now, he has THREE. paddy, his nine year old staffie x, dingle, his five year old irish wolfhound, and nessie, his six month old aussiedoodle. they’re all rescues, and they’re all.. so loved. he’s lowkey using them as therapy dogs without any sort of official therapy dog training cos why the fuck not.

he can’t concentrate as well as he used to be able to. he struggles to see how some actions he makes will have consequences. he speaks too low. he doesn’t always understand what’s being said to him, or what he’s saying. he doesn’t perceive things the same anymore, like certain tastes. he doesn’t catch the gist of certain patterns and things and struggles to interpret certain data correctly, sometimes. he doesn’t have great depth perception. he’s more susceptible to bouts of severe depression and irritability, he suffers from a severe sleep disorder, he’s not great with loud noises, he still walks with a incredibly pronounced limp, and he suffers chronic pain. he didn’t leave the army unscathed.

i cant believe thats all i got but its all i got.

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

his older sib ! his younger one ! the mother of his child ! all good connects ! 

friends from london.

friends he’s made since moving here.

someone please fucking hire him he’s a good gd bartender i dont even rmbr why i made him a barista but someone ,,pls,, get him out of that gd job

also SOMEONE please give his ass a platform… read his writing..he’s good…..hire him

ENEMIES ! from anywhere. for any reason. mayb they fought once. maybe he wrote the wrong name on their starbucks cup. go wild , the world is your oyster

justice league kids … literally any kids he could have grown up w like i dont think he was ALWAYS in england so … give him those #connections

gang connections ! if ur character is in a us based gang its always a possibility that they have a sort of .. brotherhood.. whatever u call that with the east end one that adrian is stuck in , so , hmu

also , army ppl. they could have served together. maybe.

army ppl he def didnt serve with but who he.. is..jealous of

or who he wants to help if theyve got it #rough cos yeah he’s been there

lit just…….plot..w.him