theappleppielifestyle

brandnewfashion asked:

Omg can you imagine Tony on their first night together: like he knows Steve's slept with men before, but he's always assumed Steve topped, the look on Tony's face when Steve straddles his waist and preps *himself* would be PURE GOLD

theappleppielifestyle answered:

oh my god his brain would fizzle out for like a good ten seconds and steve would be like ‘what’ and tony would squeak ‘nothing everything’s good. very good, actually. how are you.’

steve gives tony a look, eyebrows raised with two fingers up his own butt and his legs slung over tony’s thighs

'i'm swell, tony, thanks for asking'

'oh,' tony says faintly. 'that's good.'

'…are you ok tony'

'yep fine i'm fine everything's fine i'm just having a little trouble with the whole reality thing, this is actually happening right, this isnt a weirdly realistic dream and im gonna wake up humping the sheets again-'

'breathe, tony'

'i'M BREATHING STEVE I'M FINE HOW ARE YOU'

fiftyshadesofstony

Anonymous asked:

has a faulty dorm access card and has to be let in repeatedly by the same attractive stranger au?

wordsplat answered:

The first time, it’s genuine. His keycard doesn’t work—probably because he lent it to Bucky the other day, who treats his things notoriously badly—and he has to stand outside his dorm for half an hour in the freezing cold waiting for someone to come by at two in the morning to let him in because his cell phone, like everything else he owns, is inside. He’s just starting to acknowledge the fact that he may be stuck out here until the 7am classes start and students start leaving, when he hears someone behind him.

“You look like your balls are about to fall off,” the guy informs him cheerily. 

He looks small, barely big enough to be a freshman, and he’s dwarfed even more by the baggy Air Force hoodie he’s wearing and the four cups of coffee he’s balancing precariously, two in each hand. Between the messy hair and blocky glasses, Steve can’t help but notice he’s also really, really cute.

“Been out here half an hour,” Steve admits, “You wouldn’t happen to have a keycard?”

“Sure do.” The guy shifts so his backpack doesn’t fall off the one shoulder he’s got it balanced on. “Trade you; I’ll let you in if you’ll get it for me so I don’t have to put down my coffee.”

“Deal. Where is it?”

“Hoodie pocket.”

Steve shuffles a little closer, reaches into the cute stranger’s hoodie. He has a lot of junk stuffed in there, from the feel of it—money, cell phone, napkins—and it takes Steve an awkward minute of standing there, practically in the guy’s arms while he sorts through it all, to find the keycard. For an insane couple of seconds, he pretends he hasn’t found it while he gets a better look at the guy’s face. God, he’s cute.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks before he can think better of it.

“Tony. You?”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” Tony repeats, grinning like he knows full well Steve’s found his card already. Still, it’s two am and Steve hasn’t been this interested in someone in a long time, so what the hell. He doesn’t take his hand out of Tony’s hoodie just yet. Tony tilts his head a bit. “You like coffee?”

“Sure,” he lies.

“Wanna make another trade?”

“Yes,” he agrees immediately.

Tony’s grin widens, and he gives Steve a look that can be classified as nothing less than shamelessly flirtatious. “I’ll give you one of these coffees if you come study with me. Eyes like that’ll keep me up all night no problem.”

“Deal.” Steve hopes it’s not obvious in his voice how hard his heart is pounding.

“Got that card yet?”

“Look at that.” Steve pulls his hand out. “I think I do.”

They spend all night with books and coffee and serious study material in front of them, playing footsie and talking instead. Steve doesn’t turn so much as a single page of his textbook.

The next time is two days after their all-night study session, enough time for Steve to get back to his room, sleep for a day, then talk Bucky and Sam’s ears off about Tony until they take his keycard and kick him out of the building. Steve turns down fourteen people who offer to let him in before Tony shows up again. Tony teases him about not having his card, but lets him in and invites him up to play video games.

This happens more than twenty times over the next two months, sometimes when his friends steal his card and often when he just ‘accidentally’ forgets that it’s right there in his backpack. They study together and play video games and talk about things Steve hasn’t ever said out loud before, and before Steve knows it his silly little crush on the cute guy who let him in is pretty much full-blown love.

The twenty-fourth time, Tony’s got his friends in tow this time, his roommate Rhodey and a redheaded girl Steve hasn’t met but bets is Pepper. Tony brightens when he sees Steve, like he always does. “Locked out again? You’ve got the worst luck of anyone I know.”

“My friends are jerks,” Steve tells him, though he’s going to buy them lunch tomorrow as a thank you.

“Hey, Steve,” Rhodey greets, because they’ve hung out a dozen times now playing video games in his and Tony’s room, “You coming up? Tony modified the TV again, the resolution is sick.”

“Count me in.”

“I’m Pepper, by the way.” The girl introduces herself, shooting Tony an amused look. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Pepper!” Tony makes a betrayed noise.

“Huh.” Steve’s smile widens. Tony wrinkles his nose at him.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said ‘huh’, your ‘huh’s say a lot.”

“Do they?”

“They do.”

“We’re gonna go on ahead and leave you to it.” Rhodey jerked a thumb at the doors with a smirk.

“What it, there’s no it—” Tony starts, but Rhodey’s already swiped his card and he and Pepper go inside without looking back.

After a moment’s awkward silence, Steve can’t help but tell him, “I kind of thought there was an it.”

Tony stares at him for few seconds, seeming genuinely surprised, then his face breaks into a smile. “I know a really good pizza place a few blocks from here.”

“Lead the way.”

They don’t call it a date, exactly, but they don’t not call it a date and they play footsie under the table and when Steve orders a milkshake the waitress gives them two straws, so they’re not really fooling anyone except themselves. By the time they walk back to the dorm together it’s definitely getting late and they both remember at exactly the same time that Rhodey and Pepper have been waiting for them for hours now. Tony starts laughing so Steve starts laughing then Tony laughs about Steve laughing and before either of them know it they’re kissing under the stars in the middle of the quad for the whole world to see. Steve has no idea who started it but he doesn’t care at all, just pulls Tony closer and kisses him harder.

“Okay,” Tony pants, still trying to catch his breath as he admits with a grin, “We definitely have an it.”

theappleppielifestyle

brandnewfashion:

onemuseleft:

Warnings in the tags.

****

A fic where a young Tony, struggling with neglect and burgeoning alcoholism and depression, gets Steve Roger’s name, rank and serial number tattooed on his hip. Because Steve Rogers was just a scrawny, sick guy and he managed to change the world. If Tony can be half the man Steve was, then he can be proud of himself. And for years, when he gets low he looks at that tattoo in the mirror.

When he meets Steve, he thinks about covering it up, getting something inked over it. It’s a little weird now, after all. But it means even more to him now that he’s met the man. Now that Steve is his FRIEND, that they change the world together. Sometimes at night when he can’t sleep, Tony puts his hand over his hip and presses down hard, like he can keep himself anchored and on track if he can just hold onto it tight enough.

The first time Steve comes to his bed Tony forgets - he FORGETS - until Steve has slid a hand under the elastic band of Tony’s boxers and is sliding them down his hip. Tony realizes what’s about to happen at the exact moment that Steve’s eyes are drawn to the dark black print. And he explains, in a quiet, shaky voice, how sixteen-year-old Tony had spent a long, cold night choosing between a tumbler of whiskey with a dozen crushed sleeping pills mixed in, or having to face his father for another day. How eventually he’d found the stomach to pour the whiskey down the toilet. How he’d spent most of the next day on the floor of Rhodey’s dorm, his friend wrapped around him like a blanket. How he’d had to bribe a tattoo artist to work on him - underage and hungover - but Rhodey hadn’t objected once, just stood there and held Tony’s hand the entire fucking time, like he knew Tony was trying to grab onto something before he fell.

He tells Steve about the way the words are stark and unforgiving under the bright lights of the bathroom. He tells Steve how he’s held onto them so tight that he’s amazed they haven’t bled into his palm.

"I know it’s weird," Tony says. He hasn’t been able to look Steve in the eyes once since he started talking. Instead he focuses on the soft blond hair on Steve’s chest and the way Steve’s fingers have curled around his hip, till Steve’s palm is pressed gently over the tattoo. "It - I thought about having it removed or something, once you came back. I got it before I knew you, but. It meant even more to me. After. Knowing who you really were. Knowing that you thought I was… a good person."

"Okay," Steve says softly, and Tony finally dares to meet his gaze. Steve’s eyes are bright and if they’re a little damp, Tony can pretend it’s the moonlight playing tricks on him. "Okay. It’s - I’m glad. That you found some kind of comfort in me, even then. And - I am so fucking glad you had Rhodey." He kissed Tony’s temple, then his cheekbone. "I think you’re a good person," he said, his breath warm on Tony’s cheek. "I think you’re brave and kind and generous and so goddamn strong. I love you," he says and he presses his palm against Tony’s hip, digs his fingers in just enough that they’ll leave a bruise. "I love you. I love you. Swear to me, that whenever you see this thing, you’ll remember I love you."

Tony laughed, the shaky kind of laugh that means he’s not far from tears. “How could I ever think of anything else?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just takes Tony’s mouth in a kiss as deep as it is slow. He presses Tony down onto the bed.

He doesn’t let go. And in the morning, when Tony looks in the mirror, Steve’s handprint is purpling across his hip, covering the old black print, but not obscuring it.