My favourite marvel hc is Pre-serum Steve being invited/sneaking into the “coloured areas” to sit with friends, going to parties, and generally being in places where he ‘shouldn’t be.’
Like he’s the most non threatened looking white boy so if someone doesn’t know him it’s like eh whatever but most people know that’s the scrawny kid from Brooklyn always fighting(getting his ass kicked by) bigots when they say stupid shit so everyone just lets him chill out.
The first time he ever sees you, you’re swathed in a lab coat and standing in front of a panel of S.H.I.E.L.D. administrators — tattooed knuckles fly through the air as you explain the importance of upgrading and up-keeping the labs DNA analysis machinery. You’re speaking with excitement, colored brows rising higher on your face as you smile and laugh and rock from toe to toe in your platforms.
The rings in your nose glint in the light of the conference room and Steve thinks he’s definitely not ready for that, not for sleeves of tattoos and citrus colored hair and nose rings.
But, you smile again and catch his eyes and Steve thinks maybe he is ready for that. Because you’re as bright as the August sun and your hair reminds him of lemonade, and summer is his favorite season — and he really likes lemonade.
—— steve breaks, you try and fix him. fyi, this fic is pretty dark, pretty emotional, pretty heavy tbh… u wanna get the full effect? listen to “two evils” by bastille while reading to get punched in the fucking heart!
Atlas drops the world.
And Steve Roger’s knees buckle, fingers slipping, and he cracks like weathered marble. So suddenly, he isn’t so super and he’s no hero and he can’t hold on to that tow-rope and that car plunges off the highway overpass and he can hear that mother screaming on the way down. Her kids are screaming, too, but they’re watching the man who held up the world drop theirs.
He knows you’re awake when he pushes through the doors of your apartment.
You have a bad habit of laying awake, listening to the creaks of the old Brooklyn apartment complex. You wait for him; it’s a habit you can’t break because some nights you’re afraid he will and you won’t be awake, won’t be there to piece him back together.
He drops his bag at the door – his uniform is inside, still caked with debris and blood. Blue eyes look tired and cold, and you know that it’s one of those nights.
You sit up, illuminated by the glow of your alarm clock, and Steve’s steps are heavy. He collapses onto the bed, hands on his knees and head in his hands. The bed frame creaks with a mournful wail.
“… Steve?”
He doesn’t speak – he can’t, really, because he doesn’t want to cut you on his broken edges.
This is scares you into moving.
The sheets run like a river around you and you slip to the ground before him; the rug burns your knees and your fingers shake a bit as they wind into his jeans – you’ve been here before, hazy with lust and enamored with the strength of the man before you.
But, now, lust is lost and you struggle to hold up your world.
“Steve,” you say, coaxing and soft, “Steve, it’s okay.”
He pulls his face from his hands and you see the angry ribbons of flesh along his palms when he does. His eyes are rimmed with a mournful regret; he doesn’t want you to see him like this. He doesn’t have to say it. The shame in his posture does.
You rise on your knees, nightgown slipping off your shoulder as you sway into his arms. Steve winces when you speak – it’s so gentle, so loving. He doesn’t deserve it.
“O, Captain, my Captain,” you whisper, lips pressed to the cut of his cheekbones, “What happened?”
Your fingers dip into the golden tufts along his scalp, but when he shakes his head and hiccups with a suffering sob, you rescind the touch and rock back to the floor like a falling tide.
It’s fear that warrants the reaction – you’ve never seen him so much as crack. Steve Rogers is ever-unwavering, ever-present, ever-fixed. He is so very much Atlas, shouldering the weight of the world.
And Atlas dropped the world.
And so you move, standing and turning the lights on and pulling yourself together because he needs you to be ever-unwavering, ever-present, ever-fixed.
Steve is crying now – angry, frustrated, pissed sobs that tear themselves out of his throat and you scramble to sweep him into a hard hold. You press your fingers into his hair the way he does when you’re having a panic attack.
It coaxes a breathe out of his lungs, and after what feels like forever, he stops.
He goes silent.
And your fingers shake with panic.
“Steve,” you say his name again like a prayer, “Talk to me.”
He searches for the words, only finding them when you’ve kissed his cheek the second time.
“I made a mistake today,” he utters, “It cost a mother her life.”
Sometimes you forget that he’s not invincible. Steve is not made of marble and he’s not Atlas. He’s human, and under the sinews of super-soldier muscles is a man who yearns for peace and a good night’s rest. He’s seen war and crawled from the fires of it changed.
You don’t press further, but instead urge him up and strip him of his clothes that smell too much like smoke and gasoline and his motorcycle. He complies wordlessly, shredding those bits of the outside world in favor of your touch and slips into bed beside you with cold hands.
You reach over him, pulling the chain on your bed lamp and smothering the studio apartment in darkness again. Steve watches you shift in the moonlight; you look worried and he feels guilty. Your eyes are wide, trained on him.
You’re quiet for a while – until his breathing evens out and his hands begin to move in slow circles on the small of your back.
You tuck yourself close to his ribs.
“You know I love you very much, right?”
Steve makes a sound; it’s soft and pressed into your hair. It’s enough – he doesn’t feel better but he knows he won’t for days.
“And you’re a good man,” you whisper, “But, you’re a man. You make mistakes, and you care. And that’s why I love you.”
He needs to hear it some days, and when Atlas drops the world, you’re there to lessen the blow. You bear the weight for a while, shoulder his burden, bend under the breakage.
—— steve breaks, you try and fix him. fyi, this fic is pretty dark, pretty emotional, pretty heavy tbh… u wanna get the full effect? listen to “two evils” by bastille while reading to get punched in the fucking heart!
Atlas drops the world.
And Steve Roger’s knees buckle, fingers slipping, and he cracks like weathered marble. So suddenly, he isn’t so super and he’s no hero and he can’t hold on to that tow-rope and that car plunges off the highway overpass and he can hear that mother screaming on the way down. Her kids are screaming, too, but they’re watching the man who held up the world drop theirs.
He knows you’re awake when he pushes through the doors of your apartment.
You have a bad habit of laying awake, listening to the creaks of the old Brooklyn apartment complex. You wait for him; it’s a habit you can’t break because some nights you’re afraid he will and you won’t be awake, won’t be there to piece him back together.
He drops his bag at the door – his uniform is inside, still caked with debris and blood. Blue eyes look tired and cold, and you know that it’s one of those nights.
You sit up, illuminated by the glow of your alarm clock, and Steve’s steps are heavy. He collapses onto the bed, hands on his knees and head in his hands. The bed frame creaks with a mournful wail.
“… Steve?”
He doesn’t speak – he can’t, really, because he doesn’t want to cut you on his broken edges.
This is scares you into moving.
The sheets run like a river around you and you slip to the ground before him; the rug burns your knees and your fingers shake a bit as they wind into his jeans – you’ve been here before, hazy with lust and enamored with the strength of the man before you.
But, now, lust is lost and you struggle to hold up your world.
“Steve,” you say, coaxing and soft, “Steve, it’s okay.”
He pulls his face from his hands and you see the angry ribbons of flesh along his palms when he does. His eyes are rimmed with a mournful regret; he doesn’t want you to see him like this. He doesn’t have to say it. The shame in his posture does.
You rise on your knees, nightgown slipping off your shoulder as you sway into his arms. Steve winces when you speak – it’s so gentle, so loving. He doesn’t deserve it.
“O, Captain, my Captain,” you whisper, lips pressed to the cut of his cheekbones, “What happened?”
Your fingers dip into the golden tufts along his scalp, but when he shakes his head and hiccups with a suffering sob, you rescind the touch and rock back to the floor like a falling tide.
It’s fear that warrants the reaction – you’ve never seen him so much as crack. Steve Rogers is ever-unwavering, ever-present, ever-fixed. He is so very much Atlas, shouldering the weight of the world.
And Atlas dropped the world.
And so you move, standing and turning the lights on and pulling yourself together because he needs you to be ever-unwavering, ever-present, ever-fixed.
Steve is crying now – angry, frustrated, pissed sobs that tear themselves out of his throat and you scramble to sweep him into a hard hold. You press your fingers into his hair the way he does when you’re having a panic attack.
It coaxes a breathe out of his lungs, and after what feels like forever, he stops.
He goes silent.
And your fingers shake with panic.
“Steve,” you say his name again like a prayer, “Talk to me.”
He searches for the words, only finding them when you’ve kissed his cheek the second time.
“I made a mistake today,” he utters, “It cost a mother her life.”
Sometimes you forget that he’s not invincible. Steve is not made of marble and he’s not Atlas. He’s human, and under the sinews of super-soldier muscles is a man who yearns for peace and a good night’s rest. He’s seen war and crawled from the fires of it changed.
You don’t press further, but instead urge him up and strip him of his clothes that smell too much like smoke and gasoline and his motorcycle. He complies wordlessly, shredding those bits of the outside world in favor of your touch and slips into bed beside you with cold hands.
You reach over him, pulling the chain on your bed lamp and smothering the studio apartment in darkness again. Steve watches you shift in the moonlight; you look worried and he feels guilty. Your eyes are wide, trained on him.
You’re quiet for a while – until his breathing evens out and his hands begin to move in slow circles on the small of your back.
You tuck yourself close to his ribs.
“You know I love you very much, right?”
Steve makes a sound; it’s soft and pressed into your hair. It’s enough – he doesn’t feel better but he knows he won’t for days.
“And you’re a good man,” you whisper, “But, you’re a man. You make mistakes, and you care. And that’s why I love you.”
He needs to hear it some days, and when Atlas drops the world, you’re there to lessen the blow. You bear the weight for a while, shoulder his burden, bend under the breakage.
When he eats you out, it scratches against your spread legs, and adds this extra little burn that’s feels so fucking good omg
He’ll grab handfuls of your ass to lift you where he wants to, and he’ll keep your there as he licks insistently inside you, his fingers are teasing at your clit and he’s lapping at you like a man starved until you’re wet and dripping down his chin
He wants to feel you cum on his tongue, and he won’t stop until you can’t control yourself and you wrap your legs around his head to keep him there
He loves that shit btw
Thinks it’s so hot when you’re so desperate for him, grinding down on his face, getting that extra fiction from his beard
While sit there and lap at you slowly as you come down, his tongue giving those broad strokes, your hips twitching from being so oversensitive
He kisses your thighs sweetly when he’s done
Then he’ll come up and kiss you so you can taste yourself on him, moving his lips down your body
It tickles when he kisses you but in a really good way
Will do that thing when he kisses you where he rubs his face all over yours until you’re laughing
He knows what his beard does to you mkay
But the absolute best angle for him to get at you is when you’re above him okay
Rocking down on his face, so you can feel that beard scrape all over your thighs as he gets you messy between your legs
N he’s moaning so loud bc he loves the taste of you sliding against his tongue back and forth like that
Reach down and grab his hair too, to pull his face more into your cunt, fuck yourself harder against him, practically riding his face at this point
When you come around him it’s amazing
Listen Steve alternates between staying clean shaven and letting it grow out
But you know when that beard comes around he’s going to spend most of his time between your splayed thighs
warnings: fluff and some curses and its long because i cannot control myself
everyone is always talking about how Bucky is touch starved but what about that lil punk Steve Rogers
Steve Rogers may be that bitch™ that is petty and dramatic and doesn’t follow all the rules but my boy is also that person that is so classically reserved
yeah he picked fights with jerks on the block because his temper is more finicky than momma june on a hot summer day
but this boy is so polite and such a gentleman to a t because that is how he was raised and how he thinks it should be and he would rather perish than disrespect how his mama taught him how to treat a lady
and we all know that my poor baby skinny steve was never touched by a woman in his adult life
(i have so many feelings about this and im trying to articulate it in the best way that i can)
my mans steve rogers is so classic and poster boy USA (which also explains a lot)
i mean have you seen his stance? all broad shoulders and tall and shit, arms by his side or hands neatly folded it gets me so frustrated
he is so rigid sometimes and sprung like a motherfucking coil
(remember The Avengers Steve Rogers? that mofo)
i think that like Bucky, sometimes affectionate touch is so foreign to him
he’s way more open about it than his best friend, because we have seem him interact with other team members but there is still something so reserved about him
handshakes and back pats and things that qualify as friendly are a no-brainer for his big lug but imagine when he starts getting affection from his SO
i believe that Steve Rogers is a classic man–in that he believes certain PDA should be private and reserved to the bedroom
at least to start
the relationship starts off slow because Steve Rogers is classic and a gentleman but also because he has no idea what the frickity frack he’s doing
like the boy is nervous
“maybe a movie and some dinner?” “steve are you asking me to netflix and chill?”
can you just imagine that face he makes for a minute for me pls&thankyou
but dates consist of a healthy mix of actually going out and staying in
at first it’s very light, very basic, like hand holding or an arm around your shoulders, or a gentle hand on your back
a) because it’s very natural for him as the protector and b) something affectionate that is not so foreign to him because some of these pass off as friendly to others and that is what he is used to
steve is not overly affectionate by nature but is protective by nature so that’s where a lot of his touch comes from
you start small by leaning into his side ever so slightly or by grabbing his bicep when you’re holding hands and he loves that™
steve’s biceps are a kink all on their own, don’t fight me on this
i think that physical touch with steve is slow and steady because of his classic and reserved nature
he always somehow has a hand on you whenever you two are together and it varies on where depending on if you’re out in public or with people or by yourself. it varies from hands interlaced to a hand on the small of your back to an arm around the back of your chair to a hand on your knee
chaste kisses to anywhere on your faces are to be expected but are the most pda he can manage and it makes him blush like crazy at the beginning
god pls bless me with this classic boi
he is comforted a lot by your touch and by feeling your skin, as you are with him so everything y’all do is dumbfucking cute and natural and makes that big dopey smile appear on his face
HOWEVER when you have your first good heated make-out session, boy is he done for
this motherfucker is wound so goddamn tight from years of being Steve Rogers™ and the Golden Boy™
he’s trying to be good and keep his hands on your face or sides but when you slip yours into his hair and give the slightest of tugs he fucking snaps
something between a groan and a whimper come out of him and that good boy Rogers image you have of him is tarnished in the best way
“rogers did you just growl at me?” steve blushes, “pls do that again”
it starts the exploration of What Else is Steve Rogers Hiding
simply put he absolutely adores your body. loves the curves and lines and blemishes and valleys and all it has to offer. tells you constantly and reaffirms it by kissing you everywhere
loves skin to skin contact more than anything
he damn near explodes the first time y’all are intimate
“steve are you blushing?”
loves sleeping skin to skin/shirtless together/naked, and sometimes when he’s feeling vulnerable he will ask you if its okay to sleep like that (your answer is always yes)
other times he simply puts his hand up your shirt and just strokes your skin
he loves being the big spoon and curling his arms around you, nuzzling his nose in the back of your neck. he’ll interlace your fingers or he loves holding onto the curve of your abdomen right below your breast
he loves when he lies on his back and you’re curled into him, he can hold you and stroke your back. bonus.
sometimes you’ll switch and he’ll use your boobs as pillows as he latches onto you like a big baby koala
the man can’t keep his hands off you™ and is literally always touching you
he holds your hand constantly and always plays with your fingers
he’s still reserved in front of the team but trusts them enough to let some things slip by
movie night in the tower? you two are curled together on the couch with a blanket. sitting around chatting or reading? he’s got your legs over his and is stroking them. having lunch on the roof or balcony? he’ll push some hair out of your face or bring your intertwined hands and kiss your knuckles absentmindedly
the man loves. to. touch. you.
in front of everyone else its cute and affectionate and contained but when no one else is around it is out of pure need to be as physically close to you as possible
he loves you so fucking much it makes his heart sing and he always feels better when you’re around and when you’re touching him
he’s had so many people ripped away from him that he needs that reassurance of touching you, it grounds him and reaffirms that you are here and that you are real
once when he just got back from a long mission everyone else had gone out but you had stayed behind with him and made dinner
he stood behind you and wrapped his big hands around you while you cooked and he just kind of curled around you, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach
once you finished eating and cleaned the dishes you two settle on the couch to watch a movie and he immediately relaxes as he wraps his arms around you
he’s like an enormous puppy tbh
you end up on your back and he’s nestled himself into you, head on your chest and arms around your middle as you run your fingers thru his hair while the other slips through his collar to rub his back
he melts and is practically puddy in your hands, passing out in minutes and you follow soon after
when everyone else gets back thats how they find you and everyone wants to take pictures but bucky (who is also protective of your relationship and privacy) tells everyone to leave you two be and so they do
but he snaps a picture and sends it to steve, knowing he’ll appreciate it. he also sends it to you
it becomes steve’s lock screen
please like/reblog and comment! send me more headcanons, i am a thirsty bitch™
The bedroom is dark when Steve steps in. Warm and drenched in your scent.
It calms his mind, the soft moonlight lighting up his home. Makes the cuts on his face and the gash on his cheekbone stop throbbing. It turns the bruising of his ribs into a phantom pain, an ache he can barely register.
He glances at the clock on the nightstand, notices how late it is. Setting his bag down as carefully as he can, he toes off his boots. Starts to step out of his suit as his eyes adjust to the inky air around him. Allows himself to look around until he sees the pile of blankets on the bed, moving slightly with your deep breaths.
It’s like he’s only been gone for a few minutes when he sees one of your hands lying limp over the side of the bed, the only part of your body he can see. It’s like the three weeks he spent away from you didn’t happen – like they were only a hazy dream. And now he’s waking up with you.
A/n: This was written for @sweetboybucky ‘s 1k challenge!! Rae is an absolute gem and if you want to read any amazingly soft and beautifully written fics – I strongly recommend hers 💕💕Also I wrote this so quickly?? This line just gave me so much inspiration…
“I look over at you and see sunshine.”
Winter – It was Steve’s least favourite season. A season that consisted of stale memories of a small boy, trapped in bed, shivering and weak and sick. He didn’t think he’d ever spent a winter – before the ice – in a healthy state. In Steve’s mind, winter was riddled with loneliness and fear.
The sky overhead was grey – not just grey, no, it was a harrowing mixture of charcoal, silver, gunmetal grey and stormy blue. A looming threat of darkness and downpour.
Though Steve knew he wasn’t that same boy, part of him remained – a part that made him anxious for the oncoming storm.
-such shyness and blushing and general adorableness
-he’d be such a gentleman (in public at least 😉
-he would love holding your hand
-hugging
-making sure you can never get hurt
-first date: he wouldent know if he should kiss you goodnight or what not so you just grab him and kiss him and then he simply lifts you off the ground and twirls you (one of your neighbours probably opens their door and just glares which makes you both blush)
-everyone would love you, all the Avengers would be super protective of you
-certain avengers (Tony) would constantly want to be around you because you’re awesome (and Steve would get kind of jealous that they have your time but he would never show it)
-the cutest dates
-he’d be such a romantic
-Nat would totally help plan super romantic dates because she’s the main shipper
-movie dates! gotta catch up on that pop culture
-he would love carrying you
-because he’s so big and you’re so smol
-lots of laughter
-falling asleep on his chest
-just major cuddles
-him sharing stories about the war
-having Bucky over for dinner at least once a week and the guest room in your’s and Cap’s house is pretty much Bucky’s
-slumber parties with Nat and Wanda (that usually end in them getting bored with doing girly things and taking you out clubbing)
-Steve feels worried about guys flirting with you, but at the same time, he completely trusts you and knows you would never leave him (and vice versa)
-’i love you’ ‘love you more’ ‘yeah right.’
-he’s just so big, he would always get you things from high shelves, or simply lift you up so you could reach them
-him teaching you how to fight (and it ends in laughter, playing, kissing and probably one of the other Avengers walking in on you because they’re nosy)
-other Avengers joking about times they’ve walked in on you and ‘the innocent Captain’ (he’s not really as innocent as everyone thinks TBH)
-(like hickies, but only where others wouldent see, no more low cut shirts for you)
-sitting together at Avenger meetings, holding hands under the table
-he looks at you with those adoring eyes
-just the most loving, stereotypical relationship ever
“I know.” A smirk rises to your face and Steve only quirks an eyebrow as you cross your arms on top of the countertop and lean forward, your stare intensifying on the blond on the other side of the kitchen island. “Steve, you have really nice boobs.”
Bucky chokes on his coffee from his place next to you. He coughs, but you don’t pay attention to him.
“Uhm,” the blush is clear on your boyfriend’s face and he tilts his head, “thanks?”
You hum, leaning back on the stool and bite your bottom lip as you stare at his pectorals in that tight blue tshirt. “They’re just so, squeezable.”
“Uhm–”
“I mean really, Steven, it’s almost rude.” You give him a teasing disapproving look before basically undressing him with your gaze. “I honestly think that you do it on purpose. It just makes me want to bite them and–”
Bucky’s stool screeches against the tile as he announces, “I’m leaving before this turns into a porno.”
Toad's Cave 