Archive of Our Own

“Man, I really can’t express just how unsurprised I am that you’re a trekkie. You’re such a fuckin’ walking stereotype of a nerd.”

“What, like you’re not one? I’ve seen your Star Wars merch collection. Pot meet kettle, nerd. What would all the Falcon fans say?”

The inflection of Tony’s voice catches his attention, and Steve zones back in. He wasn’t really paying attention before; it’s late, and they’ll probably all retire for the night soon enough. The four of them — Bucky, Sam, Tony and him — are hanging out on the couches in the penthouse living room, and by now they’ve all had a couple of drinks. Steve’s currently sits half-full and neglected on a coaster on the coffee table as he prioritizes more important things; namely, thinking about what he should make for breakfast tomorrow while one of his hands absentmindedly massages circles into the ball of Tony’s foot.

Now, though, he blinks back into reality as Sam barks out a loud laugh, one that’s followed almost immediately by a snort from Tony. Steve’s hand stills as he looks between the two of them curiously.

“Oh, is that where we’re going to take this?” Sam counters, wriggling out from under Bucky’s arm and waving his drink around wildly. Without a word, Bucky reaches over and grabs it from him, setting it down on the end table and then picking his own drink up to take a halfhearted sip. “Like you’re not just as bad. What would all of the Iron Man fans say if they knew that their idol was a geek who liked reading gay fanfiction?”

“Hey! I do not read fanfiction.” Tony protests.

Sam quirks a disbelieving eyebrow. “What, never?”

In an instant, Tony deflates. He throws his head back dramatically, a little more fluid than he might if he were sober. The back of his skull connects with the arm of the couch, and he picks his head back up, worming one of his hands around and under himself to rub at the back of his head. “When I was younger, maybe. What, can I not live?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not if you’re going to lie about it and then immediately retract your lie. You must be horrible at poker.”

Before Tony can launch into an impassioned defense of his — admittedly above average — poker skills, Steve cuts in. “Wait, I’m confused. What’s this — ‘fan fiction’ thing?”

Instead of replying immediately, Tony flails around until he manages to sit up, elbowing Steve several times in the process. When he’s finally comfortable, he clears his throat, and then explains, “It’s like a continuation of a story. Or like, when you see two characters in a movie and you think that they should kiss. So you write about them, y’know, kissing, and then you post it on, I don’t know, Archive of Our Own, or Fanfiction dot Net, or Tumblr, or you don’t post it at all, and it sits abandoned in a folder on your computer and eats at your soul for the rest of your life.” There’s a pause here, but then Tony clears his throat and adds, "Or whatever. That’s what I’ve heard, at least.”

Steve blinks and tries to process the whirlwind of information Tony had just presented him with. He’s normally pretty okay with modern stuff, but all of this at once is kind of a lot. He’s about to ask several follow up questions when Sam says, “You seem to know an awful lot for a guy who only ever read fanfics.”

“I haven’t written any fanfiction!” Tony blurts.

“I never said you had,” Sam replies smoothly. “Wait. Have you?”

“No!” Tony practically shouts, only to amend, “well— not in years!”

“Hey,” Sam says, hands up in a don’t shoot gesture, “I used to write too.”

The conversation that follows between the two of them is chock full of words that Steve can’t even begin to understand. He gives up after a few minutes, taking a sip of his drink and zoning back out again. Steve makes a mental note of some of the key terms (something called omegaverse aye-yous, whatever a ‘lemon’ is in this context, and whatever they mean when they talk about OTPs) that they keep repeating so that he can look them up later, yawning so hard his eyes prick with tears.

As much as it’s the kind of thing that Steve would normally brush off without a second thought — you don’t date someone like Tony Stark without learning to get used to a lot of stuff really quickly — it doesn’t leave his mind.

It’s just that — the idea of a younger Tony writing stories about two fictional characters being in love is kind of… Cute. The thought of him spending time writing, putting as much effort into it as he does his inventions, and then posting his writing somewhere for other people to see is hopelessly endearing to Steve.

It’s nice to think about, too, the way it sort of overlaps with Steve’s own interests when he was young. Maybe, he thinks, if they had met as teenagers, they would’ve even been friends. The thought of it is enough to make him go all gooey inside.

Plus, Tony is pretty tight-lipped about what he was like as a kid — to hear him tell it, he waltzed right out of the womb in Ferragamos and an impeccably tailored three piece suit with a half-full whiskey glass already in his hand.

So he’s curious about what they’re like, Tony’s ‘fan fictions’. The only issue is, Steve doesn’t have the first idea as to how to actually find Tony’s writing. He’s tried having a look on the google already, but all he’d been able to find by searching ‘Tony Stark fan fiction’ was just a bunch of stuff written by other people about Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers, which he wasn’t interested in in the slightest. Frankly, attempting to comb through the breadth of results was intimidating. Despite how often Tony tries to teach him, he’s not exactly adept at using the internet. Luckily, he knows plenty of people who are.

So, the next time he knows Sam has a day off, he approaches the other man in the gym in what he hopes is a non-suspicious manner.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve starts, casually, “your form is looking great. Good job, buddy.”

The look Sam gives him means that he’s failed. “Thank you..?”

“So,” he tries next, nonchalantly, stuffing his hands into his front pockets, “you remember how you and Tony were talking about your ‘fan fictions’ the other day?”

“Yeah?” Sam replies, voice lilting up at the end in clear confusion. “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking — it would probably be pretty interesting to read them, see what Tony was up to when he was a kid. Only issue is, I haven’t been able to find them yet, but I figure since you’re pretty good with a computer you can probably hack the interwebs and find his writing for me.”

Sam stares at him for long enough that Steve starts to think he might’ve said something wrong. He doesn’t get to figure out what exactly before Sam shakes his head and says, “Alright, let me get this straight, you want me to, what,” he brings his hands up to bunny-ear the next words, “‘hack the mainframe’ to find Tony’s old fanfics? And send them to you?”

Steve nods eagerly. “I know you might have to— to hack into the mainframe, or go onto the deep web, or— I don’t know, something worse, but I would really appreciate it if you could at least try for me. Oh, and I brought this for you, for your efforts.”

As he finishes, he takes his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out the crisp five dollar bill he’d gotten from the bank earlier. He holds it out.

Sam looks down at the bill, looks up at Steve, looks down at the bill and then back up at Steve again.

Steve gives him a hopeful smile.

“Fine,” Sam says finally. “But I’m not taking your money. What are you gonna offer me next, some Werther’s Originals?”

Steve blinks at him. “Well, if you’d prefer that..”

Sam just sighs.

SSgt Sam Wilson

hey

found one of tony’s fics

[link] — I’ll be Your Number One With a Bullet

enjoy

Steve

Thank you, Sam! Will read as soon as I have the time.

SSgt Sam Wilson

👍

have fun

and say hi to tony for me

Steve smiles down at his phone. He carefully taps the link with his pointer finger like Tony’s shown him many times before and watches as the website loads. He doesn’t do more than that, because Sam’s message had found him just as he was about to go out for a run, but he makes sure to carefully bookmark the site for later.

Steve blinks at his computer. It does nothing to dispel the words that he’s reading on the screen. He’s sat in his study in the penthouse, a cup of coffee to his left and a notepad and a pencil (just in case!) to his right. Both are completely untouched. After a moment, he takes a long drink from his coffee cup and begins to scroll downwards to read more.

I’ll be Your Number One With a Bullet by brooklynlovesmanhattan72

CAPTAIN AMERICA X MALE!READER. CONTAINS YAOI LEMON. DON’T LIKE DON’T READ.

[Y/N] yawned as he woke up and turned his alarm off. He ran a hand through his messy chestnut curls and sat up in bed stretching his arms out. He got out of bed and headed over to his dresser to pick out an outfit for the day. He picks out a baggy pair of dark blue Levis and a black Rammstein tee, which he layers over a long white sleeve shirt. [Y/N] checks himself out in the mirror and attempts to style his unruly brown hair. When he’s done his best he sighs at his reflection and walks over to his desk chair to grab his backpack. Just then he hears his dad’s voice.

“[Y/N] COME DOWN HERE NOW” dad shouts loudly from downstairs. It was only 7 am, not even time for school yet, but already he sounded drunk.

[Y/N] sighed and rolled his eyes and headed down the three sets of stairs to the ground floor, flicking some of his brown hair out of his onyx eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever his dad wanted to talk about. [Y/N]’s dad makes him work a part time job on top of going to school so that he doesn’t have to get a job of his own and can live off [Y/N]’s money and smarts and effort and ideas and can spend all day drinking and watching TV.

“[Y/N]” dad slurs when [Y/N] rounds the corner to the living room. Their small house is a mess, covered in trash and empty beer bottles and dirt everywhere and also [Y/N] can see roaches in a corner. “Finally I’ve managed to get rid of you. You won’t be underfoot for much longer, always bothering me!”

“What are you saying dad” [Y/N] questions.

“i finally managed to sell you off to someone,” dad crows harshly, slugging back a long gulp of his beer.

[Y/N] pales. It feels like his heart stops in his chest. It feels like the earth stops spinning on its axis, although if that happened then there would be massive earthquakes and thousand mile an hour winds and waves that would wipe out civilization among other things so clearly it didn’t. “What?” He practically shouts. “You can’t do that!!! That’s illegal!!!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me you stupid ungrateful brat!!!” His dad yells. [Y/N] can’t help it. He starts crying. This only makes his dad more angry. He stands up and starts staggering towards [Y/N] and shouts angrily “I’ll give you something to cry about!!!”

He throws the beer bottle in his hands at [Y/N] and it only just barely misses him. Instead it smashes against the wall instead and the sound frightens [Y/N] who cries harder.

Just then the doorbell rings. Dad stops in his tracks and turns toward the door but not before [Y/N] sees the slimy smirk on his stupid ugly face. He stumbles drunkenly over to the door and opens it. [Y/N] squeezes his eyes shut not wanting to see the person his dad has just sold him to.

“I’m here to pick up [Y/N]” the stranger at the door says. His voice is recognizable so [Y/N] opens his eyes curiously.

“Of course” Dad replies smugly “as soon as you give me my money.”

[Y/N]’s chocolate orbs widen at the sight of the man at the door even as tears continue to stream down his unblemished perfect soft round cheeks.

Despite how unbelievable it is, Captain America himself is standing there, right on the doorstep of [Y/N]’s house. Even though he’s not wearing his uniform, [Y/N] recognizes him immediately because he’s a huge fan. He towers over [Y/N]’s dad in the doorway, making him look small and stupid and weak. His golden hair sits impeccably styled and his ocean blue eyes blaze brightly when they meet [Y/N]’s over his dad’s balding head. His muscles bulge even through his plain white tee shirt and [Y/N] can’t take his eyes off of them. He looks like an angel come to save [Y/N].

“Are you [Y/N]?” Steve Rogers says, his sapphire blue eyes gazing deeply into [Y/N]’s umber brown eyes.

“Y-y-yes” he stutters, blushing a deep tomato red. He doesn’t want Captain America to see him like this. He wraps his hands around his arms self-consciously. He gulps.

“Hey!” Dad protests angrily, slurring his words. He pushes at Steve’s chest. “you haven’t given me my money yet.”

It’s typical of [Y/N]’s dad. All he cares about is money. But Steve doesn’t know this so he punches [Y/N]’s dad in the face. Dad crumples to the floor and Steve steps over his twitching form easily and walks over to [Y/N]. He smiles down at [Y/N].

“Hi,” Steve says huskily.

“Hi,” [Y/N] says breathily. Another tear slides down his face as he looks up at Steve.

“Please don’t cry” Steve says, taking off his shirt and using it to wipe at [Y/N]’s tears. His abs glisten in the overhead lighting and his biceps flex enticingly. “You’ve been so brave. I’m so proud of you. Now come with me [Y/N], we’re going now.”

“W-w-where?” [Y/N] asks, blushing up at Steve.

“Anywhere but here.” Steve replies manfully.

So they leave [Y/N]’s house and walk to a park and then they talk for a really long time. It’s like [Y/N] and Steve have known each other all their lives they click so well.

“Your dad shouldn’t say stuff like that to you,” Steve says empathetically. “He sucks.”

“It’s fine.” [Y/N] replies bravely. “I’m used to him. It doesn’t even affect me.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” Steve says fiercely. His ocean blue eyes deep as the ocean gaze right into [Y/N]’s warm brown orbs with deep meaning and sincerity. “I know we’ve only known each other for an hour but I’ve fallen in love with you. If you want you can come with me but even if you don’t want to I can promise you that you will never have to go back to that house again.”

A/N: I hope you liked chapter 1 of my new fic! I wrote this all in one night so I didn’t have a lot of time to edit. I probably won’t update this fic for a while unfortunately because I have to defend my dissertation next week so I’ll be super busy preparing for that.

UPDATE: If you’re only here to bitch at me about how OOC Steve is here for punching Y/N’s dad GO READ A FUCKING BOOK FIRST!!! Yes he was super nice yes he was the boy next door but also he grew up in fucking BROOKLYN during the GREAT DEPRESSION. Of fucking COURSE he knows how to throw a fucking punch!!! I don’t want to hear it!!! I am blocking anyone who comments that garbage!!!

If you want to read more of my thoughts on this fandom’s problematic characterization of Captain America then you can find them all on my tumblr.

Also, stop asking me to write Y/N as having a different eye/hair color. It is not happening.

Once he’s read everything posted to the account, Steve takes a few minutes to just stare at the screen, processing. Then, after he’s stared at the words so long that they begin blurring together, he smiles.

Tony is so focused on the upgrade he’s working on that he only just barely registers Steve entering the workshop. He raises one hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement, and when Steve doesn’t speak up, he figures the other man is just here to hang out like usual. Besides, he’s working with a soldering iron at the moment, and he’s learned the hard way that attentiveness is key when working with heat.

The other man doesn’t speak for so long, in fact, that by the time he does, Tony has almost forgotten about his presence entirely. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t jump.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve starts, sounding as casual as always. “You know how I’ve always said your chocolate orbs were your best feature?""

Tony blinks at the wording, but figures that Steve is maybe trying out poetry or something. He considers poking fun at his boyfriend, but ultimately decides that the juice isn’t worth the squeeze.

“Yes, dear,” he hums, without so much as bothering to glance Steve’s way.

After a moment, Steve continues, “and you know how you’ve always told me how much you love the way my —” a break here, for whatever reason, “abs glisten in the light? And the way my biceps flex enticingly?”

The soldering iron stills as Tony pauses, blinks, squints down at his work, mulls over Steve’s words. Has he ever told Steve that? It certainly sounds like him, but also not at all like the kind of thing he’d admit out loud unless either under extreme duress or doing his best to fluster his boyfriend.

When Steve doesn’t say anything else, he sets the soldering iron down with care and pushes away from his desk to look at the other man, eyeing him confusedly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve says innocently, but his eyes are full of poorly concealed mirth.

Tony squints at him.

“I know you,” he reminds Steve, “and I know when you’re bullshitting me. Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird!” Steve insists, like the lying liar he is. “I was just thinking about how I miss when you used to wear a short sleeve t-shirt over a long sleeve shirt. I always thought it was awful swell.”

Tony scrunches his face up at him. “No, genuinely, what the fuck are you talking about? Did you hit your head or something?”

Steve is smiling now, that infuriating mischievous little smirk that Tony knows all too well. “No, I’m just quoting this piece of writing I found on the web. It’s by this author I really like, brooklynlovesmanhattan72? Have you heard of them?”

He’s full on cheesing now in the face of Tony’s absolute horror and disbelief. Half of Tony’s brain is in the middle of a Chernobyl-level meltdown at the idea of Steve of all people reading his old fanfics while the other half is fantasizing about strangling the other man to death. His eyes are so wide as he sits frozen in place that he can feel them begin to dry out.

Steve seems to finally break at his reaction, letting out the kind of hearty old man laugh that Tony normally associates with guys in Santa suits.

It spurs Tony into action, and he stands, drawing himself up to his full height — which isn’t that much, yeah, especially compared to Mister Freak Of Nature over there, but Mr. Nature is also sitting down, so he figures it shouldn’t lose all of its efficacy — and stalks over to where Steve sits on the couch. He stops about a foot away from the other man.

“This isn’t a very good look for you, Mr. America. Didn’t they ever teach you about respect in the Army?” Tony asks, resisting the urge to plant his hands on his hips. “It’s called self expression. I would’ve thought mister water colors and oil paints of all people would understand that.”

He pointedly ignores it when Steve reaches out, taking his hands and pulling him forward until their knees are touching. “Did you know,” he says, “that based on my math you posted over a hundred thousand words of Captain America fan fiction? That’s a pretty significant number, Tony.”

Tony frowns down at him.

“Judgment! That was judgment. Careful now, Rogers, or your next suit will be cheap lingerie,” Steve opens his mouth, but Tony doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise, continuing, “and by cheap I mean cheap. The kinda lace that’s all scratchy. You’re not getting out of this by being kinky, you little bastard.”

“Hey! I’m not judging you,” Steve says, judgmentally. “I just think it’s cute that you’ve liked me this long.”

Steve spreads his knees and pulls Tony in closer, until his legs are bracketed by Steve’s thighs. Tony, who hates Steve and wants him to die horribly, does not acknowledge this development in the slightest.

Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest. “What, did ‘I’ve been a member of the Captain America Official Fan Club since I was five years old’ mean nothing to you? This is an established fact, Steve. You’re not about to make me feel bad for being a fanboy just like most of America.”

Steve tugs Tony into his lap, one hand looping around his shoulders loosely, the other on his waist. Tony huffs but gets comfortable.

“Well, I don’t know what it was like to be a fanboy when you were growing up, but I certainly never wrote stories about me and Charlie Chaplin having gay sex.”

“Did I ever tell you about internalized homophobia?” Tony muses. “Maybe now’s the time for a crash course.”

Steve ignores him, barrelling ahead. “Do you want to call me Captain America in bed?” He wonders, “Ooh, I could put my uniform on and everything.”

Tony’s about to protest on instinct, but then the words actually hit him. “Well, if you’re offering…”

Steve snorts at that, an ugly, nasally piglike sound that Tony is, as per usual, immediately enamored with. “You’re the one who said it. No takebacksies.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Steve says, the fondness in his tone unfairly charming.

“Hey, that’s my line! I’ve never been mean to you once, and here you are, practically bullying me. Gotta say, not very Captain America of you. What would the people say if they knew, huh?”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“How long are you gonna pretend to be all outraged about this?”

Tony mulls it over. “Huh. Well, typically, I’d complain for a bit longer and then threaten to make you sleep in the doghouse, but seeing as we don’t actually have a doghouse, I guess I can cut it short.”

Before Steve can reply, Tony leans down and kisses him. Steve makes a gratifying sound of surprise, but gets with the program quick enough. The kiss is chaste but no less enjoyable for it, instead soft and comforting and the kind of thing that Tony always feels more than a little homesick for. Steve tries to deepen the kiss, but instead of letting him, Tony pulls back.

“The couch is always an option, though,” Tony reminds him.

Steve just rolls his eyes and uses the arm around his shoulders to pull him back in and resume their kiss.