Sometimes I think about how genuine Bucky and Steve’s friendship is and how much Bucky must have loved Steve because just think about it. Bucky was very intelligent and excellent in school, he was a great athlete, he was attractive, he had everything to be one of those guys that are total assholes specially in times like the 40’s. Like, let’s be for real. In real life, people that have all those characteristics that pre-war Bucky had are not always the nicest, or at least, they don’t become best friends of people like Steve. Steve who had countless diseases, who was not very appealing to girls, who would always be ignored or taken for granted.
But Bucky did.
He became Steve’s best friend. He was always there since they were just little kids and as he grew bigger and noticed that his best friend didn’t so much, he still was always there. He always took care of him.
And maybe I like over analyzing his character so much, but that just made me think of what a great fucking person Bucky Barnes had to be to be considered by CAPTAIN AMERICA his best friend.
Even after all those years, even after Hydra, even after the serum, when Steve found out that Bucky was alive the first thing he wanted to do was to save him. And in Civil War he fought his own teammates and went against the government just for him.
Steve thought Bucky was worth it because Bucky was the first to think he was worth it.
How would my favorite Marvel men react to you having surgery.
I'm getting my gallbladder taken out in a couple of weeks, it will be my first surgery ever, so this is 100% self-indulgent. That's part of why I've been so absent this year, I've had an organ rebelling.
Doctor Stephen Strange
Will ask who your doctor is to see if he knows them. If not, he may send a referral to a trusted former colleague on your behalf. He's not letting you under the knife unless he knows you have a good surgeon.
Will tell you how routine the surgery is if you are starting to worry. Almost a bit blasé about your concerns, after all, bedside manner was never his strong suit as a surgeon. Plus, it really is a routine, laparoscopic procedure. Way less intricate & dangerous than neurosurgery.
1000% will try to micromanage everything once you're at the hospital prepping for or immediately out of surgery. He wants to see your chart. He wants to know what your most recent vitals are. Hell, he may have even asked if he can observe the surgery. Partly, it's him being overprotective, partly it's because he misses being a doctor.
Definitely breaking into the doctor's lounge for the good coffee, not the instant crap in the cafeteria.
After you are home, he will be vigilant about making sure you take your pain meds & will check your incisions to make sure everything is healing well. You are in very safe, if slightly neurotic hands.
Secretly, or not so secretly, enjoying getting to play doctor again to take care of you. Looking forward to when you are well enough that you can play doctor and patient the really fun way.
Bucky Barnes
May actually be a bigger mess than you are. Thanks to Hydra, medical anything makes his anxiety shoot through the roof. Now piled on top of that, he feels out of control & helpless to make you feel better.
Would have to be physically dragged out of your hospital room, so the hospital staff just lets the whole “visitors hours” thing slide.
The second you wake up, he is by your side asking if you need anything. Probably didn't sleep or even sit down the entire time you were in surgery.
If you even make an odd face, he's asking if you are in pain, and he has become a huge pain in the ass for your nurses.
May have thought about threatening your surgeon about if something went wrong.
Either guard dog mode, or he completely shuts down. There is no in between.
Afraid he's going to break you while you are recovering. Offers to sleep on the floor or on the couch just in case. Doesn't want to let you out of his sight until you are healed.
Steve Rogers
Tells you over and over how everything will be okay and that you are in good hands.
May tell you stories about how much hospitals and medical stuff has improved since he was so sick before the serum.
Reads up on your surgery and your doctors. He wants to understand as much as he can about what is going on. He probably has more questions for the doctor than you do.
Puts on a brave face for you but secretly will be a little nervous. He hates seeing you sick or in pain, and he can't help but worry a little bit.
Will respect hospital rules but will stay up until the very last minute of visiting hours are over. Knows the names of every nurse and doctor treating you.
Definitely has flowers or a stuffed bear for you as soon as you wake up from surgery.
Dotes on your every need once you are home and watches you like a hawk. The first few days, he doesn't even let you go to the bathroom by yourself. You can't get away with shortcutting your recovery under his eye.
Sam Wilson
Buys you a cute, silly stuffed version of whatever you are having surgery on to make you laugh. See my new stuffed sad gallbladder plush as reference here.
All the nurses love him, and he likes to crack jokes with all the staff. Offers to help with anything he can but mostly tries to stay out of their way.
Trying to make you smile all the way until they wheel you to the OR. He doesn't want you to be scared or nervous.
Like Steve, he will put on a brave face but will be nervous once you are in surgery. Lots of pacing back & forth. Lots of trips to the coffee machine.
Takes care of you once you are home but not quite as mother hen as Steve. Will let you judge what is best for you, but will 100% call you out if he sees you doing something the doctor told you not to.
Will also rat you out to your doctor if you don’t follow their instructions. He doesn't want to snitch, but he'd also rather not be the one to scold you.
Loki
Doesn't like the idea of someone operating on you. Trained surgeon or not, they are still just a simple Midgardian.
Doesn't like the hospital one bit. Comments on the color and decor, even the hideous hospital gown you have to wear. Partly to make you laugh, partly because it was all truly hideous.
If your surgeon even hesitates on a question you ask, Loki will assume they aren't the best and demand another doctor. You may have to talk him down a bit. He's a prince, after all, and he wants to make sure you are in the best hands possible.
The whole thing seems a bit barbaric to him. He would much have preferred using magic or Asgardian ways to heal you, but alas when on Midgard.
Secretly terrified something will happen to you, but would never tell you he's worried. Doesn't like that he can't do anything to help you.
Is not very used to taking care of people, and as royalty, he's the one used to being waited on, but he will try his best to do whatever you need him to do.
Will probably mostly ignore instructions from the doctor so you are in charge of that part of your care, but he will beg to accelerate your healing with his magic if he can.
Eddie Brock & Venom
Venom brings you chocolates, which he then eats after you tell him he can, and says not to worry because if the doctors don't take proper care of you he will bite off their heads and eat their brains.
Eddie is nervous but trying to be brave, so you won't be scared. It doesn't help that Venom keeps telling Eddie not to make you nervous, which then, in turn, makes him nervous. He will try to make jokes and keep you entertained however he can.
Eddie and Venom try not to argue while they wait for you to get done with surgery. The last thing you need is to wake up and find out that they ended up in the psych ward for talking to/arguing with themselves in the waiting room. They are on their best behavior.
Both of them try to wait on you hand and foot after you get home. You've had to eat several well-meaning but truly gross breakfasts in bed so as not to disappoint either of them. They mean so well, but neither of them can cook beyond tater tots.
You have woken up to Venom staring at you because “one of us has to watch you at all times until you are recovered”. He took that 100% seriously. He has also stuck tendrils under the bathroom door like cat paws.
One great thing about Venom is the fact that thanks to his tendrils, he can literally get anything you need from around the apartment in seconds without you or Eddie having to get up. This makes him one of the best nurses ever. All you have to do is hint that you want something and boom, it's there.
Set in a bit of the same universe as my Steve post from last year, which you can read here. Written in an imagine format.
Been struggling with some stuff, so if this is a bit more flat than usual, that's why. Happy October everybody.
Kinktober 2025 masterlist
After the experience in the shower, Steve and you had to figure out where that lead you. You had both been so into it, the feeling, the dynamic, the taste in Steves case, making it impossible to not do it again.
And Steve, who had always had to be in charge one way or another, liked giving it up to somebody he trusted. And that person just happened to be you. Doesn't matter if you are a hero, a civilian, or what, just that he is someone he can be vulnerable with.
Being able to return home to you and be Steve, or even less. To be your pet, your boy, whatever title you guys agree on, lifts much of the constant weight always on his shoulders.
You end up doing most of the research, since Steve seems like the kind of person to just go with the flow. Of course, he discusses limits and wants, but things like safewords aren't on his mind. He just knows he wants to submit to you, again and again. As long as you will have him.
At some point you order him to sit down, and Steve whos gotten pavloved into obeying and getting rewarded, kneels so prettily at your feet, hands on his knees, wagging the tail that isnt there.
It makes you crack a laugh, since you had just wanted him to sit beside you, but he is just so good that your lover always wants to be below you, be it in the bedroom or just in power.
Imagine Steves surprise when you present him with a stack of papers, all official and stapled together. Its expectations, rules, dynamics and what you both can expect out of a more permanent dynamic.
Steve feels himself go soft as he starts flicking through it, more focused on that than pleasure. But when he sees the list of kinks, rules and punishments, the blood starts rushing again.
It's easy to tell he's not fully reading it, a bit too focused on the fun parts and not the more boring dry stuff. “Read all of it Stevie” you chuckle, knowing he's just too excited. It doesn't stop you from grinding your heel into his hardness though, making him gasp and buck into the sudden pressure.
Nobody is surprised at how pretty Steve is like this, bottom lip pushed out in a slight bratty pout, his pupils blown and lashes clumping together from how wet his eyes get from being overwhelmed by feelings.
Not many know that Steve can be a brat when he wants to be. Most people forget that Steve Rogers was a little bastard, running around Brooklyn and picking fights in his younger years. Instead, people are blinded by the image that Captain America has become.
But you know better. Sure, Steve behaves most of the time, but there are times his brattiness shows, as he pushes back against the dynamic you both have been building, like he needs to know he's owned and be put back in his place.
“What, you don't wanna play with me?” you fake gasp, lifting your heel from where it has been grinding by an inch, maybe two.
“N-no. I wanna” he huffs, blowing out air as he looks down at the thick collection of papers. “All of it?” Steve finally gets out, almost whining, his knees shuffling against the floor as he tries not to push back up against you.
“All. Of. It.” you said, voice even and loaded, making sure he knows you mean it. He can sit there on the floor all night if that's what it takes, your lover will have to be as informed as you before you go anywhere extreme with this.
Steve doesn't look happy about it, clearly just wanting to hump against your foot and drool against your knee like he's done before, but for once he listens and actually starts looking through it.
To reward him, you press your heel back against his hardness, rubbing your foot back and forth in slow movements to not completely take his focus, but keep him warm and excited.
Thankfully for Steve, the super soldier has read a lot of documents, and is quick with it. Or, he is in the beginning, until he starts soaking through his jeans from your continuous rubbing and touching.
Theres a good 12 pages left as Steve slumps against your leg, huffing and moaning softly under his breath, his brows furrowed and lip shiny with spit.
You run a hand through his hair with a chuckle, even leaning down to press a featherlight kiss against his ear. “Come on Stevie, you're so close. Just a little more. You wanna make me proud, right?” you coo, feeling like an owner trying to motivate their pet sit or roll over.
Steve grunts a bit, but tries to go back to his task. It's clear he's struggling, especially as you start moving your foot in quicker, less planned motions. Your poor partners hips twitch and jolt, trying to fuck up against your touch as he rereads the same sentence over and over.
Every time he finishes a page, you make sure to praise him, rubbing his hair and scratching behind his ears, kissing his forehead or giving his dick a nice hard press. And if that makes it a little harder for him to start the next sentence, well, of course it does.
When Steve finally finishes it, the papers hit the floor with a thud as he wraps around your leg, shuffling his body so he can hump against your ankle.
All you can think about is that you are glad you stapled the papers, or else they would have been all over the place, as Steve moans louder and less controlled.
Finally, Steve can clench his eyes shut and rut himself to completion. When he's near the edge, Steve opens his clenched eyes and looks up at you, begging with his eyes if he can finish.
He read the section about needing to be allowed to spill, which makes you smile, knowing that even when he's being teased, Steve still follows orders. “Go on, give it to me, my cute sub” you snicker, feeling warmth in your chest at the way his eyes roll back at the simple title.
A breath puffs out of your lips as Steve tenses, lets out a drawn-out moan, before slumping against you, draping himself across your lap. There wasnt any need to get off for you, not right now at least. Seeing Steev get so worked up was enough. Instead, you rub his back, brush his hair, and mumble soft praise as he trembles through it.
You wonder what it will take for Steve to truly lean into the brat he has on the inside. His ass is perfect for spanking, so you really hope he breaks a couple of rules soon.
I think my new favorite thing is Steve carbon copy Peter.
Like, obviously not in looks, but in morals and personality, they are almost exactly the same.
So imagine some sort of shit happens that results in Peter explaining why he became a hero so young, and he says something like
Peter: I never want to hurt anybody, but someone has to stop all the people who actually DO want to hurt others, and I have the abilities to. When bad things happen and you can stop them, but you don’t, it’s on you.
Bucky, internally: omg omg omg its little Steve all over again OH MY GOD-
→ premise: you knew steve loved when you called him sir, how the honorific rolled off your tongue and lit a fire in the pit of his stomach. so maybe it wasn’t the best idea to call him sir in a mocking tone on a mission.
→ pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader
→ warnings: smut | 18+, sir kink, edging, fingering, mention of spanking, nicknames [princess, little one]
→ a/n: kinktober 16
Steve spent the whole ride back from the mission keeping a death grip on your thigh and facing forward with a deadpan stare. He wasn't per say mad at you but you knew you were in for it when you made it back to the base.
You had called him sir in a tone dripping with sarcasm and an eye roll when he gave you an order during the mission. The honorific wasn't new to you or Steve, it was something you learned about your boyfriend in the bedroom, he loved it when you called him sir. It wasn't a name he was called when he was a leader everyone just always called him cap.
So to hear it roll off your tongue in the middle of a mission in an almost mocking manner has his insides turning, cause it still sent that throb down through his cock.
He wasn't as mad that you said it in front of the others as he was with the way you said it. Yes because of the tone you got a laugh out of Tony in response but Steve didn't find it as amusing.
And that was how you ended up spread out on Steve’s bed, your thighs spread to accommodate your boyfriend's large frame between them. A stinging pain still lingering on your ass cheeks from the beginning half of your punishment, his rough palm. The latter half of your punishment was being relentlessly edged, Steve not allowing you to come no matter how many times you apologize sweetly and desperately. His long fingers were currently buried deep inside you curling upwards to hit that blissful spot deep inside you. That spot that has you squirming and crying out for release when he pulls them back right as your body tenses up and your orgasm is building, making you whine out at the loss of pleasure.
“Sir… pleasee ive been s’good i just need to cum, i promise i wont do it again” you whimper out, trying to grind your hips down on his fingers and fuck yourself on them or get him to move them. “See now i don't think you have, little one” he lightly shakes his head before he grabs ahold of your hip with his free hand. His fingers slowly pull out further making you let out a pathetic whine thinking he was stopping all together. But before you can protest or beg him not to, his fingers plunge inside you in a sharp thrust that has your head spinning. “Ahh~ Sir…pleasee m’gonna cum, wanna cum s’bad” you whine and mumble out, the hour or so of edging that has been going on has begun to make an ache settle in your core and not the good kind.
His fingers curl up again as they pound into you making your vision go blurry, your head spinning as your orgasm builds, growing more and more getting ready to crash into you. The sound of his chuckle rings in your ears and as fast as he pushes them in, Steve pulls his fingers back, not out but they stop their asslut of your g-spot. Your climax comes crashing down instead of over you, the building feelings dissipating in your stomach, your hips bucking and squirming.
“Sirrr pleasee it hurtss, neeed to cum” you cry out, your eyes screwing shut in slight pain as well as frustration.
”You wanted to be a little brat during the mission princess, this is all on you” he explains as his fingers slowly begin moving again though the switch in pace only has small gasps leaving your lips, your orgasm still far far away.
“I'm not done with you just yet, you gotta deal with the consequences to your actions little one” he cooed, leaning down to leave a small peck to your mouth before his free hands rubbed across your thighs that were starting to burn from being spread so wide for so long.
Steve had a long night planned ahead for you, though he did intend on letting you cum soon. He wouldn't be done even after that with you though, he was extremely worked up the entire ride back home. That three letter honorific does something to him he can't explain and he never wanted to hear you say it on a mission again. It's way too hard for him to keep his hands to himself when you do.
→ a/n: this is short, not proofread and kinda shit as im trying to rush to get back on track so maybe ill finish kinktober this year, i have hopefully one more post to do today, then just the last day which will either be posted on halloween or after after if im busy.
SUMMARY: Steve had always been scared of growing old, scared that his best days were behind him. But, when you run your fingers through the greying edges of his hair, he realises that the best days have yet to come.
WARNINGS: There’s nothing. This is pure fluff.
PROMPT: Fluff 5 — ‘You’re going grey, I kind of love it’.
REQUESTED BY: Anonymous.
NAVIGATION | MCU MASTERLIST | KO-FI
Steve doesn’t notice it at first.
You do, of course you do. You always notice the little things. The creases in his knuckles from holding himself too tightly during meetings. The tiny scar under his jaw that he never talks about. The way his eyes soften just a little every time he sees you first thing in the morning. You know his face like a story you’ve read a hundred times.
So, the grey stands out.
It’s not even much. A whisper of silver at his temples, just above the ears. It catches the light when he turns his head too quickly. Subtle. Almost charmingly unfair, how even ageing seems to suit him. You watch him for a while across the kitchen one morning, his back turned, sleeves rolled, hands working quietly to press coffee grounds into a French press. That’s when you notice it again, the faint shine of grey in the morning sun. And something in your chest tugs.
You love him. That much is easy.
Loving Steve Rogers is like standing in the sun, steady, unwavering, quietly powerful. It isn’t always simple, though. He carries too much, too quietly. Sometimes he forgets he’s allowed to be soft. He forgets he doesn’t have to be Captain America with you. Only Steve.
You lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re going grey.”
He pauses, coffee halfway poured, and glances at you over his shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
There’s a beat where his expression doesn’t change. He studies you, almost too carefully, like he’s trying to find out if you mean it. You know that look. You’ve seen it a thousand times. He’s not vain, not even close, but he worries in his own quiet way. Worries he’s missed too much, wasted too much time. Worries you’ll wake up one day and realise the past has aged him in ways you haven’t noticed yet.
“I kind of love it,” you say, voice softer now.
Steve’s eyes linger on yours a second longer than they need to. Then the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile yet, but close. He sets the mug down. Walks towards you like he’s considering something.
You don’t move. Let him come to you. He stops a little too close, close enough to smell the coffee on his skin and the faint scent of your shampoo from the night before still clinging to the collar of his sweatshirt. His hand finds your waist. Yours go to his chest like they belong there.
“You mean that?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again.
Your thumb brushes the soft cotton over his heart. “I mean it.”
“I feel old,” he admits.
“You are old. Very old.”
That earns you a quiet laugh. His head drops forward, his forehead brushing yours. “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome.” You wrap your arms loosely around his middle, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “You’re also stupidly handsome, aggravatingly kind, and built like a sculpture, so if you think a few grey hairs are gonna scare me off, you’re delusional.”
His hand smooths down your back, settling at the small of it. “I didn’t say I was scared.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You feel him exhale. His breath is warm against your hair.
It’s always like this, with him, love held in actions rather than declarations. A pressed kiss to your hairline. A hand lingering at the small of your back when crossing the street. A wordless glance across a crowded room. You know he loves you, in the quiet, devoted way that he loves all things, deeply, and without asking for much in return.
Still, there are parts of him you wish he didn’t keep so buried.
“I think it suits you,” you murmur. “The grey. It makes you look… lived-in.”
He snorts. “Thanks again.”
“No, I mean it. You’re not twenty. You’ve survived things. Seen more than most people could imagine. It’s written on you. And I think there’s something beautiful about that.”
When he pulls back, there’s something unreadable in his face. His hand lifts to your jaw, thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone. You don’t speak. Let him look. Let him think.
“You always know what to say,” he murmurs. “It’s annoying.”
“I know.”
He kisses you then. Not rushed, not slow either, just real. Familiar. Like the comfort of your shared bed after a long day. Like the hush of midnight when the world outside is too loud. You kiss him back, threading your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the strands slip between your fingers.
When he pulls back, you let your hand drift to the silver at his temple.
“I mean it,” you say again. “I really do love it.”
Something in his posture shifts. Like he lets himself believe you this time.
He presses another kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then finally your forehead. “You’re biased.”
“Utterly.”
The grey spreads, slowly.
You notice it more when you’re lying beside Steve, tracing your fingers through his hair absently while he talks about something in that low, thoughtful voice. It suits him, like you said. He’s softened into himself over the last few years, less rigid, more at ease. The pressure of the shield is gone now, some given to Sam, some tucked away in museum glass or behind classified files. He still trains, still helps where he can, but it’s not the same. He lives now.
You see it in the way he sleeps in more. The way he reads on the porch, half-glasses perched low on his nose, feet up. The way he looks at you like he’s memorising every second.
Sometimes, it still hits you. That you get this version of him. The one who gets to stay. To grow old. He never expected that.
One night, months later, you’re curled into his side on the sofa. There’s a film playing, but neither of you are really watching it. His arm is around you, thumb tracing the rhythm of his thoughts against your arm. You glance up. The light from the TV flickers against his face, silver catching again in his hair.
“Do you still feel old?” you ask softly.
He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingers on the screen, even though you’re sure he hasn’t registered a frame in the last hour.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “Not in a bad way. Just… it’s different.”
“Do you mind it?”
“I used to. Thought I’d lost too much time to earn it. Now…” He looks down at you. His thumb stills. “Now it feels like something I’m allowed.”
You reach up, touch the grey again. He leans into your hand like it’s second nature. It is, now.
“You more than earned it, Steve.”
He kisses the inside of your wrist. “I’m lucky you think so.”
There’s more you want to say, about the life you’ve built, the ordinary routines that feel extraordinary because they include him. The way you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, like he’s still trying to believe it’s real. You want to tell him that he’s beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with the way he looks. That time hasn’t taken anything from him that you care about.
Instead, you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Let your thumb graze the corner of his mouth.
“You’re going grey,” you whisper again. “And I still kind of love it.”
This time, he smiles fully. “Good.”
He kisses you, slower this time. Drawn out. Tasting of love, of time shared, of mornings still to come.
Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who coasted the city and was on a mission to find the best spaghetti and meatballs with you.
‣ "Verdict?"
‣ Steve's gaze looked right past the fork held before your lips, watching your mouth and expression twist and turn like the spaghetti noodles around the fork prongs prior.
‣ "It's good... not great. The sauce isn't as thick as I'd like for it to be... but it tastes fresh? Basil leaves adds a nice balance to the acidity... but the meatballs are a little overcooked. What do you think, Steve? I'm too picky, aren't I?"
‣ It was written all over your face. Satisfied, but not impressed.
‣ Unlike the last restaurant where you two had the misfortune of eating bloated pasta noodles and watery red sauce, this place was edible and especially generous with their serving.
‣ Decent, if Steve had the chance of writing a one-worded review for the paper.
‣ "You're not picky, just particular, but I agree. Red sauce is good—Padrino's still better. Meatballs are pretty tough, aren't they... but I do like the flavor of them. You can tell they used a fattier mixture compared to the rest. A lot of garlic too, which makes up for the lack of it in the sauce..."
‣ "Not as good as Mama's?"
‣ "The moment we find a spaghetti that's as good as your mother's, is the day we find a way to squeeze water from stone, (M/N)."
‣ "Don't mention that to her. I don't need her ego to be any more inflated than it already has been."
‣ Dates like these were never boring.
‣ No matter how many times Steve had watched your face wrench in disdain or light up in surprise, he always found it a joy to watch you participate in this arbitrary—now routinely—idea of critiquing spaghetti and meatballs so earnestly.
‣ To be fair, it wasn't like you two had a slew of options to make dates seem... more like dates.
‣ In fact, there shouldn't have been any options offered on the table in the first place.
‣ Any intimations that you and Steve were on a date would've been subject to a location change.
‣ Most likely, a candle-lit dinner in a jail-cell, dined over cold hard concrete, and Steve was sure the spaghetti and meatballs served there was going to clutch last place in his ranking.
‣ Though, Steve was hopeful that the romance would still be alive and well had it ever come to that point.
‣ You had a thing for restaurants with a gimmick.
‣ "Seven out of ten sounds about right?"
‣ "What about dessert? We can't leave without getting the tiramisu, Steve."
‣ "Since when did we factor in desserts for the scoring?"
‣ "What—since we started. Don't tell me you've been only ranking the spaghetti and meatballs... it's all about the experience, the... the je ne sais quoi—heard that on the radio once!"
‣ "The je ne sais quoi—this is why I wanted you to be the one logging everything down, (M/N)!"
‣ It took more of a toll on him than it did on you.
‣ Well, if it did, then you did a stunning job at maintaining your usual optimism.
‣ Whenever you two were out in public, Steve felt hammered by this distance pushing him apart.
‣ It was a conscious effort on both ends—a natural one that pertained to the business of being in a homosexual relationship
‣ Or just being a homosexual, period.
‣ Steve understood it. He abode it. And he hated it.
‣ Often, when the conversation between you and him would come to a slow, Steve would look right past your shoulder, right at the lucky couple who were in his sight-line—a gentleman with an impressive mustache and his lady—and simply stare.
‣ His thoughts wandered.
‣ The gentleman was unabashed in his public flirtations with the woman.
‣ Massaging her hands, tending to the aches in her knuckles with firm, but appeasing presses.
‣ The smell of his cigar was pervasive, but the lady didn't seem to mind. It seemed like she thought it was rather charming when he blew a smoke towards her face.
‣ One hand would run up her arms in several strokes, rough callous grinding down her goosebumps, and the man would compliment how soft and supple her skin was.
‣ The lady would bat her eyelashes, giggle at the man's public display of affection whilst also maintaining some sense of courtesy to halt his advances when a pair of curious eyes were enough to render her cheeks scarlet—like the lipstick she had worn for the evening.
‣ Steve hated this restraint. This lack of freedom that forced him to talk to you as if you were his co-worker.
‣ To look at you as if he had no affection for you whatsoever when that was further from the truth.
‣ To touch you as if you were an infection that could cost him his life, and him to yours.
‣ That wasn't completely off from what society thought of people like you and Steve, was it.
‣ "It's not nice to stare, Steve... quit it."
‣ "If I can't even look at my own lov—you, what else am I supposed to do?"
‣ "Steve—come on, not now. You know how it is. It's hard, I know. But... we can't just be cooped up in our pad and wear out its virtues. It's nice to go out every once in a while, even if—it has to be like this."
‣ "It's just not—fair. Maybe—maybe we can do something. It doesn't feel right if we're doing nothing about those bar raids too. They're increasing, you know? Becoming more violent and—"
‣ "Hush. People are staring to look."
‣ "Why do you seem completely fine with this? Hiding ourselves—"
‣ "Look, I don't like it as much as you do. Hell, it's killing me on the inside that I can't even smile at you like how it would naturally come. But I'm okay with hiding—because it's for my safety, and most importantly, for yours. I don't ask for much, but I've envisioned the near end of my life to be fulfilled and labored with no regrets. With a house where I can harvest my own apples from my own tree. With a lazy pup that knows better than to eat through my laces. All of that would be possible because I hid—no—because I endured. And I would heavily prefer it if you would join me in that life. Call me a coward, spineless, or selfish, but I don't want it to be our last, Steve. It's terrifying—to know that any day I could lose you to violence and persecution, myself included. So, please—just hold it out for longer—that's all I ask of you."
‣ Most of all, Steve hated that he was envious.
‣ He wished he could be the one wiping sauce stain off your lips.
‣ He wished that he could hold your hand over the table and stroke the ring on your finger that you could've kept on.
‣ He wished that he could stop the tears from welling in your eyes like he often did back at home.
‣ He wished that he could tell you that he loved you, either with a mouthful of meatballs or none at all, because in the end—it would've felt better than communicating those three words with three taps of his foot to your shin.
‣ You nearly reached over for his hand to calm him down, but pulled your back straight upon the fright of a passing waiter and opted for the cipher that was could only be cracked between you and Steve.
‣ Three gentle kicks to his shin, once more to his other leg, and Steve sighed for pardon, returning the cipher gently to your own shin.
‣ He wished he could openly compliment how handsome his husband looked tonight, ramble how grateful he was to have you in his life, or complain about how you kicked him a little too hard, but that was all well and fine because it meant that you were still present.
‣ Freedom—All of it, the positives and negatives, without the looming threat of a policeman pummeling you and Steve with a nightstick afterwards—because that was normal.
‣ Because that was life.
‣ A life that will pay in the long run.
‣ "Check, please."
𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄.
Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who ambled the misty street of Brooklyn Heights with you, the night dew giving everything a hazy look as you and Steve passed through moist air, side-by-side.
‣ "I was brash tonight, Steve. I apologize."
‣ "No, no... you were right. If anything, I was being a fat head. I was out-of-line. I'm sorry."
‣ "You were right too, you know. It's not fair. It's not that I don't want to do anything about it, I really do. I just—it can't be the two of us tackling something bigger than us. Everyone is petrified, Steve."
‣ "I know... but if we somehow all come together in some kind of union, then maybe—we can call for a difference. Show them that enough is enough. Show them that fear is no longer something they can instill in us."
‣ "Like a rebellion or something?"
‣ "Well, if it has to come to that, then so be it."
‣ "You know a guy, don't you..."
‣ "I know a guy."
‣ "Is it Bucky?"
‣ "What—how'd you know?"
‣ "Steve, you only know one guy."
Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who was detoured into a dark alleyway between business building blocks. There was the droning sound sound of night, the low and humming resonant as the city had fallen asleep, all but two guests.
‣ "(M/N), what are we—"
‣ "All that quarreling made me forget to tell you how dashing you looked tonight. You know I especially like your hair combed back like that, Steve-o."
‣ He didn't need much of a hint as to what you were getting at.
‣ Squeezing in between a narrow passageway that would luckily only admit two bodies at a time, you and Steve were obscured from any wandering eyes.
‣ From judgement of the world.
‣ "Steve, you ought-ta listen to me more. Blue polka dots look darling on you."
‣ "If I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted me to wear a pink tie, darling."
‣ "Pink would've made me sauced my pants..."
‣ "You. Are. So. Vulgar."
‣ Shadows cast over his squashed body against yours, the moonlight only lighting the parts that mattered the most right now.
‣ The laughter that left your mouth after each peck Steve would grace you with.
‣ The lips that had him feeling withdrawal symptoms after an unbearable few hours of watching you lick sauce off your lips.
‣ The hand that tug Steve closer by his tie.
‣ The eyes that drew Steve in closer, until the tip of his nose touched yours.
‣ "Have I told you how much I love my cologne on you, darling?"
‣ "Have I told you how much I prefer your cologne rubbing off on me, as opposed to me spraying it on directly?"
‣ Slowly, breathing, pacifying; Steve's invisible stubble made your mouth twitch with a scratch, one of your many quirks he found himself silently obsessing over.
‣ And that was enough to push him over the edge, and finally kiss you like he'd wanted to since the evening had started.
‣ It was slow, almost careful like Steve was afraid of breaking you.
‣ Steve wasn't expecting this self-restraint from you. He wasn't expecting your hands on his jaw, tenderly massaging at either sides to keep your hands preoccupied while he slid his tongue alongside yours.
‣ He wasn't expecting to hear his own pulse because you were so stubborn in maintaining this control—you refused to summon urgency by vaulting your moans into the back of your throat.
‣ But Steve knew you more than he knew himself. He knew how you liked your eggs in the morning. He knew the perfect temperature for your bath. He knew you from the mole on your back, to the stance when you were impatient.
‣ He knew that if he led one of your hands right here—feeling the cusp of his growing bulge—that you'd give Steve what he wanted, and fall completely apart.
‣ And Steve knew that—by the eager palm of your hand, shoving into his unbuckled pants and groping—he was right.
‣ "Steve—just fuck me right here, yeah? I can't take it anymore."
‣ "Honey, we don't have any slick..."
‣ "Then give it to me raw. Use your spit. The rain. I don't care, I need you—"
‣ Your lips were warm and soft when Steve kissed you from rambling into the void again. His hands were against your stomach and chest, and your moans sent shivers down his spine.
‣ "Christ—turn around."
‣ Against the brick wall, teeth sinking into your forearm, you took Steve in without any regrets. Cold sweat breaking over your skin like evening dew collecting on window sills.
‣ "O-oh, fuck—slowly, Steve—"
‣ You could feel Steve's heart beat against your back, pushing further into you, huffing into your neck.
‣ "I love you."
‣ "I love you."
‣ From then on, you and Steve lived without any regrets.
𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍.
Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who relished every inch of your body; with his eyes, with his mouth, with his hands, with his body, with his being—until you found yourself transported wholly to all different kinds of sensations, and he'd repeat to discover new ones for you.
‣ "You're good at this, you know."
‣ "Humor me?"
‣ Steve was mouthing at your inner thigh, one hand stroking your leaking cock, and the other pumping his Vaseline-slicked fingers into you.
‣ He looked up from his eyelashes, teasing your sack with a lick.
‣ Another lick, because he liked being distracted by your body arching off the bed, crinkling the sheets in the process.
‣ "Good at loving me. You know what I want, what I need—just like that. Putting another finger into me without asking of me if you can. Twisting—fuck—turning me out, all based on how my body responds to you."
‣ "Well, it's not difficult to gauge what you need. Your nails dig into the sheets when it's too much. Your fingers and toes curl when the pleasure's coming in. Your hips roll—when you need more, or a new fix. I'm no magician you're making me out to be, (M/N).
‣ "You notice all of that? That's embarrassing... and here I thought I was being alluring..."
‣ Steve layered his thick cock in slick, capping the tin and tossing it to the bedside counter after.
‣ He teased your prepped rim, observing how the ring of muscle would catch a string of his pre-cum and latch onto it with a clench.
‣ At the sound of your moan, at the sight of you toying with your nipples, at the torn decision between preening—you knew that he liked the sight of you biting your lips—and ceasing his taunts.
‣ Steve's cock veins pulsed, his cock pleading for him to fill that delicious hole before him, otherwise it would live in agony for as long as it could leak.
‣ "I do, and it's not embarrassing. I love how you—mm—like that. I love how you immediately wrap your arms and legs around me when I finally push my cock inside of you.
‣ "Oh, Steve—"
‣ "I love how you call my name, just like that. Say it again."
‣ "Steve..!"
‣ He pressed his forehead against yours and groaned with you. His hips racketed off your ass in a slow, but increasing rhythm.
‣ You held onto him, hands over his neck, anchoring him close until the only way you could have your fix of air was through Steve's lips.
‣ Steve's mind was empty, except for the thought of your hot tongue roaming into his mouth and the swelling grasp your walls had around his loving cock.
‣ "Like that... I love how I can decipher every meaning behind the way you call out to me."
‣ "Fill me up so well, Steve—baby. Can feel you deep inside of me. Ruining me with your cock. Your balls slapping against me, God—Steve!"
‣ Your moans tasted delicious on his tongue. If they were seeds, they'd bloom colorful hybrids of fruits because your love for him couldn't be defined by one singular hue.
‣ You were an array of colors—a prism conjured by the way Steve loved you.
‣ Red, because you were gritting your teeth as Steve had you taking him balls-deep, filling you up to the brim, and stretching you to the shape of his pistoning cock.
‣ "Fuck me harder, Steve—"
‣ "You're taking me so well, darling..."
‣ "When have I not?"
‣ Orange, because Steve rendered you speechless except for a few gasps, with his cock grazing your prostate and his hand over your cock, stroking while kissing at your neck.
‣ "O-oh, fuck—oh, fuck!"
‣ Yellow, because you were on top, straddling Steve's lap and yielding to the nearing high that you both had been gauging.
‣ You took your sweet time to make love to Steve with your body. Hands braced on his chest, combing your fingers through the light hairs, deeply rocking back and forth on his cock after a couple of lighthearted bounces.
‣ You marveled over his well-built body, following the contours of his muscles with one hand while silently admiring his broad chest, perky nipples, and wide shoulders with your tongue.
‣ The smell of aftershave on him was infectious when you came up for a brief kiss. You kissed at his lips, then his chin, licking at the short blades of stubble before pulling away to preen again.
‣ Your back straightened and you spread your thighs apart for Steve to get a good look at how hard he was making you.
‣ Your cock throbbed, swollen a pronounced shade at the tip, bouncing to the rhythm of your hips, all while you devoted your mouth and tongue to Steve's thick fingers, suckling and laving your tongue over every digit, every vein, every knuckle—thanking him for opening you up so well with the slick of your saliva.
‣ Steve was absolutely keen on watching you worship him with one hand tucked behind his head, the other stroking your cock when he would finish appraising your body with a couple of fond strokes.
‣ "God, look at you. You're so beautiful. I could do this all day, watching you ride every vein on my cock..."
‣ Green, because you built up enough energy to reverse your straddle and take the lead for once. You wanted Steve to see all parts of your body, especially the asset that had been drawing out those glorious moans deep from his gut.
‣ You knew it was a pretty sight that would teeter Steve closer to the edge.
‣ Sweat ran over the plump mounds of your ass as you were propped up on your forearms, slamming down onto his thick cock.
‣ Skin rippled when your ass repeatedly hit his groin, and then prickled, when Steve grabbed a handful of your sweaty flesh out of pure enchantment before swatting it as a stimulus to your slowing hips.
‣ "How's the view?"
‣ "Stunning..."
‣ Blue, because your body was covered in shivers from the way Steve had captured you into his arms and pummeled icicles into you from behind.
‣ Kneeling upright, Steve had embraced you tightly, supporting your core with a flat palm while simultaneously engaging his, thrusting into you.
‣ His hand was around your throat to feel every vibration that would squeeze from your throat and then pour into his mouth like a saucer of milk as he swallowed your sweet moans.
‣ Like Steve's cock, his other hand was equally uncompromising. He squeezed into the pulsating veins of your cock, stroked your shaft, and teased your glans with a thumb.
‣ When you sank back into the dip of his hips, Steve would propel you forward with a strong thrust, forcing you to fuck his closed fist in midst as he held you from ever retreating back on all fours.
‣ He loved that dazed look on your face. Wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Flushed like how you were abashed by his compliments to your novice cooking, yet only a hundred times worse.
‣ He also loved the way he had fucked you into being inarticulate, muttering a slurry of words—warnings of you coming soon, Steve would later learn after turning his ears up.
‣ "Steve, stop, stop—I'm going to c-come—seriously—"
‣ "Come for me, (M/N). I want to see you stain the bed. Want to see you come because of me. Only me. Want you to drench my fist and—Christ, there we go..."
‣ Violet, because you were red, and Steve was blue.
‣ You spilled heavily over his fist, shooting large, thick ropes of cum over the bed sheets. The sound of the cum splatters making your cheeks run hotter than the warmth drawing out of you.
‣ Each spurt shot further and further the harder Steve pounded into you and milked your orgasm with unrelenting strokes to your shaft.
‣ His thighs slapped into yours, resonating the bedroom with a sharp thunder that was sure to wake up the tenants.
‣ His cock punctuated deep into your guts, hard and sweet against your prostate.
‣ You cried out as Steve battered your insides with his cock, with his undying love for you. Biting into your shoulder to contain his groans, but Steve had enough of this restraint, of constantly holding himself back.
‣ He growled behind your ear, filtering out the resentment society had instilled in his body as he let his grunts loose, replacing that bitter feeling with the antithesis of knowing that he wanted to live life to the fullest.
‣ With a house that grew oranges alongside your apples.
‣ Steve thrusted harder.
‣ With an indifferent cat that couldn't care less about your torn shoelaces.
‣ Your moans hitched at the sharp snap of his hips, his cock digging somehow deeper into your guts when he pushed you lower into his groin.
‣ With a fulfilling life that was lived without regret.
‣ Steve felt himself come undone upon the last thrust. Every fiber of his muscle unraveling like pointe shoes after intense wear.
‣ He held you tight as he shuddered against your, his pulse anchored and soothed by the palm of your head on his cheek, stroking him affectionately.
‣ Silken white, he spilled his hot seed deep inside of you, weakly propagating the warmth from the outer rim of your raw, swollen hole, then to the deep depth of your walls and prostate, milking himself until he was jelly in the legs, until you were creamed, from inside and out, with his thick cock.
‣ You and Steve shared one more kiss, another breath, heaving and panting like you two had never kissed before, before his stance eventually gave out and made him collapse over your body.
‣ "Think—I might bump the restaurant earlier up a few spots, (M/N)..."
‣ "Why's that?"
‣ "Must've put some kind of aphrodisiac in that spaghetti... I'm deeply spent."
‣ "I disagree. It must've been that couple! I told you it was all about the experience—that je ne sais quoi that I've been talking—"
‣ "You really aren't going to stop saying that, are you?"
‣ "Shouldn't have fixed my radio if you knew you were going to be disappointed, Steve."
‣ "That's where you're wrong. If you think anything about you is disappointing to me, then I'm not being a great husband, am I?"
‣ "Well, look at you being all sappy tonight."
‣ "Too much?"
‣ "Never too much. I'm far too gone to ever think otherwise, Steve-o."
‣ "Me too, darling. Me too."
nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works
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missing steve rogers hours, need someone to be a gentleman just for an hour. so, on those lines, what’s some of the things steve would do that would make you realise how well you deserve to be treated?
a/n: i will never stop missing him
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well, he’s literally an old-fashioned guy, so he'd do a bunch of the classics that never go out of style
like opening doors for you
pulling out your chair for you
he’s a flowers guy. even if it seemed a bit over the top to you in the beginning, as he kept up the habit, the more used to it you got and now it would feel wrong if there wasn’t the last bouquet from him on your dining room table
holding your hand, both in casual settings, but especially in times of stress. if he’s by your side when something knocks the wind out of you, even just a tiny bit, his hand slides into yours.
he also fixes your clothes, like tugging a tag back under your collar or picking off lint if he randomly notices
another thing that he just naturally does that you didn’t know you were missing till you got it was how present he is when you’re together. always actively listening, attention always on you and never half on a phone as the interactions with most of your friends go
on that note, he often surprises you with the random things he remembers you telling him, and when you stare back at him in total shock that he remembers your aunts and uncles names or something random, he just tilts his head and is like “of course i remember.” because his brain clings onto each and every little thing you blabber on about
i can also imagine him casually pulling you in for a slow dance whenever he’s put on an old record. just a little bit of gentle swaying…cheek to cheek...
also, he always tells you how proud he is of you. no matter if it’s for some big accomplishment or a tiny little thing like you tackling a chore you hate, he always says it.
another thing he always remembers to say? that he loves you. i might even argue that he was the first one to say it. maybe it was right after he got home from a mission and he just had to spit it...
and lastly, whenever you’re having a bit of an off day, maybe you didn’t sleep well or you’re just feeling blue, he doesn’t hesitate to give you a hand with whatever you need. were you supposed to do the dishes today but suddenly it became too cumbersome of a task? he’s already there scrubbing away even though you didn’t ask, he’s just trying to help you lighten your load.
